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Rating: Before burying rock under the heaps of deafening noise from the controversial masterpiece "Twin Infinitives," the two former lovers Neil and Jennifer dug deeper into the conversation started (by Hagerty alongside Jon Spencer) with Pussy Galore, in the mid-'80s: changing the face of the "old" blues and molding it according to the needs and ambitions of a generation eager to break down all types of barriers (conceptual and sonic). And while Pussy Galore pushed the accelerator towards a grotesque and uncompromising cacophony, the Royal Trux of this self-titled debut album, dated 1988, revealed a less dogmatic, more eclectic, more chromatic, and ultimately, more surreal approach.
Gone is the dark monolith of noise with which Pussy Galore declared their orthodoxy in the noise field: in its place, a retrieval of the most skeletal no-wave (Half Japanese above all) and perhaps (why not?) the pure amateurism of the legendary Shaggs sisters (the most anomalous group of the '60s).
Then there's the Captain. Often brought up where he has little involvement, Captain Beefheart (that of "Trout Mask Replica" and, in general, all tracks featuring the immense Jeff Cotton's guitar) is felt significantly in this album, much more than in "Twin Infinitives," where the lesson of the great noise-makers of previous decades is more decisive (and this could automatically clear "Trout Mask Replica" from "accusations" of noise-making). Also, compared to "Twin Infinitives," "Royal Trux" has a more "lo-fi" approach, with limited space granted to cut-and-paste and electronic manipulation ("Zero Dok", accumulation of blues-rock debris caressed by a distant breeze of violins; "Touch", a stunning homage to Varèse's "Déserts"). Another difference with "Twin Infinitives" lies in the rhythmic aspect: there were smudged rhythms on the indigestible jam of guitars and keyboards; here a disorderly use of polyrhythmic percussion (as in "Strawberry Soda" or "Gold Dust").
But beyond the flair of the supporting players, the brains of the band remain Hagerty. "Bad Blood" is entirely sustained by the absurd phrasing of his guitar, so brazen it rivals any Jad Fair: the result is one of the most irrational blues of all time, with a free flow much closer than one is willing to admit to the instinctive spirit that guided the drifters of the Delta. Hagerty is not only a brilliant improviser but also a conscious "organizer" of sound material. He demonstrates this in "Since I Bones", which progresses through continuous overlapping of cacophonic blocks, or in "Incineration", a real bin of blues-rock scraps, cut-off shouts, cartoonish fuzz, crazy whistles, and whatnot. Herrema, for her part, besides shouting helplessly, participates in the massacre with her keyboards: the autistic piano of "Set Up" and the screeching organ of "Walking Machine".
There is no shortage of a certain ironic vein, as in "Jesse James", their "Veteran Day Poppies," an irreverent satire of the American Dream, complete with a march and off-tempo flute. And if "Esso Dame" brings back the dull cadence of Pussy Galore, "Bits and Spurs" is a breath of fresh air: a ballad, finally, where the slender melody is, however, disturbed by every type of interference and interrupted by continuous pauses and reconsiderations.
Despite the apparent carelessness of these tracks, the operation of rebuilding the blues is much more scholarly and refined than it appears. "Hashish" is a carefree jam in perpetual mutation, free from any construct, from any imposition, like the best abstract paintings of the Magic Band; in "Sanction Smith", instead, it is the vocal section that goes out of line, reinventing the call'n'response: these are tracks that redefine the concept of rhythm, harmony, structure, evolution of the piece. And in the treacherous swamp of "Hawkin Around", a deformed version of one of the "institutions" of devil's music appears: the slide-guitar.
But the most significant episode is probably "Andersonville" which, with its guitar reverberations and somnambulistic singing, refers to two Masters of avant-rock: Mayo Thompson and David Thomas. Here, the complete detachment between the rhythmic and harmonic sections is achieved, the total decomposition of the sound building into its individual bricks, practically musical cubism: it's as if Royal Trux guides us through a fascinating inspection of rock music, allowing us to admire it from the most unprecedented perspectives and thus revealing the aspects that, from the '50s to today, have always remained hidden from our ears.
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