Music Review: Octahedron by The Mars Volta

Perhaps more than any other group this decade, The Mars Volta have effectively polarized the entire community of alternative music fans. There really is no middle ground when discussing them. Those that harbor an unhealthy infatuation with the darlings of prog rock gaze across the great divide at others who lambaste Omar Rodriguez-Lopez and Cedric Bixler-Zavala for their self-indulgent paeans to chaotic noise. Don’t believe me? The band’s last two efforts (Amputechture and The Bedlam in Goliath) have both debuted in the top ten on the Billboard 200 despite being widely panned by critics.

But The Mars Volta’s fifth studio album may serve to considerably narrow the gap between the fans and detractors because the band has created their most accessible record to date. It seems like ages ago when we were listening to all of that hokum about a haunted Ouija board and its influence on The Bedlam in Goliath. Well, even though that was in January of last year, it may just as well have been a long time ago considering the stark difference in sound on The Bedlam and Octahedron.

Rodriguez-Lopez, who writes and arranges an overwhelming majority of the band’s material, has called Octahedron The Mars Volta’s acoustic album. Although that’s not entirely true, Octahedron’s eight tracks do offer more of a stripped-down sound than anything found on preceding albums. To be sure, plenty of cacophony still exists on the record, but the sound is a lot less busy and a lot less complex. What does that mean? Well, for instance, if you enjoyed the saxophone, clarinet, and flute fills found on other Mars Volta records, you’ll be saddened to learn that Adrian Terrazas is nowhere to be found on Octahedron. His absence is quite noticeable if you’re a fan of Amputechture or The Bedlam.

Octahedron opens with the elegiac “Since We’ve Been Wrong,” which finds Bixler-Zavala singing somberly over nothing more than a plucked acoustic guitar. An electric guitar cries mournfully over the chorus, but Thomas Pridgen’s powerful drumming is completely absent for over five minutes. It’s bare bones. Nothing else on Octahedron sounds quite as sad and naked as the opener, but it most definitely serves as a statement regarding the different sound that exists on the album.

“Teflon” ventures back into familiar territory for the band. It joins “Cotopaxi” and “Desperate Graves” as the album’s rockers, with Bixler-Zavala wailing over a canvas of distorted guitars and Pridgen’s bombastic percussion. “Luciforms,”—which closes the out the album—would also mesh well with previous Volta albums, save for the elongated intro that sounds something like Pink Floyd blending with Mechanical Animals-era Marilyn Manson. But though there’s a semblance of the band’s traditional sound, it’s a lot leaner. Clocking in at 50 minutes, Rodriguez-Lopez has discarded the interminable guitar solos and unnecessarily long segments of ambient noise to craft a polished piece of music that flows smoothly from start to finish.

“With Twilight as My Guide” is Octahedron’s standout track by a large margin. An acoustic guitar meanders over a hauntingly ethereal background as Bixler-Zavala offers up a beautifully fragile tale of isolation and loneliness. It won’t find its way onto popular radio, but it’s easily one of the most rewarding listening experiences you’ll have with this band.

Those who’ve laughed at the absurdity of Bixler-Zavala’s lyrics in the past won’t find anything different on Octahedron. He’s just as cryptic as ever, although there are a few moments of lyrical lucidity that stand out among his absurd and arcane language. In “With Twilight as My Guide,” Bixler-Zavala sings that “my devil makes me dream like no other mortal dreams.” It may be the simplest and most profound thing he’ll ever write. For the most part, though, attempting to understand TMV’s esoterica is a fruitless endeavor. Toss the liner notes aside and enjoy the musicianship.

If a newbie wanted to give The Mars Volta a spin, one would be hard pressed to recommend any of the band’s other work over Octahedron. That’s not to say that there’s nothing worthwhile in the rest of their extensive catalog, but this newest album would definitely be the most palatable for the uninitiated. Conversely, Octahedron is tremendously enjoyable for dedicated fans despite the slight change in direction. It’s markedly different than the band’s magnum opus Frances the Mute, but in several ways it may be the superior record.

Thanks for reading! Happy listening! Here are some of the new tracks (thanks to YouTube):

• "With Twilight as My Guide"
• "Teflon"
• "Desperate Graves"

Fenway Park - 05.31.09

Last night, I witnessed Phishtory. That's right: that's a portmanteau of Phish and history.

The fearsome foursome from Burlington, Vermont, played a monumental show at Fenway Park in Boston. And while it wasn't the setlist I was hoping for, I still had a decent time. I survived the lengthy trip from Hampden, Maine, the subsequent encounters with the folk who seemed more into whippits than the music, and the small dose of cold rain that directly preceded the show.

A quick plug for the wonders of mass transit: I drove from my current home in Hampden to Portland (roughly 128 miles) so I could take a ride on Amtrak's "Downeaster," which runs a service to Boston. It was great, and being on a train made me feel as though I were back in Europe, where I lived for four months and where train travel is the norm. It'd actually be greater if they extended their service deeper into Maine so that I could further reduce my carbon footprint.

Anyhow, I arrived in Boston a few hours beforehand and wandered the area around Fenway. Being my first time at a Phish show, the wooks (those are the stereotypical Phish fans) had a chance to make a good first impression on me. They failed. My god, I've never seen so much huffing in my life. I understand the drug culture that surrounds the band (even though recreational users would do well to recognize the fact that Trey Anastasio is two-and-a-half years sober), but I fail to understand the whole whippits craze. The kids fill up balloons with nitrous oxide and huff on 'em like there's no tomorrow. I'm sure there's some euphoria to it, otherwise it wouldn't be done by so many. Oh, well. Different strokes for different folks. But I'm pretty sure including huffing among your hobbies automatically qualifies you as a veritable waste-oid.

On to the show: My brother and I had decent seats. We sat in the stands on the third base side. Not close to the stage in centerfield, but not terribly far either. After a brief wash of rain, the guys came out onto the field via the Red Sox dugout and delivered the Star Spangled Banner a capella--just like we were at a real life baseball game!

They then disappeared for five minutes so they could make their way through Fenway's catacombs and end up on the stage in the outfield. On account of the occasion, I was guessing that they'd break out a "You Enjoy Myself" or something similarly grandiose. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little let down when they opened with "Sample in a Jar." It's an okay tune, I'll admit. Not one of my favorites, but I know that others appreciate it. Mercifully, it was short, as Samples tend to be. They won me back over by following with "The Moma Dance." Then it was on to the fan favorite and rocker "Chalk Dust Torture." And then, the first highlight of the evening: they dropped the new "Ocelot" on us. I wasn't looking forward to the new stuff they would be playing, and I wanted them to get it out of the way. However, this new tune surprised me in a good way. The bouncing rhythm was awesomely infectious, and I became an instant fan. I hope they explore its jamming opportunities throughout the summer.

The first set concluded with several rockers that were abbreviated in length for the most part. A decent "Stash" and the rarity "Destiny Unbound" led to a roaring "Character Zero" to close. As a Phish fan, it's hard to be dissatisfied with the classic picks of the first set, but I had been hoping for more of my favorites. I would have preferred a set-closing "Run Like an Antelope" to "Character Zero," and I would've rather heard an "AC/DC Bag," "Split Open and Melt," or a "Punch You in the Eye" mixed in there somewhere. And there were no segues in the first hour and a half, something I really enjoy listening to in old Phish recordings ("Mike's Song" > "Old Home Place" from the Island Tour, or "Moma Dance" > "Free" from June 2004, anybody?). The visual presentation of the first set was also hindered by the daylight. Because of the 6:45ish start time, Chris Kuroda's one-of-a-kind light show couldn't be appreciated.

Things were different in the second set though. The sky was dark, the air was getting cooler, and dudes were ready to trade in a lengthier setlist for longer jams. Part II began with a great "Tweezer" that evolved into a beautiful and soaring piece of music. And finally, we had a segue, although I was at a loss as to what it was. All I knew was that it sounded new and it sounded good. I learned later on that it indeed was the new "Light." Lemme say that that rendition made me an instant fan as well. So the guys were two for two with the new stuff.

The segue was followed by a pair of pleasing jam vehicles. "Bathtub Gin" and "David Bowie" energized the crowd further before they introduced new song #3: Trey's magnum opus "Time Turns Elastic." I definitely would've appreciated this more if I had downloaded the studio version which was released in the days prior to the show. Going in, I knew nothing of the song, save for part of the chorus ("in and out of focus/time turns elastic"). The crowd seemed to have a hard time getting into it as well, but I would guess that largely it was due to them trying to figure it out as I was. Certainly, the piece sounds very promising, especially since it has several prog rock elements hearkening back to their Junta days. But the 17-minute length definitely left the crowd starving for something familiar once it had concluded. And they didn't fail to please, delivering a solid jam on "Free," followed by another bust-out: "The Ballad of Curtis Lowe," which apparently hadn't been played in 16 years. And, of course, no legendary show would've been complete without "You Enjoy Myself" ("finally!" I shouted to my brother. It had been my prediction for opener, but I settled with it as closer). Halfway through, I sadly had to start heading toward the exit so that I would be able to get out hassle-free and not miss my train from North Station. I did, however, get to see Mike Gordon's tremendous bass solo that led into the vocal jam. Epic.

In short, Set Two trumped the First by a large margin, although I would have gladly traded that Bowie for a "Harry Hood."

Complaints aside, my first time seeing the band live was pretty good. It's actually quite cool that I've finally seen them after years of collecting live shows that I could only wish I had attended. As long as they keep the touring up in years to come, I'm sure I'll see them again. And hell, maybe I'll write 'em in advance to make sure I get a "Harry Hood" or a "Split Open and Melt."

2008 Music Picks 'n Pans: The Bedlam in Goliath

To me, The Mars Volta are like Santa Claus, insofar as I look forward to any of their new releases with as much anticipation as a five-year-old on Christmas Eve. Such was the case in the months leading up to January 2008’s release of The Bedlam in Goliath. I had been aching to ingest as much TMV as I could after Amputechture completely rearranged my musical sensibilities and tastes in the fall of 2006, and the seemingly interminable wait for the next album was probably akin to what a junkie experiences when he or she can’t get a fix.

As the fall of 2007 passed, a date was finally set for The Bedlam’s release and a tantalizing snippet of what was to follow was offered to fans when “Wax Simulacra” hit the internet. It was still painful, though, because the song clocked in at just under three minutes. At the three minute mark in most TMV tracks, things are just getting good. Nevertheless, “Wax Simulacra” fed my addiction for a short while.

When I finally got my hands on the whole album, I nearly wept tears of joy. Well, not really, but I hope you can appreciate how eager I was to get into a proper listening environment (dark room, headphones) and just gorge. Once I hit the second half of the opener “Aberinkula,” I knew I was in for a treat.

Yes, I definitely enjoyed TBIG. I can’t see how you wouldn’t if you were already accustomed to their complex sound. But how does it compare with the rest of their catalog?

TBIG, like two of its predecessors De-Loused in the Comatorium and Frances the Mute, is purportedly a concept album. I’ll take Cedric Bixler-Zavala and Omar Rodriguez-Lopez, the creative forces behind TMV, at their word, but it’s hard to make much of Bixler-Zavala’s cryptic and often nonsensical lyrics. Oddly enough, I thought Amputechture (the album they claim is not concept album) had more of a universal theme, as it bludgeons you over the head with its constant references to religion. Anyway, the guys claim that the recording of TBIG was filled with a whole lot o’ bad luck after Bixler-Zavala received a strange Ouija board from Rodriguez-Lopez. The bad juju led to lost recordings, a sound engineer having a nervous breakdown, et cetera. The story is a bit much (especially for a skeptic like me) but whether it’s a fabrication or not, it adds an intriguing element to the music.

TBIG hits the ground running with “Aberinkula,” where Bixler-Zavala’s falsetto demands, “Have you seen the living tired of their own shells?” What follows is an interesting musical dichotomy that exhibits why TMV is so great. The first half features Bixler-Zavala wailing with the band dutifully creating an organized cacophony of guitars, percussion and synthesizer behind him. The second (and better) half is replete with urgency. The commanding guitar lines are answered by a panicked saxophone solo that is nothing short of amazing. Other highlights are the funk-rock of “Ilyena,” the stadium-sized guitar riff of “Goliath,” and the Middle-Eastern influences of “Soothsayer.”

One noticeable change in the group’s music is the addition to drummer Thomas Pridgen, who brings an explosive and energetic change to the kit. I’m generally an ignoramus when it comes to percussion, but I couldn’t help but notice the incredibly intense drumbeats that prop up “Wax Simulacra.”

And I daresay that Omar Rodriguez-Lopez’s guitar work is a bit more constrained and focused on this album. But by other standards, that’s still not very constrained and focused. There are still sprawling musical constructions like “Metatron” and “Cavalettas,” but nothing of “Tetragrammaton” grandeur.

To my wife’s chagrin, Bixler-Zavala’s cloying falsetto is still omnipresent on the record. Love it or hate it, it’s most definitely a signature of TMV’s music. But they did choose to run it through some voice modifiers here and there, which prove to be interesting. The fade-in, fade-out of “Cavalettas” is likely to cause head trips whether you’re on hallucinogens or not. On the flipside, his vocals have arguably never sounded stronger than they do on “Soothsayer” or “Conjugal Burns.”

So, to make a long story short, if you liked any of the TMV’s previous work, this album is right up your alley. If you haven’t cared for them in the past, there’s nothing redeeming here (save for the interesting background story, if you didn’t find yourself rolling your eyes while reading it). Their sound has become more nuanced, but it’s not likely to win over any listeners who didn’t get hooked on De-Loused in the Comatorium.

As for me, I once again find myself in that “in-between” stage, anxiously awaiting the next release. I’ll be all right, though. Don’tchoo worry ‘bout me.

Happy listening!

Welcome!

Welcome to The Popper's maiden post! My name's Ryan, and I'll be your captain on this wild, wild journey through the land of popular culture.

I've created this blog in an attempt to collect my musings on that which I find entertaining, which is predominantly the products churned out by our cultural machine. This includes, but of course isn't limited to, television, music, film, politics, and sports.

Now's the proper time for a short bio: I'm 23 and a graduate student in the history department at the University of Maine. I currently live in a quiet house on a quiet road in Hampden, Maine, with my wife Sarah (we've been married a little over two months) and our 17-month old golden retriever Sammy.

That's that. Thanks for reading! Time to blog!