Rodan
Rusty

"Words Become Fake Vehicles" (Le parole diventano falsi veicoli)

Rodan is a band from Louisville, Kentucky, a city from which some of the most interesting bands of the '90s emerged. They recorded only one studio album before disbanding: Rusty, in 1994, produced by Bob Weston, former bassist in Steve Albini's Shellac; much of the credit for the album's monolithic sound is his. It's worth noting that their ideas were previously released on a cassette demo, Aviary (1993), which already contained very rough versions of the tracks presented here.

What astonishes about this album is its versatility. It is impossible to categorize Rodan's musical style. Punk, Post-Punk, Metal, Post-Rock: none of these labels can be definitively associated with what is offered. To simplify, one could imagine a target composed of many circles, each circle representing a musical style, from classical to metal, from jazz to punk. Many albums can be considered the arrow that impacts the target and settles into a musical genre, at the border between several. Rusty is the whole target.

As I said, it's impossible to define Rodan's aesthetic by trying to catalog their tracks into various musical styles, but one can try to find an ideological thread. The rock opera that could most realistically approach Rusty is Spiderland (1990) by Slint, which can sometimes be felt. In fact, Slint's teachings were assimilated by Rodan, who do not allow any barrier to contain the sweet arpeggios and avalanches of distorted notes that together form the two faces of this album. What most differentiates these two works is not so much the overwhelming presence of monolithic sounds on Rusty, but its unpredictability. If Spiderland is a surgical analysis of the most disturbing and soft aspects of the human soul, Rusty is the description a madman might give of his mental state just before falling into the abyss of madness. I point to this moment because, by listening to the album several times, one realizes how well-defined the seemingly uncontrolled evolution of each track actually is: thus, it is not pure improvisation based on emotions, as it might appear at first listen, but rather a tragic study of the human mind. What prevents me from considering Rusty as a true masterpiece is not any flaw of its own, but the fact that there's an album like Spiderland, whose cold perfection tries to block the rage of the songs. On Rusty, nothing stops that sentiment.

The album deals with topics related to the conflict between instinct and reason. The lyrics narrate the inner world of people forced to hide their being because the outside world does not allow them to be themselves. All the characters in this city/asylum, too repressed to change their situation, explode within themselves and lapse into schizophrenia. The screams that accompany the unfolding of the tracks are not of liberation, but of frustration. Nothing changes outside, everything that is happening is inside the minds of these madmen.

The album opens with Bible Silver Corner, which when taken individually might seem like a sweet and innocuous relaxing track, so much so that closing one's eyes one might almost feel lulled by the notes of the guitars, bass, piano, and light strings that in the background offer a counterpoint and draw a soft mantle on which the notes can freely arrange themselves (the strings are played by some members of Rachel's, a band which included Jason B. Noble). The analysis to do in my opinion is much more complicated. As in Ananas Symphonie of 1973, where Kraftwerk through celestial notes and light rhythms drew the portrait of a world on the brink of complete destruction, Rodan photograph from various points of view a deserted city where a bomb is ready to explode at any moment. The track ends abruptly, leaving us alone with our ruminations on its meaning, which I will discuss later.

Shiner strikes almost like a club to the head. Monolithic post-hardcore riffs and desperate voices hit without any hesitation and batter the listener to exhaustion. The singers alternate moments when the words almost manage to compose a coherent discourse to furious screams, accompanied by the band which, like few others, manages to give the idea of violence and chaos through a few notes. The lyrics contain an introductory phrase to the track: "A short song concerns itself with wanting to destroy the sun (the proverbial enemy)". As mentioned later, Shiner (literally "the one who makes shine") signifies rebellion against the external world, where a sun shines that allows "empty bodies" to possess an identity thanks to their outward appearance; this evidently renders the necessity these bodies might have to shine with their own light redundant. Everyone should find within themselves the strength to shine on their own, not thanks to others.

The Everyday World of Bodies is the longest track on the album, almost twelve minutes. The most difficult thing about discussing this track is trying to catalog it in one or more known musical styles: despite the evident presence of dark sounds, it cannot be cataloged as Dark; despite the presence of distorted guitars, it cannot be considered a Punk or Metal track. No solution of continuity is offered, everything hovers between terrible screams of pain and despair, interrupted by whispered but often indecipherable reflections because they are submerged by distorted sounds. It's worth noting how on a microscopic scale the track appears as a shapeless being in continuous evolution, while on a macroscopic scale it appears flat, as if absolutely nothing happens throughout all 12 minutes. You do not notice how the drum pattern slowly changes, you never remember the various vocal interventions. In reality, the flow of consciousness of a madman is represented, who screams phrases to the "everyday world of bodies", empty bodies among which one cannot stand out simply because there is no way to emerge in total indifference. Each shouted intervention of the singer is preceded by careful personal analyses: among the most interesting phrases I recall "waitin' for something better: everything changes", repeated softly on multiple occasions. This track is a standalone rock opera, a psychological masterpiece of dissonances and despair. An interesting note: the nickname of the album's producer is "Rusty", rusted. In fact, the name of Rodan's album has nothing to do with the producer, since on this track the phrase "It's rusted" is shouted in relation to a rusted train passing through a city, a metaphor to give the idea of how everything changes, both that which comes from outside (the train) and our everyday life (the city). Rather, it was this album that gave Bob Weston this nickname.

Jungle Jim opens with the soft and desperate voice of Tara Jane O'Neil, but immediately delves into disjointed and angry words, shouted at someone who seems unable to hear them. We notice how this compositional solution of avalanches of noise interspersed with thoughts expressed with a melodic voice, almost sweet in certain moments is always proposed. What surprises me most is noticing how, despite the constancy of the angry interludes, the phases in which the singer solfeges present a crescendo of counterpoints from the band members, who intervene more and more heavily during the accompaniment phases. Nothing can remedy the singer's anger and any desperate reflection always leads her back to the darkest despair, until at the end of the track you no longer realize if there is still a difference between reflection and anger.

Gauge welcomes us with the classic start of a Post-Rock song. The voices mix accompanied by a sad chant. As if the tunnel into which we have fallen so far was not enough, now Rodan begins to dig: the tragedy of the notes is vibrant. Note how the register of the track is not at all based on the accompaniment of the singers: it seems rather that the instrumental base lives on its own. What is most frightening is the compositional complexity of such a track: nothing is left to chance, every instrument acts surgically and imperceptibly, continuously varying the form of the track. Chilling is the scream towards the end of the track "nothing was worng, gauge! (nothing was wrong, measure it!).

The album concludes with Tooth Fairy Retribution Manifesto. The track's title means "the retribution proclamation (meant as rebellion and revenge) of the tooth fairy". Tara Jane O'Neil portrays the tooth fairy who, accompanied by a heavy Slow-Core, sings a sweet and rhythmic lullaby. The imperceptible crescendo of the track brings the rage within those who have always given (the fairy) without ever receiving anything in return. It is almost frightening at mid-track the change of register that occurs in the piece: the very sweet arpeggio crumbles in the face of a Metal riff, the sweet and rhythmic voice transforms and becomes contemptuous and accusatory: the fairy has rebelled. The story represented is a metaphor for the futility of doing good, since no one will ever repay us for what we freely give. The unfolding of the track could perfectly describe the concept of "the straw that breaks the camel's back". And it all ends with a terrible phrase: "...then at dawn I'd be rich with pennies and the blood left behind!".

Now that the album is over, we can talk about the cover. It may seem strange to analyze only now the first thing one would have seen, but in my opinion, to understand this image, it is necessary to have listened to the album. All the tracks are characterized by moments of hesitation and reflection accompanied by terrible vocal and sound outbursts; the stories almost theatrically narrated the moods of repressed people on the verge of a nervous breakdown. On the cover, a butterfly is seen resting on wires inside a glass jar. Thinking carefully about the proposed duality between calm and storm, due to the alienation imposed on us by living in this society, one can understand what this cover is meant to signify: the butterfly symbolizes our imagination, the container our outward appearance. Our imagination is trapped inside reality, unable to escape. We cannot stand out from the "everyday world of bodies". Our bodies are like empty because what remains inside them is a butterfly that cannot fly.

Maybe only now it is right to try to give meaning to Bible Silver Corner, the only instrumental piece, drawing inspiration from the phrase reported among the lyrics used to introduce the track: "Maybe if there were words, they'd be: ...(erased words)? I don't know"
If ever there were words, they would be: ...(erased words)? I don’t know.
The first track seems like the presentation of the album cover; in retrospect, there are no words to describe the butterfly trapped inside the glass jar, the butterfly that cannot take flight and reveal itself to the eyes of others. This track is like the blank page with which only Mallarmè thinks he can express reality.