THE HEART IS IN THE BODY

If I hadn't heard Gregorian chants, J.S. Bach, Sergei Rachmaninoff, Dimitri Shostakovich, Gentle Giant, Robert Fripp/King Crimson, Henry Cow/Art Bears, Hatfield & The North/National Health, Happy The Man, XTC, This Heat, Cheer-Accident, The Cardiacs, Mr. Bungle, Advent, Jack O' The Clock, Knifeworld, The Muffins/Dave Newhouse/Manna/Mirage, and William D. Drake, I would have said that Richard Larcombe & Company might be onto something with this quirky, angular mix of mediæval choir motets put to electrified/electronic minstrel/troubadour music. But, as it stands, my bombarded brain keeps telling me that I've heard this before. Were it not for the lyrics, I would be inclined to agree with the processing center of my central nervous system, but, as it is, I'm more inclined to say that I hope I never have to hear this music again: I have enough dissonance and cacophony in my life already, thank you very much. Despite all this, I must say that, over time, with continuous listening, the ear and CNS kind of grow used to the dissonant parts and are then able to begin to pick up on the "smoother" melodies--which seem to come from the choir-delivered vocals more often than not. This fact helps render this music listening experience into the more palpable, even likable, category that I find I've placed New Jersey band ADVENT and American Prog folk artist DAMON WAITKUS (Jack O' The Clock) into.

As I sit with this music--really sit with it--I find myself imagining a troupe of brightly-colour-costumed minstrels and troubadours marching into my medieval village from distant adventures who-knows-where, dancing, prancing, and frolicking playfully around the central figure of the marching man beating padded drumsticks on the should-harnessed tonal bass drum to a marching rhythm as wooden flutes and recorders are played by the some of the dancing troupe members. The problem with these songs for me is in their monotonous sound and choppy, angular rhythmicity. Were I able to "hear" and make sense of the words of their lyrics instead of hearing them as another element of the monotonous wall tapestry of sound they might accrue more weight to make their way into my heart. As they are, I feel as if I "just made it through" another one of those stereotypic bombardments of mirth and merriment brought into town by these sly, creepy, somewhat untrustworthy itinerate minstrel troupes. ("Whew! Glad that's over! Hope they're not back any time soon!")

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