•
Rating: They're back. No, perhaps it's not exactly them, but a small part of them has survived the melting under the sun of the Maudlin Of The Well and lives again in Kayo Dot.
The passion for weird and absurd names must not have left Toby Driver, the (pen)thinking mind behind Maudlin Of The Well and the (pen)thinking mind behind Kayo Dot, who also benefit from a prestigious deal with Tzadìk, the label of a certain John Zorn, sounds familiar, right?
The reasons for the breakup of what will probably go down in (my) history as the most important musical collective of the last twenty years (I'm talking about Maudlin Of The Well, not ABBA) are unknown. In reality, little Toby goes around claiming that Maudlin have simply changed their name; should we believe him? Maybe, many members are still here, the many-armed Sam Gutterman on drums, the moving Terran Olson on winds, the good Greg Massi on guitars, Jason Byron who, like his namesake, pours rivers of words over the ethereal and dreamy notes that emanate from this disc and many others. New companions have joined like Mia Matsumyia on violin and viola, and Forbes Graham on trombone.
The chemistry, however, remains the same as Maudlin, although the style has deeply changed. The "metal" and progressive excesses have progressively stepped aside to make room for expanded, warm textures with a strong post-rock stamp à la GYBE, with many classically derived instruments weaving in a little everywhere. The jazz influences are still very strong, both in the phrasing and the instruments, Olson's sax and clarinet always reign supreme in carving deep grooves into your soul. Toby Driver's vocals are EMO-tional, finally comfortable in offering us falsettos so dear to the emo scene, perhaps a bit out of place in Maudlin, just as incredible screaming cacophonies in the sporadic excursions into the collective madness that only Maudlin and Kayo Dot are probably capable of creating with such clarity.
Amazing "A Pitcher Of Summer", with an overwhelming psychedelic sweetness, delicate as a rose petal (wow, what original simile) and heavy as a boulder (hey, I had to think a little more for this one).
At this point, if in 2004, almost 5, you're still worshipping Tool, then you're a bunch of idiots.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
02 A Pitcher of Summer (05:47)
One morning, before the leaves began changing
I caught a piece of summer and poured it into a pitcher;
This I placed in the cellar on a shelf collecting dust .
Autumn, then winter, rose up from the sea, and my
Garden was a garden filled with unbroken snow.
No flower strained its face to the ice giants' whisper,
No life coloured the vision of a newborn Spring babe.
My cellar-water dripping into a pail
And I lifted my piece of summer
Like a piece of memory or a dream
Like these, caught on film
And carried it to the garden floes,
The wind turning drifting stars to madness.
Poured forth gracefully, this ctheric tincture
Lifts winter's coat-of-arms with coaxing aromas and electricity.
Used with vigilance, a Pitcher of Summer stirs a memory into swooning,
And bravely, the flowers of the past will stretch their limbs into the sky
While snow falls quietly all around.
05 The Antique (14:38)
Dust fills my Mouth with a Timeless Poltergeist Rapping
Lightly upon a Dusty Door;
It Locks the Days together
Yesterday
This Artefact wasn't rightly so.
Flanked by Shelves incorporating me into their Lonely Dream,
I search for Tremors lying Weeping
'Neath the Broken Tiled Floor
Weeping with a Broken Madness,
Weeping for the Day Before.
Tarnished Silver in the Cupboard soothes
The Fathoms of my Aching Silver Beard;
Like Shining Eyes scoured by
A Sour Creaking Gait,
Cataracts dim the
Eloquence that wore
The Shining Cloak of younger Pride,
And This was Long,
Long before their Careless Keeper died.
A Revenant spread its Foul Curse to Every Living Thing
With Stories trapp'd on Yellowed Pages
By Talismans of Poignant Lethargy.
Tales Twilit bear their Ruin'd Words
To this Ghoulish Scenery,
Slouching over Candlelight
Extinguished in another Century.
The Grandfather Clock once Told its Beads,
While Outside the Branches
Bowed their Windows slightly Out of Key.
And this Downstairs, where a
Forlorn Clock has long since Lost its Faith,
And a House's Stale Breath sighs like the
Whispers of a Wraith.
Spiders Decorate an Appearance
That stretches Gnarled Hands
Back into a Relinquished Parlour Game;
Wisps of Ghostly Languor hinting faintly of Perique
Ring the Ancyent Air and Fade,
Murmuring of Things Antique.
Loading comments slowly
