United Vibrations and The Dream of Natural Resistance

Despite evolving into an elitist media orgy, SXSW remains an important opportunity for musicians to widen their visibility in an increasingly complicated mediascape, and during Spring Break 2017 it happened as it has for years. For some, however, things did did not go as expected. The Trump administration’s influence on travel regulations caused several international artists to have visas unexpectedly revoked. This scenario, unimaginable only a year ago, caused musicians that were counting on the festival for their livelihood to be denied access.

I was outraged when I heard. In a show of support for these artists, I immediately went to their Bandcamp sites and purchased music from as many as I could afford. Surprisingly, many of these recordings are exceptional, none more so that The Myth of the Golden Ratio from United Vibrations.

United Vibrations, like many “world music” projects, owes a debt to to Fela Kuti, but navigates his influence in a relatively unique way. Afrobeat, in its original form, could be identified by its driving, deep ostinato grooves, a hypnotic aspect that allowed Fela’s songs to stretch to fit his political agenda. As enthralling as it was, it did not provide much latitude for structure and contrast. United Vibrations flawlessly captures the Afrobeat groove, but utilizes it within more complex songwriting structures.

Their songwriting approach, however, is hardly strict or standard. United Vibrations creates quite a bit of space for instrumental interplay, which infuses some passages on the album with the electricity of great jazz. This, coupled with its songwriting structures, soaring melodies, and hints of jazz harmony, makes The Myth of the Golden Ratio seem like an Afropop take on the Dream of the Blue Turtles.

As much as Sting’s classic debut was a great jazz-pop crossover, it was also a commentary on the Cold War. The Myth of the Golden Ratio is similarly unified by an explicit commentary on contemporary civilization. United Vibrations position themselves as the voice of nature, begging the human populace to realign themselves with a more essential human experience. This narrative is also an important reinterpretation of Afropop’s function as the music of resistance. While United Vibrations is hardly inflammatory in their message, their delivery is direct enough to be clearly understood. The results sometimes come off as preachy, but not so much as to inhibit its resonance.



Viewing The Myth of the Golden Ratio as a statement of resistance against contemporary society seems particularly appropriate considering what the band went through last month. Being shut out of SXSW due to the prejudicial direction that US policies are taking almost feels like the forces that United Vibrations rallies their audience against are trying to quell the message. Perhaps I am succumbing to my own conspiratorial paranoia, but I also noticed that when I began to promote the band I experienced some subtle pushback. My attempts to repost their music in my feed was often met with “error” messages. Still, I persisted in encouraging any music fan within earshot to purchase The Myth of the Golden Ratio, both because I hoped to turn the negative situation of this year’s SXSW into a positive and because the album is quickly evolving into one of my 2017 favorites.

Looking Backward and Forward to S U R V I V E

In all of the eight years I spent in Austin, I rarely got out to see any music. Chalk it up to parenthood. Even when it came to SXSW, which has now grown into a ridiculous monster way beyond anyone's imagination, I only ever went to free shows, and I am pretty sure that I can count all of them I actually got out to on one hand.

During one particularly rainy SXSW afternoon I ventured out to see a band that, thanks to the recommendation of a friend, had become an unlikely favorite. The synth band S U R V I V E, who supplied the memorable soundtrack to a trip in Tuscon, was setting up a rare informal show at record store and personal browsing spot End of an Ear. Even without hardcopy, MNQ026 had uncharacteristically stood the test of time, clawing its way to classic status in my book, and I did not want to pass up the chance to see them for free up close. I got there a little early, so I had to the chance to talk with one of the members briefly, mainly to ask if it would be cool if I took some pictures of the band’s gear.

“Yes,” he said decisively, “it would be VERY cool.”

The band was clearly proud of their setup, and although I certainly don’t have the insight to make heads or tails of it all, I know enough to appreciate what they have assembled. What became more apparent when they began their performance, however, was the way in which they had total mastery over those instruments. Many of the artists that S U R V I V E call influences were experimenting with the possibilities of these instruments when they were new, but S U R V I V E knows what each instrument is capable of and uses it to compelling effect. It was a great show that was not done justice by the poor videos I took.

That was two years ago. Now, thanks to some of the band’s members being involved in the distinctive soundtrack to a delightfully retro-creepy Netflix series, S U R V I V E are as close to the big time as an experimental synth outfit can hope to get. Coincidentally, and even before their attachment to Stranger Things, they had recorded and set a release date for MNQ026’s follow-up, RR7349.

Of all of my September 30 new releases (and there were several), this was the one that I have anticipated the most.  Its predecessor's compelling mix of texture, timbre, atmosphere, and melody has kept me coming back, and it has been my hope that RR7349 could recapture the magic, so to speak.



The verdict? It seems that it has. RR7349 still sounds as if it is the soundtrack to a long-lost Blade Runner spin-off. It delivers on the nostalgia in terms of sound and structure, which is largely due the array of vintage instruments that the band employs, but is also harbors a nuanced melodic side that exists in a carefully crafted balance with its layered atmospheres. In this regard, it is remarkably consistent. Anyone who was brought up with the darker sides of Jean-Michel Jarre, Tangerine Dream, and other 70s synth pioneers floating around the house will find a whole lot to like on RR7349.



So one of the regrets I have now that Austin is in my rearview mirror is that I am not as locally available for S U R V I V E's increasingly frequent live performances. They do seem to tour more readily, however, so it might be possible to catch them in the metroplex. Probably not in Denton, though. It’s safe to assume that they are too big for all that now. I’d love to be proven wrong on that, though…...

Paying Strict Attention: Syd Arthur Challenges the Epic

"Gentlemen, when two separate events occur simultaneously pertaining to the same object of inquiry, we must always pay strict attention." -Dale Cooper

And so it goes when it comes to new music. Finding new stuff is sometimes tricky because I practically never listen to the radio. As a usual matter of course, I troll a selection of music sites and take suggestions from friends, but even this short resource list produces an overwhelming amount of new and unheard music. I hardly have the time or the finance to give everything that catches my attention a serious listen, so there is an imperfect and informal vetting process that constrains what I let into rotation. Sometimes, things are left to time and chance, which usually lands me on the tail end of the “hipness” curve.

Clearly, though, I’m not overly concerned with what is hip.

I pay strict attention, however, when something new presents itself from two or three unrelated resources at the same time. This sometimes eerie phenomenon is what recently brought Syd Arthur into rotation. I initially discovered them through a review of their impending debut On and On posted on my usual progressive rock stop. The reviewer, who genuinely liked Syd Arthur’s proclivity towards asymmetrical time signatures and interlocking rhythms, spoke highly of their future potential, but, citing production issues, stopped short of unreservedly praising their debut album On and On.



He also seemed slightly perplexed by the band’s localized popularity in the Canturbury scene. Any band that plays with progressive tropes while dancing on the edge of accessibility is cause for confusion to the progressive rock purist, but almost always ends up being a long-term favorite with me. Knowing this, Syd Arthur was at the forefront of my consciousness two days later when, after playing at SXSW, several people contacted me independently of one another to tell me that I should check them out. Their enthusiasm put On and On at the top of my wish list, and within a few weeks I was putting in an order through their site.

I immediately liked their approach, so much so that I had a difficult time discerning whether I was drawn more to their sound or their songwriting. Like a lot of complex music, however, the best qualities of On and On revealed themselves after repeated listening. Syd Arthur’s superficially complex features provide the backdrop for hummable, well-structured songs which, with one exception, clock in at an easily digestible four minutes or less. Not all that is progressive has to be epic.


Prog should be adventurous, though, although the wider popularity of Gentle Giant, mid-70s King Crimson, and the vast sea of other unrecognized bands to which Syd Arthur refers was often hindered by placing complexity at the forefront of the art. In contrast, the songs from On and On are not unnaturally bridled to the shifting time signatures bucking underneath the surface, but instead weave their way through the album’s rhythmic intricacies with consummate, almost imperceptible ease. Despite its retrospective aura, however, On and On feels relevant and contemporary, at least to my ears - rather like the Decemberists ran aground and gave up their sea shantys for a little hipstery frolic.

I am looking forward to Syd Arthur’s progress, as well, but not because I hope that they will pen the next Close to the Edge or Foxtrot, with forced, multi-movement blockbusters that clock in at twenty minutes or more. Instead, I anticipate a further refinement of the succinct but engaging work that they have already displayed a mastery of on On and On.

The Jellyfish Family Tree Part 2: "Spilt Milk" at Lunch

In 1993, I took a hiatus from my undergraduate studies and moved back to Austin.  By this point, I had listened to Bellybutton hundreds of times, and I was fortunate to pick up a promo copy of Jellyfish's follow-up.  There was a lot that I liked about Spilt Milk.  It had the same amazing songwriting, and in terms of its production, it was a major step forward from Bellybutton. Initially, however, I did not connect with it in the same way as I did its predecessor, mostly, I think, because I did not share it amongst a circle of friends. Coming from the close quarters of Bruce Hall and its denizens to living at home with the fam, I had relatively little time to hang out and listen to music with a close community of people.

I did notice, however, through my fellow Blockbuster Music employees and the friends I did periodically hang out with that year, that the microcosm of Jellyfish fandom in Bruce Hall was not alone.  Inexplicably, however, the band remained the secret favorite of dedicated music connoisseurs only.



I also think that their lack of success also took a subtle toll on the band.  The sublimely dark commentary on "life as we know it" that pervaded Bellybutton was replaced by a somewhat more cynical and sarcastic undertone on Spilt Milk. Additionally, there were some significant personnel changes.  There was now a dedicated bass player and background vocalist in Tim Smith, but Jason Falkner, who played guitar and sang backup on the first album, left the band to pursue his own solo career.  A close look at the liner notes indicated that Jon Brion provided backup vocals and guitars on Spilt Milk, so in my mind, he was the “new” guitarist.  In reality, however, he clearly was not considered to be stepping into Falkner’s shoes as a full member, and instead, guitarist Eric Dover joined the touring lineup.  In other words, Jellyfish's roster was less inclusive, but the band's sound expanded.  This inverse relationship led me to think that the band had simply become a studio project.



All of these factors set me slightly ill at ease, but still, I put Spilt Milk in regular rotation while I was working at Blockbuster Music and advocated for it at every turn.  At one point, the staff was offered promotional wristbands to this funny little thing called South by Southwest. In light of the spectacle SXSW has become, its relative scale was almost humorous. Just a few clubs were participating, but In retrospect, I did not really take advantage of the access that $25 wristband granted me. I picked it up quite casually, with the sole intention of seeing Jellyfish for free at Liberty Lunch.

Austin music history reveres Liberty Lunch, and granted, a lot of amazing music happened there. It was the site of my very first live gig ever, so perhaps I should revere it, as well.  In my memory, however, it was pretty much like a lot of mid-level music venues. It was a little dank and smelly, with picnic tables for furniture. In any case, seeing Jellyfish there was probably the last time I went before it was torn down in the late 90s and a thankless high-rise apartment building was plopped on its gravesite.

I was a bit dismissive as the band took the stage, but I immediately noticed that the rumors were true: drummer Andy Sturmer was indeed the lead singer, and he did indeed play standing up at the front of the stage. Awesome. I was taken aback, however, as keyboardist Roger Joseph Manning Jr. walked away from his keyboards to play guitar for All is Forgiven , a surprisingly cacophonous opening statement. My initial incredulity gave way to awe, however, as, softly and precisely, the backup vocals made their first entry.



(Quality on the above vid is a little spotty, and its not from the Liberty Lunch gig, but we're lucky to have access to anything Jellyfish twenty years down the pipe.  Hopefully, you get the idea)

It was one of a handful of times in my life where my idea about what was musically possible instantaneously expanded. I simply could not believe my ears. I craned my neck to see if anyone had a finger on a keyboard or a foot on a pedal to trigger a sample, but all I saw was four mouths effortlessly singing. Their voices were so precise and blended together so seamlessly that they cohered into an instrumental life of their own, carrying as much weight as single musician on a guitar or keyboard.



Queen was well-known for their vocal prowess, but I’m not sure that, even at the height of their arena-rock prowess, they could have reproduced what Jellyfish did in Liberty Lunch that night. It was readily apparent that their individual and group musicianship far surpassed the genre in which they were playing. Once I appreciated the incredible virtuosity of Jellyfish’s touring lineup for the Spilt Milk, tour, and the fact that they could match the sound of their studio work in a live setting, it reframed the album as a recorded piece.  Bellybutton was the album the broke the band for me, and is still probably my favorite, but today that distinction is only by a narrow margin.

Within a year, the band had quietly broken up and the various members spread out into the music underground.  All of them stayed active, however, and for music fans willing to do the research, it is quite apparent that the incredible musicianship that represented Jellyfish has had a far-reaching influence.  I chased them from one project to the next, which led me down a musical path that I am still following today.

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Defying Gravity: Two SXSW Shows

Just for perspective, the last time I went to see anyone at SXSW, it was this “new thing” that a few clubs were doing.  I got a wristband from Blockbuster Music (where I worked) and I saw Jellyfish and Blues Traveler at Liberty Lunch.  These days, it’s a different story.  It’s like a freaking orgy of hobnobbing and one-upmanship.  In the brief time I spent in the throngs, I saw a guy sympathetically pick up a live mustard-covered crawfish off the street and sincerely apologize to it, and as I waited in line at the Gingerman to get in to see LITE, a dramatic diva preened and obsessed on her cell phone to her girlfriend about meeting Jack White.  I choked back the urge to get all Frank Booth and bark “JACK WHITE? MAN, EFF JACK WHITE!”

As satisfying as that might have been, I chose to focus on my agenda.  I find that it is far more interesting, and financially feasible, to troll for lesser-known (and often free) bands that are caught in the intense gravity of popular culture that surrounds SXSW than it is to be blinded by media-synthesized star power.  

I carved out the time to see two bands during the festivities.  On Thursday, after eating lunch at Whole Foods (my favorite lunch spot), I casually strolled across the street to Waterloo Records to see the Royal Bangs promoting their new release.  I got Let it Beep last year, and although it had a couple of fantastic tracks on it, the entire album seemed a little uneven.  At the time, they were playing as a five-piece, so I was surprised to see them perform as a guitar, drum, and (mostly) keys trio.  Bass parts were sometimes sequenced, sometimes synth, and sometimes a guitar effect.  Synths play a large role in the Royal Bangs, but despite this, they retain a kind of punky DIY feel.  I would not really call them songwriters, but they write good psudeo-prog instrumentals that happen to have vocals.  The first part of this clip is from that lunchtime show.

I liked the Royal Bangs’ set, but it was, ultimately, an outpatient procedure.  After it was over, I went about my day as if nothing had happened.  When I leave a really great show, I almost feel like a different person when I walk away.  The last time that happened was in January 2010 when I saw the Dead Kenny G’s at Momo’s.  This year, I seriously doubt I am going to see another show that will beat out LITE.  Where I felt satisfied with the Royal Bang’s thirty minute set (which is the standard set length during SXSW), I would have gladly listened to LITE play all night long, and I walked away stunned and invigorated. 

When I got to the show on Friday evening, there was an appreciable line at the Gingerman, but the majority of this line was there to see punk/DIY legend Mike Watt, who was touring with LITE.  Several years ago, a friend of mine game me a copy of Mike Watt’s The Secondman’s Middle Stand.  I did not really get the album at the time, but after seeing him live, I have a much greater appreciation for his work.  He put on a great show, but after he was done, the crowd thinned considerably.  I immediately shot to the front and watched LITE set up.  I ended up right by the stage, and when they began playing, I was this close (picture from LITE's tour blog).    

Gingerman’s site described Lite as “instrumental virtuosos from Japan,” and granted, LITE’s music is technical.  Unquestionably, though, they rock.  They exploded on stage with an intense precision that made my hairs literally stand on end and shattered my usual statuesque demeanor.  LITE’s performance expresses the passion that is both the cause and the result of cultivating musical mastery, which is, to me, far more moving than cleverness or public visibility.  Despite being purely instrumental, they captivated both me and, the crowd, it seemed.  The band clearly enjoys playing what they are playing, and this joy is infectious.  Fortunately, there was a person beside me who filmed the show, and I have waited on this footage to arise to post my ramblings on SXSW.  It is pretty much their entire set, so go get a cup of coffee and check it out.

One of LITE’s strongest attributes is their attention to composition above individual technical ability, but they also know when to just to get out of the way.  For example, at the climax of their flawlessly executed version of Image Game (my fight song), the band brought the audience to the edge of their proverbial seats as they counted off several seconds of impenetrable silence, to incredible effect.

Additionally, it was nice to see a real live bass player.   It seems like increasingly, I see bands sequence bass parts and drummers playing to click tracks.  I think it’s funny that, when drum machines came along in the 80s, there was some apprehension that drummers would become obsolete.  Today, it seems like drummers are doing fine – its bassists that should be looking over their shoulders for the axe!  Judging by the studious group crowded around the bassist (one of which had a bass clef tattooed on his forearm), we should all be sticking together, too.

Finally, just for kicks, I thanked each of the members of LITE in my halting Japanese, and they seemed pleased, if not surprised, to hear that pop out of a tall white boy while on tour in Texas.  To keep my enthusiasm in check, though, I promptly left before I reverted too far into goofy teenage fanboy mode and let the sound and feeling of LITE’s set recede into memory.  I promise I'll stop talking about them for a little while.