A lot of times I’m disappointed when I read a bunch of reviews on an album, then get said album. The criticism rarely gets to the heart of the music, instead relying on rumor, assumption and comparison.
That is most certainly the case with Rated O. While most reviewers insist they enjoy it, there’s always a disturbing amount of disconnect, to the point where you wonder if the reviewer would even dare listen to a band like Oneida in his/her spare time.
Terms like “indulgent” and “bloated” have been trotted out as the new buzz words on this album, yet no one seems to want to mention how fucking incredible Rated O is cover to cover, gatefold to gatefold.
That’s what’s wrong with this new generation of tick-addled bloggers and writers: They don’t have any patience for art that challenges one of the most important faculties for a reviewer to have: patience.
Is it really so hard to listen intently while these enthusiastic prog nerds get all geeky for a few hours? Because I must tell you, if you can’t sit through this album there’s really no hope for you. Maybe it’s time to get into the new wave of voice-correction pop or Lil’ Wayne, no?
For the rest of us, those of us who know Oneida through and through to be one of indie-rock’s most consistently refreshing bands, Rated O is another reason to celebrate the fact that we’ve discovered such a pure trio of musicians.
O can stand for many things. Oneida, for one. Also orgasm, octagonal, opaque, oblong, odious and outstanding. All of these terms stick to ‘neida like refrigerator magnets, and this ambitious triple-album reflects their multiple personalities brilliantly.
Side 1 is an immediate attention-getter with its out-sound electronics and sparkling effects, a choppy bass blast keeping time amid a swirling cycle of distractions. It sets the tone effectively, prepping the listener for the ups and downs of Side 2, which culminates in an intimate drum-and-vocals set-up and a torrent of harsh screams.
Flipping the script (and the scrip, as it were) Side 3 is more hypnotic and more rock ‘n’ roll, slamming its point home with the manic drumming that has always fueled the Oneida beast, a wave-y gravy effect that reeks of pitch-bent wooziness, and the straightest rawk-god riff thus far. O is only halfway over, however.
The second half rips into being with a bulging bottom-end you couldn’t help but stare at if it were hanging and magnified by a pair of tight jeans. Side 4 again succeeds in hooking you with a few root elements — in this case tubby bass lines, tom and shaker rhythms, more shimmering guitar work — and jamming the whole shebang off a cliff and back again.
Oneida reward close, intent attention. That’s the difference between them and, say, many less effective bands with overt gimmicks and hype devices at their command. Oneida are an art-for-art’s-sake kinda band, and it comes through in their music.
I’m not even going to peruse the rest of Rated O with you; you don’t need me to hold your hand through the whole process. Just know that you probably need this record. I just realized this is my first slab of Oneida vinyl — though I do have a few CD titles — and that’s a sad thing to come to grips with.
