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Bombs by Night, Balloons by Morning (2001)
6.5
Disclaimer Guy Theme / Your Bird Is Going to Fly Away / The Imaginary Thing / Clockwork Drudgery / Five Mile Hill / Life in Detail / The Decipherment of Linear B / Billy Morgan / Unopposed / Ultra XX Living Solely on XY / Bet She’s Not Your Girlfriend / Maybe Today He’ll Explode / [untitled song] / Why Are They Laughing? / Similar to Sugar Pill
Disclaimer
is Chris Williams. Willie (as friends and acquaintances are allowed to call
him) is a Detroit-based, 5’2” midget with an eclectic taste in
music… WAIT, WAIT, WAIT! That’s no way to start a review!
Take 2: A web-reviewer like me (but a much better one), Willie’s an awfully nice guy who’s big on contemporary indie-rock, capable of producing smart sentences faster than his president can come up with his moronic remarks, and a kind of ‘distant friend’ … ‘distant’ as in “hey, he lives overseas, I don’t know whether he’s actually a nice guy to talk to, but when I’m rich I’ll try it out.” Obviously, all this guarantees the remainder of this review will be biased as hell, but I’ll try to be honest, that’s the least I can do now that I’ve had some to consume it. Now, to get it out of the way, I’ll try to avoid predictable phrases such as “charmingly lo-fi” and “pleasant home-made ditties,” but I can’t guarantee it’ll work. Anyway, as with many debut albums, Bombs by Night, Balloons by Morning contains an insane amount of ideas, smart moves, unpredictable references, etc. That’s what you get when a lifetime-experience has to be condensed into a 45-minute format.
The unexpected arrival of a new voice can go two ways of course: the result can be a debut that’s so original, endearing and defining it’s already a career statement that’ll never be topped again (1), or it can be an example of the Evil Superstars-syndrome (2). In Disclaimer’s case it’s none of these options, but it doesn’t exclude the second option either. The downside of Willie’s approach (before you get worked up, the good part hasn’t been discussed yet!) is that his music sometimes sounds exactly like what you’d expect from a pop culture-junkie with eclectic tastes and an M.A. in literature: lots of “spot the influence”-games, awkward/inventive wordplay (“Your bullying casts suspicion on any efforts to be nice, and saps any potential patience for your unsolicited advice” or “Hosing out the carcasses between my drawbridge gears” – say what, Willie?) that can get a bit too wordy and smart, seemingly out-of-place elements (static, kitschy synths, rudimentary beats – comes with the budget too, of course) that disrupt the notion of the pop song as ‘a whole of preconceived ideas’, references to arty European cinematography (Resnais!) and highly regarded bands (Radiohead, and perhaps a few others that I missed), but also the inclusion of “vulgar” cultural excess (music from video games, The Celestine Prophecy, Oprah). On the other hand, this refusal to conform is of course also Willie’s way of making an individual statement, which requires the listener to make an effort. He does touch upon conventional themes such as communication breakdowns (“The Imaginary Thing”), a yearning to be fully recognized and loved (“Five Mile Hill”), the joy of having a soul mate (“Similar to Sugar Pill”) and the fecal scent of burning martyrs (“Ultra XX Living Solely on XY”). On second thought, it all might be a scam to lure people like me into believing he’s a normal human being just like the rest of us.
Musically, Willie’s competent enough on guitar, bass, drums, and electronic equipment to turn these songs into something better than just “amateurish”. His greatest strength on this album (in my opinion), though, is his knack for creating original melodies: just hear how his vocals blend in with the repetitive bass figure and nervous drums during “Your Bird Is Going to Fly Away.” I mean, he isn’t the greatest vocalist to walk the earth, but would you wanna hear an Eddie Vedder-styled singer/yelper here? OK, I already guessed so. And that ecstatic “You don’t even care” at the end still cracks me up after dozens of listens. Elsewhere, Willie dabbles in more conventional material: “The Imaginary Thing” would probably appeal to Guided by Voices-fans, as it’s raw and basic, but over before you’ll realize how good it actually is. Another winner is “Ultra XX Living Solely on XY,” where he succeeds in coming up with the first ever crossover of Dump and Julian Cope, whom he again resembles during the fuzzed-up “Maybe Today He’ll Explode” (nearly as good as the title suggests!). I wasn’t that impressed by the robotic “Clockwork Drudgery” (waiting for a pay-off that didn’t come), “Unopposed” (skewed poetry recited over a synthetic beat just isn’t my thing) and the two last songs could’ve been trimmed a bit, but besides the fact that these are silly remarks that don’t do the album justice, they’re easily compensated for by “Life in Detail,” a Disney-song that’s turned into a ‘80’s synth-pop tribute, the sinister trance of “The Decipherment of Linear B” and a couple of decent covers (The Men They Couldn’t Hang, The Pet Shop Boys). Closer to the “promising” than to the “already arrived”-side of ‘GOOD’, Bombs by Night, Balloons by Morning feels exactly like what is it: a debut album by a very talented guy. The album contains some excess fat and needed an extra polish here and there, but knowing Willie, I knew he’d eventually take care of that, and the good thing of not having arrived yet is that it gives people the opportunity to be there when it happens, armed with silly celebrative songs and colourful balloons. The works!
(1) Violent Femmes, Marquee
Moon, I Should Coco, Baby One More Time, The Undertones, The New York Dolls,
Modern Lovers, Danzig, Are You Experienced ?, Kick out the Jams, Curtis
(yeah it beats Superfly), Stands for Decibels, etc.
(2) A temporary brain deficiency that causes a person
to, whether consciously or unconsciously, create a piece of art (a music album,
film, piece of literary fiction, etc.) that contains enough references, hooks,
jokes and insanity for a lifetime. Allegedly, Belgian band The
Evil Superstars used between 3 and 4 thousand of those on their debut
album.
(3) Bombs by Night, Balloons by Morning
was never officially released, but I think you can still obtain a copy if
you ask him nicely.
The Airbag’s Lipstick Kiss (2003)
8
Fixing a Hole / God Said, “Plastics!” / Vending Machine / Like the Backside of a Bulimic’s Teeth (#1: Bats = Bags) / You Ruined Everything / Generic Shoulder Blade Tattoo / Mufasa Kisses / De Sitter Horizons / Hell / Wrong for the Right Reasons Is Still Wrong / Please Pardon Our Progress!!! // I Couldn’t End It There
“Jesus,
what happened?” was the only thought I could come up with when I’d
listened to Disclaimer’s new album a few times. It’s not just
that his first ‘official’ album is such a considerable improvement
on Bombs by Night, Balloons by Morning, but I suppose it also reflected
the state Willie was in when he recorded the album. The Airbag’s
Lipstick Kiss is not only an album that exudes undiluted anger and bitterness
- especially lyrically, although the music has become noticeably less frivolous
as well -, but it also makes a point of dissecting its very essence in 11
chapters that leave nothing to the imagination, ranging from the confused
(“Fixing a Hole”), to the spiteful (“You Ruined Everything”)
and the completely disillusioned (“Please Pardon Our Progress”).
It’s pretty obvious that what lies at the foundation of this depressing
album is a broken relationship, and the way in which Willie refers to it is
often spine-chillingly outspoken, as the sleeve-notes reveal a disheartening
series of accusations (“You ruined everything, and you say the pain
you’ve cause is ‘exhausting’ ”), pessimist thoughts
(“ ‘Still friends’ works for you because we’re defined
by distance, decorum and rules you’ve decided”), and
sheer defeatism (“Happiness is no longer an option” is the album’s
last ‘message’).
Fortunately (?), the whole mess instigated Willie to phrase it as truthfully and inventively as possible. Yes, “Vending Machine” is again one of his awkward metaphors, but it works here, as it seems to work throughout the course of the entire album. Randomly tossed sentences and references have made way for a much more focused, intriguing and merciless approach, with an uncompromising attitude you rarely encounter. One of the reasons why I waited so long to tackle this album was that it felt like looking at a huge, infected, open wound. I mean: “It’s like being punched in the face over and over and over and over. I wish we could be erased and taped over with porn, because my ears are gushing”, and continuing towards an obsession with decay in “so this is what it’s like to rot (like the backside of a bulimic’s teeth”) and self-destruction (“Watch yourself crash into things”), and I should poke in that? The pain was still fresh, the anger white-hot, and the person that’s constantly referred to (but never named) got one huge 40-minute beating. Not only the lyrics have ‘blossomed’, but also the music is much stronger than on the previous release. The production is still quite amateurish by major label-standards, but for my money, only a few minor details could’ve been better (the ‘rhythm section’ deserved to be pronounced a bit more a few times). As for the songs, they’re pretty consistent and most of ‘em would’ve been highlights on Bombs. From the use of vocoder during “Fixing a Hole” to the sometimes confusing/nauseating vocal harmonies of “Please Pardon Our Progress” (by Willie and Joe Hinchcliffe, whose soft, breathy voice was a great addition to the already terrific song), lyrics and music are suitably adjusted to each other. Feeling like a throwaway and having lost a sense of respect is translated into music by the use of voice manipulation, angular accents and sudden rhythmic shifts (making “God Said, ‘Plastics!’” sound like an early, robotic XTC-song) and elaborated distortion (into the short but memorable “Vending Machine”).
The conventional-sounding “Generic Shoulder Blade Tattoo” resembles Elliott Smith’s impeccably crafted and lushly embellished music (and I’m sucker for those vocals), while “Hell” announces itself as Disclaimer’s candidate for “Song of the Year.” With striking imagery (“Your name is stitched into my back, a rejection jersey I can’t get out of” – what a great find), hints of feedback throughout the song, and an uncomfortable vocal melody that’s both sinister and touching (check it out if you think it doesn’t make sense), it’s a song that reveals it’s qualities only after repeated listens. “Wrong for the Right Reasons Is Still Wrong” initially comes off as a novelty track that tries to reconcile Camper Van Beethoven’s silliness with They Might Be Giants’, uh, silliness, but the lyrics only speak of disappointment. In the meantime, we’ve also had “Bulimic’s Teeth,” which tries to hard to reconcile the wordy lyrics with the music and ends up sounding clumsy, and the quite directionless “Mufasa Kisses,” but they just can’t prevent Airbag from making a sizeable impact. After the uneven debut, I wished Willie a sophomore album that would contain the coherence and consistency his first effort seemed to lack and I got what I wanted, but did he? Probably not how he wanted. Maybe the things that have happened taught him how to separate the usable from the lesser ideas, but it’s a fact that this album is indeed – as Steve Knowlton in his surgically precise analysis of the album argues – his Sgt. Pepper’s as opposed to the charming but humble beginnings of Bombs (his Please Please Me). It’s still a bit too early to consider him the savior of rock ‘n’ roll or anything, but if he keeps progressing like this, God only knows what might happen. As long as things run a bit smoother for Willie, and I don’t have to feel like a voyeur each time, I’m already looking forward to the next chapter. Word, Willie!
Note: There’s a hidden track after the grand closing song, “I Couldn’t End It Here,” but it’s somewhat deserving of its bonus track-status.