male plumage reviews
"Think of Male Plumage as Leprechaun Catering's Meddle--the album latecomers will cite once the duo of Tom Boram and Jason Willett (the former drums, the latter guitars, and both play hydra-headed stacks of electronics) hits stadiums with laser-light shows and environmental multimedia immersions. The duo's third album and first for White Denim--the Allentown, Pa., beehive of inspired batshitness--abandons the speedy, 4 a.m. creeps of Mesmerized Ants for jittery futureworld rhythms that sound like an eight-armed deity onto which the limber limbs of Tony Allen, Elvin Jones, Clyde Stubblefield, and Greg Errico have been grafted. And, as usual, Boram and Willett are the Jimi Hendrixes of the song title, erupting right out of the gate with the skipping, three-legged-race pulse of "Adult Carrot"--which starts only in the left channel at first and goes stereo with a surround-sound explosion of blips and beeps and belches and squeaks that eventually get cosmologically swirled around like pinwheels of spin-art ink. Even better is the first side's third and last track, "For Now, Opaque Means `Opaque,'" an amoebic sprawl of 1950s sci-fi journey soundtrack that leapfrogs to blunted 1980s haunted pseudo-hip-hop and back as if finding a straight line between Esquivel and DJ Ready Red before wandering down a long and winding Luc Ferrari road.
On side two, the guys get very loose. "Somnambulant Refrigerator" starts off almost like a conventional song, complete with sinusoidal pulse and some screaming guitar/distorted bagpipe/choked pelican squawking something damn near a melodic motif. And for the next handful of minutes the pattern slowly swells like a rising tide until the song becomes a Krautrocking sea of ricocheted rhythms. And album closer "Hippy Id" carves the closest thing to an anthem as Boram and Willett have ever sculpted, a house-rocking steady pound underscoring a sunburst of distorted guitar chug that melts into abrasive if syncopated synth torture--even making those muffled, electronic drums feel Prince funky. And while, yes, Male Plumage is still light years away from anything resembling the everyday experimental avant-garde and cutting-edge dance musics, that Boram and Willett even bother to imagine how those two worlds cross makes for delightful, ecstatic nonsense. And just dig that cover art."
"Oh my lord, insane robot time. Baltimore duo Leprechaun Catering (featuring Megaphone label guy and Jad Fair collaborator Jason Willett) don’t just ghost the machines, they run them far beyond capacity into a confusing, yet syncopated state of organized confusion. Kling-klangs harder than most things I’ve heard this year, and wholly amazes on two fronts: one, a fractious, sputtering twist of live improv samples chopped up to squelching mania, then let loose to destroy, and two, a remarkable steadfast concession to the beat, one which few if any of their “contemporaries” (and by that I mean any half-bake noiseniks, from Neon Hunk to [D] Yellow Swans) have truly been able to master. Could Raymond Scott orchestrate a rave at its most cacophonous? Leprechaun Catering intend to show us how that might have played out. Beyond weird bouts into a restless twin consciousness."
"Sorry for bein so delinquent w/my opinionatin. I was servin jury duty & sequestered in one of them Holiday Inn Express hotels. Right nice accomodations 'n everything,the cinnamon rolls & hard boiled eggs they put out for breakfast each mornin was quite enjoyable. I've had worse coffee too. There was a game room with an air hockey table that was a mess've fun till I got so good that none of the other jurors could beat me & quit playin. As far as I'm concerned, they was all GUILTY of bein lame. As for the trial, it's nothin to get worked up about (some fella was suin his neighbor because of a loud air conditioner. I stayed awake for most of it). Thank God that's over. I was tickled pink to get home & resume my daily what-have-you. There was a couple boxes of records waitin for me so the other night we had some folks over & commenced to playin some of'em. Ironically, the one I didn't spin-this here lp by Leprechaun Catering-seemed to command the most attention. Before I could put it on, my upstairs neighbor "Red" (on account of the birthmark on his neck) gave it a gander, held it up, made this Jo Anne Worley face & said sarcastically 'I bet this is good!" From then it got passed around & everybody had their little laugh 'n petty comment. I dunno, I kinda like it. It reminds me of that actor David Lochary from them John Waters movies. Which is funny, cause Leprechaun Catering is from Baltimore & nothin says Charm City more than John Waters. And let's be honest here, where else of the east coast would you be likely to find leprechaun caterers? I'm serious. Ever been to Baltimore? It's got some weird shit goin on. I can almost envision a building stuccoed w/graham cracker where many petite figgy puddings, mince meat pies & smoked salmon canapés are churned out at an inhuman volume. Leprechauns know one thing & it's work. Or is that elves? Leprechauns, elves, same difference! That said, the duo known as Leprechaun Catering put their collective nose to the grindstone on this top notch lp that speaks to me in tongues once reserved for records/artists from past worlds like Metalanguage, Parachute & Random Radar. The one fella on here, Jason Willett, I know from work w/Half Japanese, that Jaunties box on Stomach Ache & other 7"ers I'm too lazy to go & check out. The other one, Tom Boram, is a mystery-as is who plays what-but that's okay 'cause it smokes like a box've florescent lightbulbs launched from a cannon & exploding into the side of my head. Great crackled & glittering diy improv damage & quite possibly the greatest bucket of gunk to claim Maryland as a home state since 'The Zombies Of Mora-Tau' stalked the beaches of yore. On the excellent White Denim label & limited to 326 #rd copies. Get it at; http://www.whitedenim.com/"
"In terms of music-listening habits, Ill remember 2006 as the year it dawned on me, that the way Ive been hating computers as instruments and electronic music more or less in general with fervour for years, was a pretty dumb thing. This album, as well as a bunch of older stuff, underscored that experience. What this duo do with their gizmos is absolutely amazing. Noise, beats and every bleep sound youve ever heard in your life + a million more melt together like some cacophonic aural cartoon of snowflakes in every conceivable colour falling from the sky in weird digital patterns."
"Hvad enten det hedder minimalisme, avantgarde, post-punk eller noget andet tørt, kan folk med en vis portion humor næsten altid vride noget lytteværdigt ud traditionen og måske endda tilføre musikken noget, der ikke er hørt 999 gange før, fordi de ikke er bange for at blæse højt og flot på det nedarvede og korrekte. Duoen Leprechaun Catering, der består af Jason Willett og Tom Boram, har med Male Plumage lavet en plade, der gør, at næste gang du hører ordene "elektronisk musik", kommer du helt automatisk til at tænke på beige knæstrømper, badutskørter og spidse sølvpapirshatte i stedet for på sorte, firkantede briller og DJ-tasker. Deres musik lyder som et nødsignal fra et grotesk og forvrænget psykedelisk tegneserieunivers, hvor der foregår et hardware-orgie, som involverer kredsløb bestående af indmaden fra ringeklokker, tågehorn og Big Muffs prototyper. De to amerikanere henholdsvis uddyber, underbygger og terroriserer hinandens udladninger i løbet af lp'ens fem numre. Dialogen er hovedrystende langt ude ind imellem, men virker aldrig kedelig eller søgt. Titler som "The Roar of Pizza Boxes", "Hippy ID" og "Adult Carrot" beskriver tonen udmærket."
translation to english:
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