Heavy Vegetable
Frisbie

There are situations that reflect the gaze obliquely, structured in such a way that opposing approaches result in similar confusions. There are those who, attempting to describe some record—let's say this one—would immediately delve into the family pack of typographic dashes, and with overconfidence proceed to use them as lexical glue, churning out vomit-inducing inorganic masses like indieprog-postpunk. Others would attempt to convey their impressions through exemplification by comparison: it feels like those guys who hang out with those other guys over there. Once it’s easily understood that both choices are aesthetically and morally degrading, it only remains to be noted that—in one way or another—one must speak of something.

Heavy Vegetable are (were) Californians. This explains absolutely nothing, and I'm almost sure that if you had a stomach ache, you still have it. Should I continue? Are you still reading? What fools, my god. And the acid hasn't gone up completely yet. Founded by some guy, whose name you can easily look up on the internet, the band in question is notable for using odd time signatures rather nonchalantly or otherwise very difficult to follow (to the delight of those know-it-alls). This, to be clear, does not undermine the general sense of 'groove'—the latter term to be understood in its most morbid sense: I know you love jerking off to Polvo, you little deviants. On the ethical decay scale, we're just a hair above pedopornogastronomy, be warned.

In any case, it's not surprising that the guy was (is) obsessed with the great freaks of experimental music, weirdly integrated into a musical weltanschauung that owes some debt to punk. Of Punk, let's say, our friends sun-oranges-sand-surf-tornadoes have inherited, if not the genuine aesthetic attitude (which would probably have prevented them from knowing more than 4 chords each), surely the passion for short songs. Just as an example, the track "intro" is the ninth on the album. Before this, we have a rapid-fire barrage of tracks just under or just over a minute long. I don't mind this: once you've heard a verse, a bridge, and a chorus, what does it matter to hear them three more times? You’re not going to tell me you care about the lyrics. I don't believe it: you read the lyrics while listening to the records. Oh Lord, now it turns out you’re all females under sixteen. We’ll talk again when you're of legal age, okay?

There is, in fact, only one song that exceeds a minute and a half by more than a minute and a half, actually, by another two times a minute and a half. In short, the final track is a small concession to those who can't stand the musical equivalent of premature ejaculation. Stylistically, it must be said, it doesn’t deviate from the imprint marked by the rest of the album. Curious, stumbling rhythms, nicely dry double vocals and—for heaven's sake—happily free of that self-satisfied enthusiasm that makes me detest three-quarters of the singers on this damned planet. Then there are bass and guitar that fit into the compositional structure with admirable precision and further develop the rhythmic discourse, partially neglecting the melodic function (are there really people capable of taking a sentence like that seriously?).

In practice, they sound like Slint a bit more cheerful. Some critics claim that other critics claimed that there are, in Heavy Vegetable, similarities with other bands like Guided by Voices and Archers of Loaf. Now that you know more, do me the favor of sending me some money.

Anyway, at least you have to acknowledge that—in reviewing a record like this—nine out of ten would have written the word "indie" in the first three lines. And I didn’t, you see. Uhmmm. No swallowing, please.