Organ Music, Not Vibraphone Like I’d Hoped is a strange and mysterious thing. The latest project from Moonface, or Spencer Krug (Wolf Parade/Sunset rubdown) follows up last year’s Dreamland EP with a collection of avant-garde pop songs. They might not appear to be pop songs on the surface, but once they get under your skin, they won’t let go.
To describe the sound of the album – let’s use Krug’s words, from the press release: “It’s music played with an organ, organ beats, organ beeps and bloops, and some digital drums. Music based on layers and loops, the hypnotizing sound of a Leslie speaker, and the onslaught of melody.”
OK, so where the fuck does that leave us? Well, it’s lyrically dense and completely strange. It’s the least commercial thing Krug has done, but it’s also the best. Once you get past the unexpected sounds of the thing, it’s an album you’ll find yourself humming and singing along to. Oh yes.
Organ Music has five tracks, and it’s just under forty minutes long. With that in mind it’s probably best to examine it from a lyrical perspective, and track by track. So we go.
Track one is “Return To the Violence of the Ocean Floor.” Remember, we’re ignoring the music because it mostly serves as a backdrop, and a melody for Krug’s strangely enchanting obscure mumblings. This song has a great (almost) chorus, and approximately a million great lines, but the song culminates in a list. As Krug sings: “One, we got the spirit, two, we got the music, three, we got the past and four, we got the future.” This brings back to chorus: “And five, we got some kind of lust to return to the violence of the ocean floor.” It might look inane on paper, but against the organ beats, and with repeated listens ,it comes across as a litany, and one not to be ignored.
The next track, “Whale Song,” bellows with a subtle noise. It aches, as Krug sings: “’’this is a song instead of a kiss.’” and is that the saddest thing to know? No, it’s not the saddest thing to know. “He continues on, he talks of a pond where a whale will stay, he talks of how there will be a garden, and he seems to urge a lover on. It’s odd and plaintive, but also brimming with hope.
“Fast Peter” is a quicker number, in which Krug seems to be relating the stories told by another friend: “he told me all about it on the balcony when we were high on drugs.” It’s the story of Peter, a girl, and why “he held her up to the heart’s perfect’s light.” Krug questions Peter’s motives, but secretly hopes he succeeds. It’s a tender moment in an album full of tender moments you have to dig for.
After that, “Shit-hawk in the Snow” is probably the densest thing here. It’s almost impossible to discern what Krug is talking about here, but it contains at least one great WTF line “smoking cigarettes like it’s two thousand and three.” It seems to be at it the most basic about a girl, and the reminders of a girl. Krug repeats the mantra “and it will hypnotize you,” and somehow, we’re there. It’s a gradual song, probably the most gradual of the five.
The last song “Loose Heart = Loose Plan” might be the most pop orientated thing here, but it’s just as hard to grasp as the rest. The song is a shout out to and against nostalgia, and the fleeting nature of things. The song’s final verse seems to be a sarcastic coda for the record as a whole. Krug sings “lets leave the revolution to the revolutionaries” and then “come on, let’s kill individual will.” The song ends with Krug pledging that he will over and over. Is this album revolutionary? God, no. It’s new and exciting, but it’s also the sound of a man doing whatever weird shit comes to his brain.
Even with that, it’s hard not to smirk as Krug endorses the death of the individual self. That might lead one to believe the whole thing is a joke, but that would be a false presumption. This is not Metal Machine Metal. It encourages the listener to come in closer, to put their head against the speaker. Organ Music is full of myths, honesty, lies, and humor. It’s something brand new. It’s not the sound of the future, but something better. It’s the sound of something we’ve never heard before, and might not hear again.
