Bromst
Dan Deacon’s music has always been defined by the pull between his classical training and the palate of wacky noises he uses in his composition. Dude clearly wants to be the Steve Reich of Nintendo music and Woody Woodpecker noises. With Bromst, he’s well on his way. On his breakthrough album, 2007’s Spiderman of the Rings, Deacon used his compositional chops for pure party-igniting purposes. In that album’s best moments—the way “Wham City” culminated in an animal party sing-along, say, or hyperactive game-day self-motivation of “The Crystal Cat”—the songs eclipsed the aesthetic. But, mostly, Spiderman of the Rings coasted on its novel sound—a heady wall of 8-bit shoegaze, helium-infused vocals, and white noise.
Now, he’s clearly searching for something deeper. Right off the bat, opening track “Build Voice” takes some of its cues from the Animal Collective strain of indie rock. The nearly chanted passages recall some of the lyrical progressions from Merriweather Post Pavilion, or TV on the Radio’s Dear Science. More than an indicator of influence, it’s a sign that Deacon is an artist in conversation with critical discourse. Consciously or unconsciously, part of Bromst bends toward an audience Deacon knows is in place.
The second track on Bromst is “Red F,” an inscrutable well of noise that recalls the manic intensity of Deacon’s prior album. Most of the hallmarks that established Deacon’s aesthetic are present: 8-bit melodies, peals of feedback, modulated vocals. Then, toward the end, “Red F” opens up into one of Bromst’s more simple and gorgeous passages, built from nothing more than a couple of drum (machine) rolls and some of the same electro-twiddling that appeared in the first 90% of the song, stripped down to nothing more than its melody. It’s the kind of moment that occurs frequently, but not constantly, on Bromst—where Deacon, knowing he’s using sounds not usually associated with austere beauty, lets the music speak for itself, without trying to shoehorn a massive amount of energy or noise behind it.
Back to back, “Build Voice” and “Red F” establish a clear trajectory for the rest of the album: Deacon spends the hour-and-change run filtering indie rock influences and other big new ideas into his old framework. Subsequently, it splits between moments of incomparable gorgeousness and moments that are absolute train wrecks. In some ways, it feels like a collection of B-sides; yet, Bromst works precisely because it’s a sketchbook, capturing Deacon’s progress as he expands his range. The payoff comes in songs like “Snookered” and “Surprise Stefani,” which fit a rich complexity of thought into a simple framework, and resonate with both ample quirkiness and stunning beauty. The high points leave the impression that Deacon in on his way toward something truly unique, which makes Bromst, more than anything, an opportunity to hear a burgeoning artist’s experiments as he's well on his way toward becoming a master.
-Martin Brown, 2009
Who put this Goddamn chair here?
Posted by: Chris Jones | 2009.12.30 at 20:49