Kissing the Mahogany Frog

Mahogany Frog :: On Blue

“Great prog groovy soundtracky instrumentals blue wax”  scribbled on the front {Thanks Deep Groove}. How could I resist? I stumbled upon Mahogany Frog on a fluke and grabbed it on a whim … it usually pans out when I’m not looking, or thinking too hard.

And it did.

A bit dissonant, kind of angular, lush and rocky … they cover a lot of ground. Comparing one band/artist to another may not be the fairest way to look at them, but it does provide a shorthand that can be useful. So, when I say Trans Am playing/referencing Tortoise I hope it’s all taken in the right way. I’m not sure exactly what “post-rock” is, but being that that’s a pigeon hole out there, I’ll take the short way to it and put Mahogany Frog in “post-rock.” We already mentioned the above post-rockers, but they don’t stay in that one definition. I can hear an appreciation for the more languid works of Air and what Stereolab I know. They move from jerky spiky instrumentals to more lush, even proggy, stretch outs that do indeed call to mind a “soundtrack.” But unlike the mentioned Tortoise and Trans Am who, to me, filter their work through an encyclopedic knowledge of “rock” and, really, music in general, Mahogany Frog personalize it a bit more; not over-intellectualizing it or being overly smart-ass. That’s not saying they don’t have a firm grip on their influences or what came before them, but they treat it all with a more lo-fi approach, if that isn’t a worn out term. And it must not be since the band itself puts recorded in the “basement on a 4 track” in the credits. Much in the same way Grandaddy approached their more blissed out spacey stretches with their junkyard sculpture take on things. Or how Swell channeled their smoky hazy orbits into distilled, deceptively simple sounding excursions.Mahognay Frog doesn’t sound like them, but I think they may think like them.

I really had no idea what to expect when I threw it down. A short intro clued me in that it was indeed an instrumental album and then it just unfolded from there. Lots of serrated treatments with a throbbing backside flow naturally into quieter, sometimes sinister passages {some of the keyboards have that warped carnival sideshow touch lightly sprinkled on top … just enough …}. Sometimes that happens all at once, like the kick off track to side B, Sanchez Says, “… and Soon the Aces Will Ensue.” Unlike their namesake, they don’t hop around chaotically, though some of it is slightly spastic. The tracks all have a purpose and they all come together for a really cohesive piece of work that by the end that gives the band their identity. Whether that’s in post-rock, neo-prog, neo-psych, jazz-rock … well, that’s up to you. And Mahogany Frog.

The more I listen to it and digest it, the more I could probably go on about it, pros and cons … but for an off the cuff buy with only 2 or 3 spins under my belt, it was a nice little package to stumble upon. From the sparse and clean packaging, to the tasty blue vinyl to the tasteful excursions inside, Mahogany Frog obviously care and have a target in mind. And that’s enough to make me care right there and keep an eye out for more.

A Day Late: Ass Ponys—Some Stupid with a Flare Gun

“She believes he’s still alive … out there in his hovercraft …”

For the life of me, I can’t remember how I came across the Ass Ponys. It very well could have been the title alone, referencing Smoke on the Water {I’m an unabashed Deep Purple apologist … }. Or the fact that Astronaut, a track that would have been a smash in fair and just universe, makes a shout out to Interstellar Overdrive, let alone uses the word “hovercraft.”

Or it could be that it’s a fantastic platter by a quintessential American band. Farmer’s wives {even Grandaddy had to dip into that topic}, ankle bones, fighter pilots, fetuses, extra nipples, robot fighters and Scatman Crothers… if those alone don’t weave a one of a kind quilt to wave with your freak flag I don’t know what does. The Ass Ponys achieve a great feat: at once deferential to tradition and all the groundwork laid out before by others as well as tweaking all those ingredients to something that is both familiar, singular and left-field enough to satisfy a myriad of hunger pangs. To me, very much in line with Stan Ridgway’s take on things, with Wall of Voodoo if you listen hard enough, but far more directly with his rootsy {inter} stellar solo output. I mean that both structurally, and lyrically … or narratively … What is more American than the warped half-baked roadside attraction stories that happen once you leave that black top highway? You don’t have to go very far down that side dirt road to find ‘em. Me? I want to go down that road in a hovercraft. Yes I do.

But for all the unique sideshow stories, there’s plenty of blanks left for you to fill in to put your own stamp on the Ass Ponys songs. Who can’t relate to the free-fall of the metaphorical Fighter Pilot as he plummets down, thinking that he has just a bit more time? Or the farmer’s wife in Sidewinder that feels she might be wasting her time after all? Underneath their patina of weirdness, there’s some real emotion going on. The human condition is nothing if not downright weird. Some Stupid with a Flare Gun builds a wonderful mythology of someplace you think you’ve been to and maybe spent too much time in … but, it sure is fun to hang out with a robot fighter named Magnus.

I’ve heard some say that Chuck Cleaver’s nasal whine is an acquired taste. Whatever. It’s no obstacle, it’s just one more beautifully skewed sonic detail. If I’m going to listen to all these somewhat gothic fringe short stories, I sure as Hell want a narrator who’s up the task. Cleaver’s vocals not only uphold the songs, they become a completely unique instrument. He comes across as a story himself with his cracks and warbles. Neil Young as a storytelling gnome living in a midwest missile silo in a lonely field with a crack working band? I’ll take it. Mix that all up and the Ass Ponys definitely live where the air is kind of thin. Throw in an A-list bar band {and I mean that as the highest form of praise} in the mix, and it’s grounded enough to let you keep your feet on the ground. Or maybe just an inch or two above it.

Some Stupid with a Flare Gun exists in a half-dream state, at once familiar and alien. Like my country. Go head and lift up the edge of that tent and take a peak … is that thing in the jar fake or not? Who cares, it’s fun … and I bet you can relate to it: everybody feels like an oddball every now and then. Hell, even the man behind the curtain has a day job

They put it best themselves in X-tra Nipple: “I’m so fascinated by these special people …”

A Day Late: Macha-Macha

Macha—Macha

Not sure how this one bubbled to the surface recently, but thank God it did. This time around I’m in. And I want to stay. Even though Macha will keep you in flux.

All kinds of stuff swirling around in here … transient points of reference might be Tulsa Drone, maybe some Yo La Tengo, Tortoise, lots of “indie rock” scuzz {can we please lose that term?}. I can detect the likes of Grandaddy, Earlimart, etc … floating around in there as well. But more in regards to that indie fuzz in execution, rather than content. It has those bands’ murky, gauzy fuzz, but a touch thicker, though by no means impenetrable. That said, this one is driven. It chugs right along and, in my opinion, flat out rocks at times {The Buddah Nature}. But these “American” characteristics get an exotic tinge. From all over. It’s nicely done, and applied just right. It’s not as bombastic or overt a treatment as something like Kashmir by Led Zeppelin or many, many lesser examples. You’ll hear it in the songs themselves as well as the instruments being used. This imported component absolutely throbs and undulates underneath and through the disc … it throbulates. Combine that with a great sonic bottom-end and off we go whether they’re rocking hard with The Buddah Nature or even slowing down the momentum on Double Life or Visiting the Ruins. That simmering, bubbling chug pushes throughout. And they even throw in some throwback organ that can call to mind that analog/retro sheen of someone, say, like Optiganlly Yours. And not to fret: You even get a touch of good ole noodling on {Untitled} and Hairy, Parched {Invisible} should you feel the rudder is too strict.

It can rock, it’s atmospheric, it can taste foreign, it can be simply trippy … it’s one that feels like it has put in some miles collecting fragments out of the ether. Worldly indeed, on many levels.

{Came with a bonus disc of what is basically “field recordings.” Adds a nice point of reference. Those more jaded might see it’s inclusion as a grab at validity, but spin the disc: they put the time and exploration into it.}

Cary Grace—Perpetual Motion

Just got my copy of Cary Grace’s “Perpetual Motion.” What a gem from across the pond, by way of the colonies. Greats disc(s), great little package; Ms. Grace obviously is in it for all the right reasons.

I get lost pigeonholing stuff to achieve some sort of shorthand, so I’m loathe to throw around words like “prog” and “art-rock” (isn’t it all art? In one way …) if only for the baggage those terms carry. Let’s just say spacey.

There’s a lot going on in here. I can here a lot of influences and touchstones, but not once does it sound like aping another band, or going into it sarcastically, or with that dreaded hipster irony. I can hear some Floyd in here, circa ‘Animals’ maybe. Especially in some of the production and how things are layered. I can pick up Hawkwind-like flourishes floating around, especially in some of the accents; the beeps and bloops and blips and washes remind me of how Hawkwind would use them (when they did so judiciously), the amount of them (again, see “judiciously”). But the execution is more like small doses of Can or some other Krautrock allies; more of a color, more of a wash. And the use of the violin points to the influences as well; Gong, Hawkwind again, Crimson … it may not sound LIKE them, but it breathes much of the same air (when there is air out in space). It’s a nod to the past with eyes looking ahead; it’s not all old school as the kids say. Contemporaries that come to mind might be of the ilk of 7% Solution, Uni-sex or even the stretched out Escapade.

Underneath all this though, is a gorgeous ragged slow burn. It’s not lo-fi by any means, but you can tell this is coming from the garage so to speak. Or maybe a room off to the side, a room specially built with a lot of care. And it’s great to hear music like this coming out not overly polished and refined so all the nice burrs are burnished off. Conversely, it’s fantastic to have something out of the garage that’s not just another White Stripes or Stooges or … “garage” mock job. You can do a lot in the garage, more than just pump up the octane and polish chrome. And this quality doesn’t mean low budget either. This is obviously very nurtured and coaxed. But Grace left in some rough hewn edges that really bring it all together: it’s what the band wanted. Bands like Swell or Grandaddy (obvious examples for me …) had a decidedly junkyard-art approach. And it was conscious and on purpose. That “lo-fi” patina was aimed for and spun and spun until it was clear that the production was an obvious choice made to achieve that signature sound. And “Perpetual Motion” benefits the same way. Now, I don’t know Cary Grace, or the story behind all the recording. Maybe given a budget the size of Wal-Mart’s economy she would have opted for some overblown bloat and helped to add to the sad reputation that prog has, or music like this … whatever you want to call it, or have to call it to make it make sense. But I doubt it. It’s not a by-product of home built studios, or shaky recording environs. It’s purposeful and works with all the other planets in tandem to reach it’s sweet end orbit.

And Ms. Grace lets many of the tracks take their time to reach that end point. She’s not afraid to let the sonics really stretch out, to let the bubbling slow riffs and melodies play out to one of many possible conclusions. In a way, she kind of leaves a lot of it up to YOU; if you want to that big planet caravan impact, you have to go with it and enjoy the ride and don’t think about it … too hard at least. If you do, you’ll miss some things.

All this comes to you via download. Pshaw—buy the disc. It comes in a lovingly made pack; simple but elegant and just cool. You can poke around carygrace.com and see a shot of the bundle if that floats your boat. It sure floats mine.

Why? Because she obviously cares. If she didn’t let us peek into that a bit, why should we care?

“Perpetual Motion” was a stellar find (thanks to the New Breakfast Snob at WRIR for turning me on to it) in lots of ways. It’s home-spun all right. It’s home-made I guess you could say, from that ragged edge to the hand-made limited edition packaging. But it has its eyes and ears on much bigger things. Maybe a new planet.

Ok. I have to do it. And I’m sorry. It’s downright graceful, too. It really is.

I usually let things cook for awhile longer before I get on a soapbox about them, pro or con. But this one didn’t need to simmer very long. As soon as I put it on and gave it a maiden voyage spin, it was pretty clear that Cary Grace already let this simmer for just the right amount of time. It arrived fully baked out of the oven.

Could Be the Best $5 You’ll Spend This Summer

Lytle’s “Yours Truly, The Commuter” for a pittance.

If anybody out there at their posts miss Grandaddy as much as I do, then this is a must … stellar spin for the summer. Stellar spin anytime …