After the 2004 release of the impressive “Misery is a Butterfly” many fans of Blonde Redhead wondered, “What’s next, and will it ever be as good?” Perhaps with the release of the new album “23” those questions can be finally answered.
The new album starts off with the title track, “23.” A haunting ring of piano chords sets the initial tone, followed by a pumping rhythm of a prominent bass line and a trip-hop/electronica drum beat. The sound instantly conjures memories of the 80s alternative scene, with its echoing reverb and persistent up-tempo drums. Swirls of guitar swells sway distantly over the rhythmic cavalcade, joined by Makino’s ethereal, airy vocals. As pleasant as those vocals may be, the lyrics are absolutely unintelligible. You simply can’t make out what Makino is singing in many parts of this album. It’s best not to even try, as any attempts to discover lyrical content only divert attention away from Makino’s sonic aesthetic and, ultimately, one of the band’s largest assets – mystery.
With Blonde Redhead, as with many other “no wave” inspired bands, rationality is tossed aside. The vocals melt gently into the guitars and synthetic instrumentation and vice versa. Musical partitions are removed and the listener is left to confront an amoebic auditory mass perforated by drums and a bass so precise. This style is so vehemently anti-pop in the sense that it rejects stark distinctions between parts. There is no “chorus,” no “verse,” no “bridge,” “intro,” or “solo.” There is only the song, irreducible and whole. As a result, it is easy to find yourself completely submerged in the thick sonic layers that wax and wane as the song progresses. Think Sonic Youth and you’ll get the idea.
“23” contains many interesting elements that prevent the overwhelmingly consistent tempos from becoming boring. In “SW,” for example, a spacey horn section accentuates the fuzz-driven synth and jittery drums. This makes the song seem regal in a bizarre way, like the Polyphonic Spree. In “Publisher,” Blonde Redhead utilizes somewhat industrial beats and electronic drums to lend a sense of fear and distance to the song. Over this anxious backdrop, Amedeo Pace sings, “Looking down a cliff it isn’t fun, it’s communicating fear.”
Despite the variety of musical tones and lyrical focuses, all the songs seem to revolve around a central, emphatic theme. Each song seems to subtly direct the listener to that concept to the point that no song is autonomous or independent of the album. They are all bound by Blonde Redhead’s musical intentions into a solidly congealed album.
Some critics detest this style of music without distinct compartments. They might mutter words like “muddled” in disgust. However, what sounds “muddled” to a critic may sound continuous and congealed to the average listener. Blonde Redhead excels in this way. With “23” they have created a stretch of songs that flow seamlessly into one another.
You could speed down Dallas highways late at night while listening to this album without ever realizing exactly how long you have been on the road.
