Courtesy 0.static.buzzine.com
By Isaac Siegemund-Broka
Staff Writer
When a five-course meal is run through the blender, it just won’t taste the same.
Neo-psychedelic pop band Of Montreal’s new album “Paralytic Stalks,” is brimming with ideas, most of which aren’t half-bad, but front man Kevin Barnes’ attempt to use them all at once results in an incoherent hodgepodge of conflicting musical styles.
Originating in Athens, Georgia, Of Montreal’s 15-year musical career has produced 11 albums, ranging from ‘60s- and ‘50s-infused psychedelic twee to groovy electronic dance-rock.
On “Paralytic Stalks,” any such attempt at coherency was left by the wayside, resulting in a composite mess of incompatible genres. Of Montreal’s abandonment of structure and order leaves the album a gauche decomposition of sonic confusion.
Both the album as a whole and its individual songs lack any sort of coherency, feeling like the creation of a 5-year-old, ADD-ridden Freddie Mercury.
Stylistically, “Paralytic Stalks” has roots in psychedelic pop, indie rock, glam and dark ambient. Sporadic hints of funk and orchestral add even more flavor to this exhausting and overwhelming album.
To its credit, Of Montreal makes commendable use of diverse instrumentation on “Paralytic Stalks.” Occasional jauntsinto territories of lounge music or quasi-psychedelic funk pop bring zesty bits of flute, brass backing and bold percussive bursts to the album (most notably on “Dour Percentage”).
Of Montreal’s lyrics tend toward gloomy topics. “Paralytic Stalks” is no different. “Wintered Debts” features bright percussive interludes over which Barnes hollers, “wrapped in all this bitterness, so much bitterness / I’m so confused, what is the motion of this ego sickness?”
The lyrics also contain elements of Of Montreal’s sexually provocative philosophies, which are most commonly noted in Barnes’ unusual performance dynamics: he has performed naked, and in many concerts he pretends to have sex with a women donned in a pig costume.
These usually taboo subjects surface throughout the album; in “Malefic Dowery,” Barnes quietly sings “once more I turn to my crotch for council, and it won’t disappoint me.”
The album’s close takes an almost-laughable turn. “Exorcism Breeding Knife” comes straight from the Twilight Zone, and not in a good way. Its freaky ethereal combination of jarring strings and a lofty computerized choir is a puddle of uncomfortable, experimental goo.
Similarly, closing track “Authentic Pyrrhic Remission” starts off fairly normal but devolves into a pretentious swirl of distorted ambiance.
“Paralytic Stalks” is a little more than a chaotic assembly of Kevin Barnes’ newest musical schemes. The substance for a strong album was undoubtedly present, but it was tossed into a blender and pulverized into an unpalatable mess. “Paralytic Stalks” is available digitally and at music stores around the country.
