By: Nat Lyon
Pere Ubu: website facebook
Released on September 8, 2014 via Fire Records
Will you feed the monkey?
Pere Ubu was post-punk before punk existed. When you are ahead of the curve, it’s hard for others to categorize what you’re doing. But this has never been Pere Ubu’s primary motive. Their music has been consistently innovative, probably due to the fact that it is genuine. Over the past four-decades Pere Ubu has been mis-slotted, mis-characterized, and some times just gone ignored. But at the same time, they’ve been producing music on the vanguard – and contributed to the evolution of a myriad of sub-genres and bands that are probably on your current playlist.
1978- and I was sitting in a dark apartment with my friend Norman, a music student. We were really high. He pulled out a brand new album by “this band from Cleveland,” and dropped the needle on Non-alignment Pact. Two little, fertile, minds were instantly blown. The Maoist-inspired cover art, literary lyricism, and the experimental sonics were a symbolic package that hit all the right spots. I started feeling a little nervous. Because this was fucking edgy and I was super stoned. I liked that. It made me think about what I was hearing.
2014- the lights are now on, I don’t know whatever happened to Norman, and Carnival of Souls has the same newness and visceral impact as The Modern Dance.
Part garage punk, part techno, and part beat poetry. Dark and funny. Mid-west approximated surf rock blended with Dada experimentalism. Brilliant and terrifying. These have been the recurring attributes of almost every one of the 18 studio album releases from Pere Ubu over the span of 36 years. In some circles that qualifies as a legacy. In many ways, Pere Ubu continue to draw an imaginary roadmap that many others have tried to follow.
Carnival of Souls is part of a cycle that began with the 2013 release Lady from Shanghai. It’s also the strongest and most impactful album they’ve produced since their first groundbreaking LP in 1978. But that’s just my opinion.
Mr David Thomas, the person that many people consider Mr Pere Ubu, has been working with a small core of musicians over the last 30+ years. His lyrical writing, composition, and presentation are bravely artful- and he has been blessed in finding like-minded musical collaborators in Keith Moliné (guitar),? Robert Wheeler (EML Electrocomp 101, Theremin, iPad), ?Gagarin (digital electronica), ?Darryl Boon (clarinet), ?Michele Temple (bass guitar), and ?Steve Mehlman (drums, percussion, Roland Drum Pad, backing vocals). This list comprises the group that performed on Carnival of Souls. Garage punk, meets electronica, meets chamber orchestra, meets free jazz. The album and the vibe have a pulse and a voice that are vividly cinematic. This is an organically derived album created by a group of highly imaginative and skilled musicians, with Mr Thomas at the center making sure everything keeps spinning and the moon keeps rising on schedule.
The “how” of how Carnival of Souls came to be is complex, yet totally Pere Ubu. Mr Thomas, et. al., composed and recorded a score for the film “Carnival of Souls” as part of the London East End Film Festival in July 2013. This project coincided with the tour to support the Lady from Shanghai release. Eventually the two merged, and ideas developed during the Carnival of Souls film score work became the source for improvised jams during the tour. Then the improvised jams became the source material for this current album release. It was an iterative and evolutionary process that in this case, took place in Croatia, Ireland, and Ohio during tour gaps and found moments.
Pere Ubu seem to have always been in this iterative mode of operation. That’s probably why they’ve always been out front. How Carnival of Souls came to be is the product of a process that requires decades to develop the maturity that allows a group of musicians to believe in, and craft, a sound that almost everyone agrees is influential. This is one of the truly rare bands that create music as an art-form. And they totally own their shit (more simply put).
Many bands with similar aspirations have crashed and burned because they lacked basic shared principles, and the time required for the vision to achieve a state of symbiosis with the sound.
Carnival of Souls was released in two versions CD and vinyl. The vinyl edition includes 5 one-minute tracks, referred to as the “Strychnine Interludes.” These interstitial pieces were constructed by Keith Moliné based on each of the five guitar notes that open the song “Road to Utah.” While not provided to me in the review kit- I so fucking want to hear them. The CD version includes the 12-minute long closing track “Brother Ray” which is not on the vinyl version. “Brother Ray” seems to turn the entire album into a sprawling epic. A clichéd term that I am loath to use. But it’s true. But we’ll get to that later. (Note to editor: please do not run anything I write with the term “sprawling epic” for the remainder of 2014. I’ll understand.)
The album opener, “Golden Surf II,” shows that even after nearly 40 years, Mr Thomas and his collaborators can sonically punch you in the face. This song is a thundering drone, starting with a garage punk thrashing that was once known as the unmistakable underground sound of Cleveland- only now it’s gone global. Textures provided by Keith Moliné and Michele Temple, and an electronic aura painted by Robert Wheeler and Gagarin, are both anchored and driven by Steve Mehlman’s percussion. The song steamrolls (and will sound vaguely familiar to fans of Lower Dens or Mission of Burma). Golden Surf II is that machine you see on the highway, digging up asphalt at one end, crushing it up, and spitting it out the back where it becomes fresh pavement. Pere Ubu has that rare ability to combine graceful sonic curves and noise, come to abrupt stops, and artfully spit out miles of new road. Above the beautiful sonic roar of “Golden Surf II,” the emotive Mr Thomas does not mince words. He shouts and whispers. Then shouts. Then shakes his fist. Simple lines carry incredible weight:
“There ought to be a plan tonight. A plan that involves speed, light, and you. By my side.”
That’s probably one of the best lines I’ve heard all year.
The vocals are driven with an urgency that’s trying to keep up with the music, which is trying to keep up with Mr Thomas’s quiet sage-rage. The crashing finale is carried by the chant, “It’s time to go,” even though this is just the opening track. The bus has left the station. And we’re going for a ride. Hang on. And watch this:
video for “Golden Surf II”:
“Drag The River,” showcases the band’s (and composer’s) ability to overlap rhythms- demonstrated by Mehlman’s complex and beautifully precise drumming, as he seems to accompany each band member as they play their own version of the song. Time signatures and textures change throughout the song more times than you can count, but done in such an artful way that it flows before coming to an abrupt ending- and the perfect introduction to the following track, “Visions of the Moon.”
“Visions of the Moon” falls in a space that might be described as a psychedelic ballad. The mournful clarinet, played by Darryl Boon, matches the isolation in the narrative constructed by Mr Thomas, who repeats, “I live on the moon. I live in a box on the moon. My friends watch me from far below.” The atmospherics of the song, provided by an organ and electronics are repeatedly stabbed by Moliné’s guitar. There’s a lot of interference in the space between here and the moon. Some times the signal gets jagged. “Visions of the Moon” is a beautifully flawed song and one of the highlights of the album.
The noise/electronic foundation of Carnival of Souls would have been considered a challenging listen 40 years ago- and thankfully that remains true today, in the best possible way. The song Dr Faustus uses poetry, electronics, feedback, and the sound of jingling/jangling coins to create a sonic ecosystem that fits the lyrics perfectly. Dr Faustus is an extremely well composed piece that might be a good entry point for people that usually shy away from anything labeled “experimental.” Because it’s beautiful. It’s like David Thomas is sitting in the seat next to Jack Kerouac and they’re passing notes back and forth.
“Bus Station” is another touchstone to Pere Ubu’s Midwest groove/garage rock DNA. This song about a bus station that has all of the grit you would expect to find between the cracks of the seat on a Greyhound. In many ways, this is the most “accessible” “rock” song on the album. The beat and the groove are solid and bass-heavy. The snare drum snaps. The guitar riffs wildly. Mr Thomas rocks. Hard. The song abruptly fades into an ambient electronic wash with 90 seconds to go. Then some one pulls the cord and you get another punch in the face. They can do that.
They are Pere Ubu. And you are not.
The ominous opening guitar chords to “Road to Utah” provide an homage to 1950’s film noir soundtracks. It might sound hard to believe, but in many ways, Pere Ubu picks at the strata of American rock history, and renders it back out as an interpretation that matches the time we are currently living in. There are references and name checks to classic musicians like ? and the Mysterians, Leadbelly, The Weavers, and The Doors. But in the Ubu-world these influences are blended with a fluid clarinet and a wired iPad, a distorted, blues riff, a deceptively primitive drum beat, and beat poetry. “Road to Utah” has all of these and more. It’s a history lesson, a science experiment, and an art project. If that clarinet hits the right part of your brain- you’re a scholar. You don’t have to be a music geek to appreciate the connections to these disparate reference points- but they’re there.
The down-tempo blues theme continues in the song “Carnival.” The electronics create creepy circus-scape. Haunting monkey sounds pan around. Stray chords are hit and sustained. A perverted roller rink organ paces the background, and David Thomas fights a battle of wills with his internal simian symbiont like a Pentacostal preacher. During the course of this review, I listened to Carnival of Souls approximately 100 times- and this is the song that made me grit my teeth and get a little anxious. But I never hit the fast forward button. Not once.
“Irene,” similar in dynamic to Visions of the Moon, is a downtempo ballad and a nod to an American folk standard (that is not a typo). A repeating guitar melody interplays with the clarinet. The percussion is sparse, but highly effective. Vinyl hiss provides a veil draped over past memories. The stage is set for the narrator to put a magic spell on a lover. “Irene” is the most minimal track on the album, but also the most full. Each instrument is heard clearly, with the musicians all supporting one another towards a singular purpose. The result is a beautiful song that is both tastefully arranged and perfectly performed. David Thomas as the sentimental, yet mournful crooner.
The closer to the CD version of Carnival of Souls is “Brother Ray.” By this point- you are ready for “Brother Ray.” Or you had better be. The bus is leaving the desert and heading to an unknown destination- but it is going some where. I know two solo artists that have done national tours using public buses. From the stories they’ve shared with me- “Brother Ray” is the perfect audio version of the freak show that is the American public transportation system. I hope that I never have to sit next to some one like Brother Ray for 14 hours. Oddly, I have probably listened to 14 hours of Brother Ray. As at least one other reviewer has hinted, “Brother Ray” is the soundtrack to the 21st-century version of The Grapes of Wrath.
“Brother Ray” excavates another strata of Americana. The swampy blues vibe references folk songs about John Henry racing a steam drill, The Doors, and Velvet Underground.
“The stars are coming all undone. The Greyhound’s leaving and he’s got to go. And he hangs up. Just like that.”
This is classic American dust-bowl imagery. A scene that could have come from the 1940’s or yesterday. Lost souls are nothing new. They’ve always inhabited music, the melancholy at the edge. The slow guitar line, heavy on the flanger and feedback- playing off against a meandering bass and pulled back drums are slow jam psychedelia. If the blues sounded like this. I would like the blues. No, I will never like the blues- but this one hit me.
The end of “Brother Ray” fades to feedback, ambient studio sounds, and a beatnik ramble about receiving a postcard from Brother Ray depicting an imagined place called Soda Mountain (there’s one in California and one in Oregon). Soda Mountain is place far away. A place that might an imagined refuge. Or a state of nirvana. A place as distant as the moon.
“People are strange on Soda Mountain. Stars change on Soda Mountain.”
Shoveling coal with a broken back, distant imaginary peaks, vague references to a Jim Morrison line, the ability to cast magic spells, buses that drive all night, and a band that could wreck a train are all components of “Brother Ray” and the myths that comprise the foundation of American culture. But they’re also symbols of universal alienation and the desperate need humans have to overcome adversity and mental fatigue. After nearly 40 years Pere Ubu are still connecting the dots that describe the human condition- while discovering some new combinations along the way. In the process of wrecking old idealized concepts, Pere Ubu have also plowed the ground and planted the seeds for bands like Slint, Public Image LTD, Devo, Lower Dens, Mission of Burma, and countless others.
Carnival of Souls is anthropology-rock: Life wants to punch you in the face- and every day you wake up and take the punch. Despair and hope co-exist, just like they do on the front page of every daily newspaper. On Carnival of Souls David Thomas and Pere Ubu are physically, musically, and literally swinging. Don’t be distracted by the abstractions. Pere Ubu is a very tight band, and David Thomas is a brilliant composer and clever lyricist.
Carnival of Souls is one of the best albums of 2014.
