Oracular Spectacular from the Inside Out
A review
What happened would have been unthinkable for most of my life. Im old enough to remember the Old Times, when albums were burned permanently into some plastic medium, like chiseling hieroglyphics into rock; whether they were magnetic squiggles on tape or bumps in vinyl grooves or whatever the fuck they do to the plastic on a CD, it was there as a physical unit in a set sequence. It was hardcopy, non-ephemeral.
Im telling you this because it helps to have things in context as you read the following:
My friend from New Jersey e-mailed me an excerpt from a review hed read of the album Oracular Spectacular by the band MGMT (Columbia Records, 2007). Id never heard of the band or album before, but the review intrigued me with its descriptions of a blend of psychedelic and indie-electro to a shiny, sonic gleam (allmusic.com). I believe there was also something there about sunny 60s and catchy pop. Imagining something like Brian Wilson channeled through XTC (or vice-versa, it doesnt matter), I e-mailed back to say that I found the description tasty (yes, Im a music geek who says geek-icky things like that). It turns out that my friend had also gone and downloaded the album as mp3 files from some Internet site. He offered to burn a copy for me (for Trial Use Only we wouldnt think of breaking any copyright laws). I received the disc in the mail, put it into the cars CD player, and
I wasnt very impressed by what I was hearing. It wasnt psychedelic. It wasnt particularly sunny this was cheesy 80s dancehall stuff, kind of catchy, but mediocre.
Then, 45 minutes later, Im going huh? because the album is over and Im not sure but I really think I dig what I just heard. A few hours later, I play the album through again, and the same thing happens. And then again. Heres what happened each of those times:
The song Electric Feel sounds like it was on MTV circa 1981. Casio-sounding keyboard tones with drum machine beats. Falsetto soul vocals. As I said before, its cheesy 80s dancehall stuff, the stuff of fog and cigarette smoke: shallow rich princesses with big hair and lots of gold jewelry. And cocaine habits and swirling colored lights slicing through darkness. Not even remotely psychedelic. Then Future Reflections appears poised to continue the dance fever, except after the upbeat intro it melts/dissolves into some slowly droning organ and echoes. But then its gone its like we were at the club hanging with beautiful people when some unseen hand slipped a mysterious substance into our drink, upsetting the equilibrium. But just for a moment. It passes and the party goes on danceable buoyant melody, the electric light is shining directly on us. Or is that sunlight? Nah, ridiculous: its still night time. The Handshake starts off with an organ then dark piano notes before the nasal vocal comes in all John Lennon and the Plastic Ono Band cool. Hey, I just realized whats happened: someone spiked our drink, some psychedelic amphetamine thats just kicking in now. The music does sound a bit like XTC, or is that just the substance? Shouts of Weve got the handshake repeated over and over lead us further down a tunnel, to new depths or heights? The next track, Kids, begins with the over-manic sounds of a childrens playground, kids voices then Big. Fat. Saw-buzz Manga video game synth rhythms and huge stomping drum beats and hand claps like Goldfrapp but with bigger balls. The dance party continues, but the narcotic or hallucinogenic or whatever the hell it was they put in our drink is starting to definitely make things, um, weird. By the end of the Pink Floyd (or is it Flaming Lips?) fade/freak out of Of Moons, Birds, and Monsters were pretty sure that were in an altered state of consciousness. Side one ends with Pieces of What a laid-back acoustic guitar strum with warm quivering Angie-worthy vocals that wouldnt have sounded out of place on a 70s Stones album.
Make no mistake: this album has two distinct sides. As the record is turned over we notice that weve wandered away from the upscale shiny dance floor and the paparazzi. Were flailing and spinning to the beat under fluorescent lights in a warehouse space, surrounded by hippies and incense and projected light shows.
Side two opens with the sound of bubbles, the kind youd hear from a yellow submarine, for example. Time to Pretend erupts from the bubbles in a spray of ocean foam: a psychedelic diamond: upbeat and yes so sunny, with tongue-in-cheek lyrics sung in earnest about wanting to live fast and die young the rock n roll lifestyle with models as wives but being fated to pretend and work in an office. Its a brilliant pop song rolled up in layers of thick, gooey sound. Weekend Wars brings things down to a more sustainable level while maintaining the 60s vibe. Finely crafted instrumentation and shimmering production, balancing cold digital with warm analog sounds an organic machine. The Youth features dreamy reverb and echo over dripping organ tones that in turn give way to more overtly Floydian Umma-Gumminess as we (fittingly) enter the 4th Dimensional Transition. No, Im not making that song title up. Somehow, weve left the party and found our way back home. Sprawled on the bed, gazing at the hypnotic flicker of candles against wall tapestries, the song slowly fades away on a simple strummed guitar chord and minor-keyed ooohs. The bedside candle flickers and dies, leaving us to quiet contemplation in the dark.
It took two or three more listens to confirm what I just wrote. And each time was the same: at first I became annoyed and irritated with the sound of the beginning tracks, but ended up thoroughly transfixed, intrigued even, by the ride that followed. Somehow, even knowing where it was all going, it caught me as a pleasant surprise on each successive listen. Like most great albums, this one took its time to set its hooks in.
And then the unthinkable happened. A display in Targets of the MGMT CD currently being discussed: wanting to see the packaging, I took a look. And discovered that the songs were listed in a different order. A quick look at the track order on my iPod. Oh. My. God. The iPod tracks were simply in alphabetical order. Id been listening to the album out of sequence. The album I just described didnt really exist, except in my own mind or iPod.
Postscript:
Of course, Ive now listened to the album in its proper, intended hardcopy order. The album makes so much more sense now: it opens with the hit. Time to Pretend kicks out all the jams and grabs you with a perfect pop song, announces this albums intent to seduce with sunny acid pop. That song is still followed by Weekend Wars and The Youth. The middle of the album is the start and finish of my album: getting all dancy, clearing the head with Electric Feel and Kids like a nibble of parsley between courses. 4th Dimensional Transition and Pieces of What bring us back to the day-glo colors of 60s pop-a-delia. By comparison, Of Moons, Birds, and Monsters and The Handshake sound like pop songs, and the disk manages a gentle comedown with the alternately subdued and bouncy Future Reflections. The album makes so much more sense now. Gone are the moments of doubt and confusion. Everything, every sound flows logically.
The hardcopy album is also less intriguing, although I know its unfair to say so. Nonetheless, Ive saved a MGMT Alpha playlist on my iPod for Old Times sake. Heres to the Old Times! Or is it the New Times Im celebrating? What was once unthinkable is reality. Music is produced as binary code - to be cut, pasted, mashed, and shuffled to my individual whim, blurring the line between producer and consumer, and sometimes creating brilliance.
A review
What happened would have been unthinkable for most of my life. Im old enough to remember the Old Times, when albums were burned permanently into some plastic medium, like chiseling hieroglyphics into rock; whether they were magnetic squiggles on tape or bumps in vinyl grooves or whatever the fuck they do to the plastic on a CD, it was there as a physical unit in a set sequence. It was hardcopy, non-ephemeral.
Im telling you this because it helps to have things in context as you read the following:
My friend from New Jersey e-mailed me an excerpt from a review hed read of the album Oracular Spectacular by the band MGMT (Columbia Records, 2007). Id never heard of the band or album before, but the review intrigued me with its descriptions of a blend of psychedelic and indie-electro to a shiny, sonic gleam (allmusic.com). I believe there was also something there about sunny 60s and catchy pop. Imagining something like Brian Wilson channeled through XTC (or vice-versa, it doesnt matter), I e-mailed back to say that I found the description tasty (yes, Im a music geek who says geek-icky things like that). It turns out that my friend had also gone and downloaded the album as mp3 files from some Internet site. He offered to burn a copy for me (for Trial Use Only we wouldnt think of breaking any copyright laws). I received the disc in the mail, put it into the cars CD player, and
I wasnt very impressed by what I was hearing. It wasnt psychedelic. It wasnt particularly sunny this was cheesy 80s dancehall stuff, kind of catchy, but mediocre.
Then, 45 minutes later, Im going huh? because the album is over and Im not sure but I really think I dig what I just heard. A few hours later, I play the album through again, and the same thing happens. And then again. Heres what happened each of those times:
The song Electric Feel sounds like it was on MTV circa 1981. Casio-sounding keyboard tones with drum machine beats. Falsetto soul vocals. As I said before, its cheesy 80s dancehall stuff, the stuff of fog and cigarette smoke: shallow rich princesses with big hair and lots of gold jewelry. And cocaine habits and swirling colored lights slicing through darkness. Not even remotely psychedelic. Then Future Reflections appears poised to continue the dance fever, except after the upbeat intro it melts/dissolves into some slowly droning organ and echoes. But then its gone its like we were at the club hanging with beautiful people when some unseen hand slipped a mysterious substance into our drink, upsetting the equilibrium. But just for a moment. It passes and the party goes on danceable buoyant melody, the electric light is shining directly on us. Or is that sunlight? Nah, ridiculous: its still night time. The Handshake starts off with an organ then dark piano notes before the nasal vocal comes in all John Lennon and the Plastic Ono Band cool. Hey, I just realized whats happened: someone spiked our drink, some psychedelic amphetamine thats just kicking in now. The music does sound a bit like XTC, or is that just the substance? Shouts of Weve got the handshake repeated over and over lead us further down a tunnel, to new depths or heights? The next track, Kids, begins with the over-manic sounds of a childrens playground, kids voices then Big. Fat. Saw-buzz Manga video game synth rhythms and huge stomping drum beats and hand claps like Goldfrapp but with bigger balls. The dance party continues, but the narcotic or hallucinogenic or whatever the hell it was they put in our drink is starting to definitely make things, um, weird. By the end of the Pink Floyd (or is it Flaming Lips?) fade/freak out of Of Moons, Birds, and Monsters were pretty sure that were in an altered state of consciousness. Side one ends with Pieces of What a laid-back acoustic guitar strum with warm quivering Angie-worthy vocals that wouldnt have sounded out of place on a 70s Stones album.
Make no mistake: this album has two distinct sides. As the record is turned over we notice that weve wandered away from the upscale shiny dance floor and the paparazzi. Were flailing and spinning to the beat under fluorescent lights in a warehouse space, surrounded by hippies and incense and projected light shows.
Side two opens with the sound of bubbles, the kind youd hear from a yellow submarine, for example. Time to Pretend erupts from the bubbles in a spray of ocean foam: a psychedelic diamond: upbeat and yes so sunny, with tongue-in-cheek lyrics sung in earnest about wanting to live fast and die young the rock n roll lifestyle with models as wives but being fated to pretend and work in an office. Its a brilliant pop song rolled up in layers of thick, gooey sound. Weekend Wars brings things down to a more sustainable level while maintaining the 60s vibe. Finely crafted instrumentation and shimmering production, balancing cold digital with warm analog sounds an organic machine. The Youth features dreamy reverb and echo over dripping organ tones that in turn give way to more overtly Floydian Umma-Gumminess as we (fittingly) enter the 4th Dimensional Transition. No, Im not making that song title up. Somehow, weve left the party and found our way back home. Sprawled on the bed, gazing at the hypnotic flicker of candles against wall tapestries, the song slowly fades away on a simple strummed guitar chord and minor-keyed ooohs. The bedside candle flickers and dies, leaving us to quiet contemplation in the dark.
It took two or three more listens to confirm what I just wrote. And each time was the same: at first I became annoyed and irritated with the sound of the beginning tracks, but ended up thoroughly transfixed, intrigued even, by the ride that followed. Somehow, even knowing where it was all going, it caught me as a pleasant surprise on each successive listen. Like most great albums, this one took its time to set its hooks in.
And then the unthinkable happened. A display in Targets of the MGMT CD currently being discussed: wanting to see the packaging, I took a look. And discovered that the songs were listed in a different order. A quick look at the track order on my iPod. Oh. My. God. The iPod tracks were simply in alphabetical order. Id been listening to the album out of sequence. The album I just described didnt really exist, except in my own mind or iPod.
Postscript:
Of course, Ive now listened to the album in its proper, intended hardcopy order. The album makes so much more sense now: it opens with the hit. Time to Pretend kicks out all the jams and grabs you with a perfect pop song, announces this albums intent to seduce with sunny acid pop. That song is still followed by Weekend Wars and The Youth. The middle of the album is the start and finish of my album: getting all dancy, clearing the head with Electric Feel and Kids like a nibble of parsley between courses. 4th Dimensional Transition and Pieces of What bring us back to the day-glo colors of 60s pop-a-delia. By comparison, Of Moons, Birds, and Monsters and The Handshake sound like pop songs, and the disk manages a gentle comedown with the alternately subdued and bouncy Future Reflections. The album makes so much more sense now. Gone are the moments of doubt and confusion. Everything, every sound flows logically.
The hardcopy album is also less intriguing, although I know its unfair to say so. Nonetheless, Ive saved a MGMT Alpha playlist on my iPod for Old Times sake. Heres to the Old Times! Or is it the New Times Im celebrating? What was once unthinkable is reality. Music is produced as binary code - to be cut, pasted, mashed, and shuffled to my individual whim, blurring the line between producer and consumer, and sometimes creating brilliance.
Have a great week!!