Indie Pong

Full disclosure, I HATED “Liquid Swords”, the first few times I heard it.

Sacrilegious, I know.

And this is not because I didn’t like the Wu-Tang Clan either— I had great love and admiration for them, proudly owning two Ghostface albums, two of the group’s solo albums, Method Man’s, “Tical”, and Raekwon’s, “Only Built 4 Cuban Linx.”

Alas, I was 17, and I didn’t know any better. I also thought Kirk Hammett and Jimmy Page were, and forever would be, the greatest guitar players walking the face of the planet, so… yes, there is that.

Previous to purchasing the album, I’d heard only one of its tracks, “Shadowboxin’”, in which GZA duets with Method Man.

It’s a sharp track, and a showcase for arguably, the two most clever rappers in the group.

Off the strength of that, and the fact that most everyone seemed to agree that, “Liquid Swords” was perhaps THE BEST Wu-Tang solo album of all time, I made my purchase, ready to have my mind blown.

Most likely, I bought the album sometime in February or March of 2005. For those who don’t know, March is perhaps the worst month of the year in the midwest. You’re unlikely to see the sun, and everything is just cold, damp, and unpleasant. Listening to the album, in my parent’s mini-van (driving in true suburban style), I seem only to recall lifeless, bleak vistas passing me by, further amplifying what I was feeling in the music.

My initial listening experiences were mostly joyless, bordering on exhausting. It was clear to me that GZA could R-A-P, but the album was un-relenting in how dour it was. Upon arriving at the final track, “B.I.B.L.E.”, I remember finding more joy than I can say.

An outlier, B.I.B.L.E. is celebratory, either outright, or (certainly) in comparison to its peers on the album. And that’s the point. It’s a light at the end of the tunnel, or perhaps, a particularly arresting and beautiful sunrise, after a long slog through a cold, vicious night.

At one point, I was ready to give up on trying to crack the album, but then things changed. This change was brought about by one of the album’s standouts, “Labels.”

As mentioned earlier, GZA is one of the most clever rappers in the group when it comes to wordplay. It’s basically between him and Method Man, and perhaps, early 2000s era-Ghostface. On “Labels” he creates a coherent, and pretty damn incredible piece of music more or less, using only the names of major label record companies to craft his narrative.

Some might argue that this is simply a technical exercise– not unlike what the shred guitarists do, because they want to talk shit about how they were able to work some whole-tone fragment over a minor 7th chord, with a flatted 5th.

What saves things here is that there’s a playfulness about GZA’s rapping. This playfulness is largely absent throughout the rest of the album, so it’s a welcome respite in this case, essentially, an interlude at the album’s halfway mark.

In any case, once I was able to appreciate, “Labels”, pretty much everything else on the album fell into line. I was able to accept, and eventually embrace the darkness of the music. The year following, this would become one of my go-to albums once the weather got cold, and the days started getting shorter.

There are any number of articles, features, and perhaps, books documenting the lyrical prowess of GZA, so I’m not sure if I can add anything to the proceedings. The same goes for RZA’s production, which might be at his early-career pinnacle here, particularly on, “Swordsman”, “Cold World” (where he flips a Frank Zappa sample), and “4th Chamber”, which also features barn-burner verses from both himself and Ghostface.

I think one of the reasons I love the album so much is because it also paints a very particular picture of New York, and it’s not a flattering one. As someone who can’t stand to be in that city for more than 2 to 3 days at a time, I appreciate the album’s wariness and cynicism. Some of these songs wouldn’t be out of place in a horror movie, and they’re the antithesis of something like, “Empire State of Mind”.

The album is dense, and while perhaps difficult at first, it’s ultimately a hypnotic and compulsive listening experience.

It’s music for a rainy day, a bone-chillingly cold night, or making art in the wee hours.

It’s a master-class in storytelling and narrative, and something that everyone should have as a part of their music collection.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve come around to the belief that perhaps the most important thing that we can strive for in our individual existences is balance.

Until recently, I’ve often found it near-impossible.

I’ve struggled against a compulsion to go full-steam ahead towards opposite ends of any given spectrum, with no luck in the middle.

When I encounter balance, or, an execution that showcases an effective splitting of the difference, I’m both humbled and hypnotized.

I’m compelled to seek understanding.

This is both in the interest of growing my appreciation, and hopefully, discerning some little nugget of information that will allow me to bring more balance into my own life.

On “Guidance”, Russian Circles 6th full-length album, they’ve achieved some semblance of nirvana, perfectly splitting the difference between beauty and brutality.

The album is a masterclass in dynamics and mood, showcasing two very different things with a particularly graceful execution.

While they’re only a three-man unit, they make a LOT of noise. Live, through the use of loop pedals and pre-recorded drones, they’re able to bring forth damn-near studio-perfect recreations of their songs: a feat of both craft and collaboration.

Pretty admirable, right?

The band is arguably guided through their numbers by guitarist Mike Sullivan: a master texturalist, and perhaps post-rock’s equivalent of Adrian Belew.

Never especially flashy, save for when math comes into the band’s time signatures, Sullivan is able to conjure both the sensation of floating astral bliss, and vicious, purely evil, sonic carnage.

While his guitar contributions probably have more sonic real estate than either bassist Brian Cook, or drummer Dave Turncrantz, the band’s rhythm section is perhaps the star of the show here, Cook in particular.

His playing is full-bodied, muscular, gully shit. More often than not, it’ll rattle the inside of your skull, and his fuzz bass-tone is perhaps my favorite thing to make it on record since Jack Bruce stepped in to handle the business on Frank Zappa’s, “Apostrophe.”

Drummer Turncrantz is tasked with keeping everything together, and he 100% holds it down. Perpetually in service of steering the unruly beast that is the music, his drumming, like Sullivan’s guitar work, is not necessarily flashy, but it’s always right on the money. In the album’s heaviest moments, he approaches Eric Gravatt levels of mightiness, further accentuating the weight of what the band is bringing to the table.

The album begins with “Asa”. It’s an uncommonly beautiful meditation for guitar that brings to mind the afterglow of a sunset over Lake Michigan, the Chicago-based band’s nearest body of water.

Painting a picture of a horizon, grading gradually from blue, high in the sky, to light purples and pinks as one looks towards the water, it’s certainly the album’s quietest moment, and second-most prettiest.

Charging headfirst into night, “Asa” bleeds seamlessly into “Vorel”, something that brings to mind perhaps an Eastern European death march? It’s an unrelenting, outrageous piece of music that would probably find fans in the members of Three 6 Mafia, circa 1997, when they still made a lot of songs about wonton property destruction, and casually assaulting North Memphis’ hater population.

The album’s middle section is occupied by another two songs that bleed into each other, “Mota”, and “Afrika.”

As seen earlier, “Mota”, employs the legendary Moog Taurus to great effect, allowing Cook to make his bass guitar to sound like a Keith Emerson-worthy piece of synth wizardry (though MUCH simpler). Again, the song is a perfect showcase for the balance that the band is able to find throughout the record. Beginning with almost tear-inducing beauty, the song then veers towards a math-y breakdown whose time signature, I can’t count, closing with some sort of noise holocaust.

In doing so, the transition to the ethereal, “Afrika”, is all the more stunning.

One of the more striking, and generally humbling piece of music recorded in the 21st century, “Afrika” is a towering thing. I’ll know that I’ve found my wife if she agrees to let the wedding party stroll down the aisle to the sounds of the song’s first 2 minutes and 38 seconds. It’s an exotic piece of music, best enjoyed with headphones at full-volume: alternating blinding, and earth shaking.

“Overboard” is a slight respite before the fireworks of two-part closer “Calla”, and “Lisboa”. It’s an ear-candy song— well-suited for guided mediation, and free of drums until halfway into the song. Its placement is strategic, and well-executed, soothing the listener leaving them fully-unprepared to have their all their teeth knocked out within the first 19 seconds of “Calla”.

A lumbering piece of music, probably best suited for some battle scene in the upcoming TV version of Lord of the Rings, “Calla” is the least sonically adventurous song on the album. It pretty much stays in one gear, and while there’s nothing wrong with that, its aural narrative is much less interesting than that of its peers. To be clear, it’s still a great song, it’s just very straightforward in its execution.

The album rides into sunset with “Lisboa”, a piece that opens with what sounds like high noon for a gunfighter 10 years past his prime. Its beginning sounds inevitable: melancholic as it moves forward in slow-motion, with ample regret. When the band finally hits the gas, it’s one of the more satisfying moments on the album, and fitting of the last song. It’s a glorious blast of violence and angst— still moving in slow-motion, but now, with the weight of the world fully on its shoulders, and hurricane-level winds in its path.

All in all, listening to the album in one go can be a taxing experience, as it’s such a roller coaster ride, but it’s also an incredibly rewarding one, and the best way to consume the music.

These songs have an arc, actively encouraging the participation of the listener, and rewarding them with a very rich panorama in their mind’s eye, if they want to work for it.

An album for all seasons and all moods, “Guidance”, is perfect in my book. Turn out the lights, and lay down with your eyes closed, or, pour yourself a glass of wine and watch the sunset.

It works well for either, and everything.

It’s balance.