(Give Anton your money. You know he needs it.)
reviewed by King Kill
Trip-O-Meter: 10/10
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Anytime I am asked for an opinion on The Brian Jonestown Massacre or its narcissistic frontman Anton Newcombe I am left fumbling for words. BJM experiences an indefinable mesh of love and hate with the rest of the world. Anton is forever locked in an alternate universe built of rock n’ roll; but this rock isn’t familiar; it can’t be boiled down to sheet music and key signatures. The world Anton inhabits is brash and ugly, cymbals and earthy groans spurt out in no sort of melody. Anton Newcombe is oblivious to what music is and could never hope of imitating it. No doubt he’s full of influence but it doesn’t permeate into anything recognizable.
The music of BJM streams out straight from Anton’s mind with hair-splitting precision. It doesn’t make it good necessarily, but it certainly is unique. Anton doesn’t grasp good, bad, or unique. He only knows how to represent it physically through instrument and voice.
That said, I hate most of his albums. His pursuit for perfection doesn’t promise clean cuts or clear vocals. I’ve seen what passes for a studio for BJM and it ain’t always pretty. His vision shines through often enough that he should still be highly regarded as an artist, probably more so than a musician. The creative energy is high enough in the room that acoustics don’t always matter.
Who Killed Sgt Pepper? runs the usual gamut of ludicrous track titles but something about the tone of the album lends a certain ominous nature to the names. As if they know something you do not but they hope you figure it out quick.
The album was recorded in Iceland, which you can feel in some off way. There is timeless aura to the tracks, making them feel far away, undisturbed by reality. The vocals are impeccable, particularly compared to his previous works, but are most notable for their ambiguity. There is no single distinct voice on the album; constantly changing tone, gender, or even language make you feel as though they aren’t actually singing to or for you.
On the track “This is the First of Your Last Warnings”, a computerized male voice warns you of something unknown. It is never specified, even when the lovely voice of a young woman calls for something mysterious in a foreign language.
The next track, "This Is The One Thing We Did Not Want To Have Happen" has more typical male vocal patterns but it’s clear the lyrics are meaningless. They are supposed to be felt inside the music, not adhered to. The music rarely feels driven or climatic anywhere on the album but every track feels like it is in perpetual motion as if they continue going even after you change the song. It’s the musical equivalent of watching a David Lynch film. Everything that the music is supposed to be is thrown out the window even though all the fundamentals are there. Lynch doesn’t just throw shit on a screen, he still tells simple stories, but displayed through a perspective so skewed it jars our subconscious.
Even the greatest films and albums are built on things that make sense. Smile means happy, death is bad, time is constant, lead vocals/protagonists, musical structure, etc… Who Killed Sgt Pepper? Exists inside a vacuum, every track drives with blazing intensity but the intensity is never satiated or justified nor do they need to be. The thundering beats that comprise “Someplace Else Unknown” feel entirely set apart from the dissident vocals of a junkie, desperate for a fix. And that leads directly into “Detka Detka Detka”, a whimsical and fun but ultimately unnecessary track with Icelandic vocals and a bouncing beat that will infect your ears like no pop track should.
This and the easily passed over “White Music” are the only real oddballs of the album. Everything else comes together to create a potent groove that’ll keep you coming back -- not because it is varied or complex but because the meticulous composition is extremely confident. It shouldn’t all fit together this well and if you only play the album at face value, it won’t. You have to accept that you’re riding down the stream of consciousness inside the mind of the beast that killed Sgt Pepper. So when you hear them calling “Let’s Go Fucking Mental!” don’t be fooled, it isn’t a call to party, it’s your last chance to run.
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