To appreciate this album as a whole, you must enjoy tersely delivered lyrics without the musical benefit of much variation on theme or feeling. The title, Black Forest, made me first think of the deli meat company until I got about halfway through listening to Age of Progress and realized any attempts at lightheartedness (or something as esoteric as writing a ballad about a ham sandwich) were stuck three layers deep beneath a grim world view and a broken tuning fork.
Industrial doesn’t begin to describe the tone of the opening track Black Forest I, a song layered with heavily echoed percussion and what sounds like bursts of steam from an ancient exhaust valve keeping rhythm with a crew hammering rivets into rusted girders of some hulking hunk of serious junk, sans vocals, the least assaulting and pleasant surprise we get. Was it then really necessary to include Black Forest II and Black Forest III, both variations on the original, weighed down with such ruminations as no burgers, no sports, no jokes / civilization was a hoax? Using the past tense, was this conceived as a post apocalyptic commentary on both country and man? Have we really arrived at a point where this pseudo existential gab passes for deep thought?
What bothers me is the lack of energy in the Aframes negativity. I’m not asking for Up With People (God help us all), exceptional harmonies, high-energy rhythms or great symbolist poetry every time I throw a disc in my player, but after three cups of coffee and four thorough listens to the entire output that is Black Forest on a rainy Saturday afternoon, I would like to feel more motivated than when I first stumbled out of bed. This kind of music stems from a genre that supports itself on the despondency of its listeners. The liner notes are sparse and don’t include what should be requisite instructions: Congratulations on purchasing our new album. Take a handful of downers, pound a few warm cans of cheap beer, light a candle and stare in a mirror at your black-shirted self while the music plays. It’s the best thing we’ve ever done.
The sixth song on the album is a ballad of sorts, titled Eva Braun, Hitler’s mistress and wife. Give me a break! Of all the people in all of the world who have ever lived, this is the gal that inspired a tune? Is it my responsibility to delve deeper into the downhearted ditties to let you know more about what I don’t want to listen to ever again? I’ve put off writing this review for almost two weeks because it required actually listening to this sour nonsense.
The Aframes took the worst of the Pixies and Marc Ribot, doused them with a smattering of Lou Reed (without pop sensibilities) and came up with something so moody and self affirming, it makes me wonder if they ever considered any season outside of winter or any flavoring other than salt. A couple minor chords and a song sheet lifted from the depressed notebooks of a community college poetry major does not a band make- or maybe it does? |