Sleepytime Gorilla Museum
Of Natural History

THE REVIEW

Forget about this album if you are proud to be human. In fact, these 59 minutes and more are a continuous demolition and destruction of what remains of human, ordinary, regular in you.

First, let's introduce the group, a tightrope formation (from Oakland) that revolves around two former members of Idiot Flesh, Nils Frykdahl and Dan Rathbun, and the talented Carla Kihlstedt. The trio has been accompanied, over its eight years, by a host of percussionists and drummers (almost always in pairs even on stage), among whom Moe! Staiano stands out.

It must be said that, if you thought you were used to crazy music, here you will have to think again: the crazy ones are the musicians themselves, known in the US for their extraordinary performances, more similar to avant-garde theatrical-musical shows than to concerts, constantly stuffed with the strangest make-up ever seen (even a bit too naive for my taste, gh) and with a notable inclination to create their own instruments, a prevalent element in our national Rathbun who, on stage, besides a classic bass, brings a number of self-made percussions in addition to a beastly instrument made with piano strings. If you don't see them, you wouldn't believe it (youtube is a faithful friend in this sense).

Now, describing the music of this bunch of crazy people is not even that difficult. It can be summarized in a simple sentence: nothing you have already heard. And nothing you will hear again, after them. But really more more more (quote). Their eclecticism is so vast – and ambitious – that it can be compared to that of maudlin of the Well. However, extraordinarily, our Californians manage to be even more unusual, to range into even vaster and more shapeless territories, where music has no name (neither metal, nor post-rock, nor hardcore, new wave, indie... nothing) and we poor human beings can only speak of avant-garde, or, better, of experimentation. Beyond rock, while still living within a somewhat rock soul. Where one goes from choral moments, soul reminiscences, tender falsettos (A Hymn to the Morning Star), and sudden rhythmic-guitar explosions of almost math-like imprint (the Donkey-Headed Adversary of Humanity), purely experimental compositional interlocks, up to tribal rhythms yet so irregular as to leave one petrified (the spectacular Phthisis). Dissonance and melody are paired in an outrageous and brazen way.

Sometimes the ultimate impression is that of witnessing an ancient and mysterious cult, something primordial that transcends the very idea of humanity. At other times, it's the theatrical impression that wins, a bizarre show up to the excess, a bizarreness that is extremized to the point of losing any term of comparison, entering a non-place of art where the final judgment is impossible: enlightened genius or buffoonery? Avant-garde or mess?

I leave the decision to you.