3/17/05
It's a daunting task mixing such a complex work of art as Frances the
Mute, the sophomore effort from The Mars Volta. And as a listener,
that's the best way to tackle this monster, as a stunning, if flawed,
masterpiece.
The comparisons to art rock of the seventies are ubiquitous and inevitable. This is not an album for the faint of heart. And those who love it should simply accept that not every one has the time, will or energy to absorb so much information and consider it pleasurable. Appreciating this album requires effort. And time. And a passion for being challenged.
While working to transcend genre, The Mars Volta's Latin roots -- Spanish lyrics, the rumba sections of "L'Via L'Viaquez", and ample percussion are obvious examples -- pervade the entire album. I had always been annoyed with the "punk" label so frequently applied to At The Drive In, the band that catapulted band leaders Omar A Rodriguez-Lopez and Cedric Bixler Zavala to fame. With Frances the Mute, they explore guitar-driven art rock, electronica, psychedelia, Latin, jazz, power ballads and perhaps even screamo, whatever that is.
This statement is uncontroversial: The musicianship is exceptional. They string together long series of unusual time signatures and transition seamlessly as only true artists can. There are no weak links in the band's line-up, and each instrument is worthy of study in and of itself within the context of a tremendously talented band. I am particularly impressed by the saxophone solo on "Cassandra Geminni" (I assume this is guest artist Adrian Terrazas,) and think this dynamic is something worth exploring on future projects.
The music itself is quite difficult to internalize. Frenetic, passionate, busy and loooong passages are interspersed with droning, mesmerizing and loooong passages. Lyrics are impossible to interpret, at least without some serious mind-tripping aids. Herein lies the great divide among critics.
I can go from fist-pounding exhilaration to somnambulance in a moment while listening to Frances the Mute. But, see, I don't care. I love it. It is art that takes me places and challenges me to listen and pay attention.
Still, The Mars Volta have yet to hit their stride. Better things will come. I'd love to see them produce eight more albums in the next ten years in a flurry of creative genius and turmoil. That will guarantee a couple really bad ideas get released. But in the spirit of the late sixties and early seventies that produced such a wealth of great and challenging rock music, it will keep them from outthinking and diluting themselves into mediocrity.
My big gripe with this release is that from the first listen to the twelfth, while my appreciation for the music grew, it continued to seem overproduced. It can have a lot more fire. The drums and percussion, while amazing, are not allowed to drive the beat as it does live. The guitars, keys and vocals aren't always isolated enough in the mix to distinguish themselves and can sound more cacophonous than complimentary.
This is a ridiculously difficult album to mix. In the seventies, Yes had five very distinct parts that each held their own place in the sonic spectrum, whereas The Mars Volta have more going on and more overlap among the instruments.
I'd imagine that's why renowned mix artist Rich Costey was brought in to try and make sense out of it all. It could have been done better, more raw, more organic. What was brilliant on heroin and tape in 1969 can come across as sterile and compressed in the bytes and bits of 2005.
I know this will come as a complete shock to most of you; but an art rock album can be really good, while being neither brilliant nor totally sucking.
-- The Grouch
