This may be the most unlikely super-disco-champagne-party-fun-time album in history. It’s got all the groovy beats you’d want, a candy rainbow pallet of sound, and the vibes it gives off range from the ecstatically celebratory to the relaxed and sated. But beneath its glowing exterior—and here comes the “unlikely” part—there lurks a detached and analytical mind, a sensibility more akin to the great krautrock experimentalists than to the rajahs of the dance hall. So for every touch of Wilson Picket in this shimmering cocktail, you get a dash of Neu!. For every part of P-Funk, you get a shot of Lamonte Young. In other words, there’s no need to check your brain at the door.
In fact, you’re going to want to be sure you have your brain on hand, the better to enjoy the sonic splendor of (in no particular order): the dawn of the noise gods, a solo for industrial vacuum robot, a phosphorescent x-ray of a pop song featuring a proton beam manipulated with mirror and prism, the love call of the electric cicada, a duet for King Kong (on sitar) and Clara Rockmore, and a spaghetti-fied drum line that eats itself while slowly falling into a black hole. How’s that for unlikely?
There are times when listening to The Insect Explosion that you can forget that you’re hearing music at all. Concepts like melody and harmony fall away, and you enter into a place of pure rhythm and sound. It’s akin to standing close up to the tracks as a train speeds by, or walking past a tree full of birds. It’s a rarefied place, exciting and above all fun. And thanks to The Insect Explosion you can take it with you wherever you go.
Dave Keifer |
