The Brian Jonestown Massacre – “Who” MP3/download
The Brian Jonestown Massacre – “(David Bowie I Love You) Since I Was Six” MP3/download
When an artist releases music that gets panned over and over again (examples: The Mars Volta, Cocorosie et al), my first thought is they they must be doing something right. Such was the case with the Brian Jonestown Massacre album before-last, My Bloody Underground. Everyone hated it; I loved it.
In the case of Who Killed Sgt. Pepper, I’m still not sure where I stand. I avoided it like the plague after a painful first listen that brought back memories of Lemon Jelly (actually they were pretty good), rave/house music, Mouse On Mars, The Go! Team and even fucking Basement Jaxxx. Things were looking pretty grim — one of my all-time rock ‘n’ roll favorites had turned to electronic music after dedicating himself to the guitar and other organic instruments for 20 years. I’m over it now but at the time it felt like Mike Tyson circa 1990 was rabbit-punching my balls.
Now that I delve back into this 2XLP, I have a few new thoughts to report. For one, it’s not all bad. While I detest the bouncy club track with some French guy talking overtop and a few of the other post- Paul Oakenfold oddities, the good outweighs the bad. And wouldn’t you know it, there are some interesting rock experiments mixed in with the more robotic entries. I have to admit though, it’s going to take a lot more spins to convince me Who Killed Sgt. Pepper? is a prime-era BJM album. Even then, I’m not sure I’ll be able to get behind this thing the way I have with most of the material Anton Newcomb has expelled from his creative womb.
My first wish would be a little more mystique. It genuinely sounds as if Newcomb was trying to generate a dance-club following, and I salute the guy for answering the call of his art-pumping heart. I can’t, however, understand most of the choices he made via the 13 tracks he ended up with.
Still, I’m not immune to its charms as I was at first-blush. Part of me thinks if I heard a cut like “Tempo 116.7 (Reaching for Dangerous Levels of Sobriety)” at random, without knowing the artist’s origin, there’s a good chance I wouldn’t judge it with the same set of ears. (Or at least it’s groooovy in a post-Deee-Lite kinda way.) Why do we hold our musicians responsible for the weight of our own — often-unrealistic — expectations of them? Being a critic can feel ridiculous when you’ve been following a band for 10 years and they make a sudden stink. What is my responsibility as a fan? As an audio gumshoe? As a cult member? Etc.
And LIKE I MENTIONED, there are rock songs on this sumabitch. “Þungur Hnífur,” which means “heavy knife” in some other language, carries with it all the hallmarks of a nice post-”Outside of Society” crotch-grab, save Newcomb’s voice; he’s handed vocal duties over to Felix Bondareff, who handles his duties with workmanlike authority. No complaints on that (and rumor has it Anton’s voice is next to shot these days), so we move on.
“Let’s Go Fucking Mental” is dippy, yet sort of insistent by dint of its bassline. You might say I love to hate it, like most Gorillaz cutz. Still sucks ass though; would have never expected to hear such drek anywhere near a Brian Jonestown Massacre recording. Keeping with expectations, the next track is almost heavenly. Soft like fresh licorice and great to the last chew, “White Music” is another entry in Newcomb’s underrated treasure trove of between-song dronery, but at four minutes long it’s much more impactful. People should take more time to appreciate this side of the enigmatic audio craftsman.
Side B kicks in with the dance shit again, and I’m so goddamn baffled. My wife mentioned “This Is the First of Your Last Warnings” sounds a little like something off Madonna’s “house” album. That makes me want to cry myself to sleep on my big pillow. And even worse, she’s not wrong.
Then there’s “This Is the One Thing We Did Not Want to Have Happen,” much less disappointing; not a barn-burner but this is the direction I envision will make more sense to them. It’s still got the experimental elements, guitar/bass, live drums, yet it’s got a feel not too far flung from the rest of Who Killed (and, come to think of it, some of My Bloody Underground sounded like this, especially in the loose, hard-slamming drums). Not sure how that works; interesting.
From there, it’s almost cruel. Side C is a near-total wash. Then Side D ramps up and “Our Time” makes it seem like everything could be OK again. Fantastic uptempo shoegaze with ties to Broken Social Scene and Spacemen 3, and Newcomb sings like I know he still can. He should do more of that, but instead we get “Feel It” up next, perhaps the limpest hot dog in the steam-cooker. Simply awful, pedantic rave-pop that is just bad enough to appeal to listeners of modern radio rock, aka dickholes. Way to go, dickholes …
The final cut is an interesting found-sound piece, with snippets from John Lennon and other unknown-to-Gumshoe characters over new-age piano pieces, likely from that guy who tickled the ivories on My Bloody Underground.
As you can probably ascertain, I’m not sure where I stand on this album. I am sure, however, of one thing: I hope Brian Jonestown Massacre make better use of their considerable power next time around.
