amalgam: a striking critique of self and drums.

There are many things that I strive for with no one is awake, and there are several specific things I try to shy away from for good reason. What, as a general basis, I do is share what I like, musically. That's not out of the music blog ordinary. Two things that I, as a rule, try not to do are detailing lengthy personal accounts and negative reviews. Let me quickly qualify what I just revealed. Anything ever written that can be found interesting or enjoyable reading material has had some personal flair from the writer. I'm simply stating that I identify this as a music blog and not a personal journal. I presume you're here for music, and don't dilute myself that you, the reader, are all that interested in my personal life. I also claim to remain positive in reviewing music. That doesn't, however, mean that I lie with recommendations or exaggerate to show everything in a positive light. Sure, enthusiasm fades and every song I share might not be my favorite at that time, let alone months from then. I simply choose not to discuss music that I'm not particularly fond of. I've made no mistake in professing my distaste for xbxrx, and I've probably spoken out against Arctic Monkeys as well as a few others, but I don't pretend to like anything that I don't, and I don't take up much space with artists I have little or no use for.
This brings me to yesterday's lapse into personal territory. I've gotten more feedback (through comments and other communication) about Robot and Lily than any Bishop Allen post or even Joan of Arc related music (where I believe I have a decent following). So I question the few standards I've set for no one is awake and will disobey both aforementioned rules today. I've already written a lengthy bit of material that is more inwardly focused, and will now discuss something I have less than positive feelings about (though I have a feeling I will convince myself, through negative critique, of the opposite of what I believe now - and what I believe now is that this is an impossibly long parenthetical thought which finishes an admittedly poorly written paragraph).
I have a difficult time escaping my love of most music that shares any one of the several traits inherent to that of the now defunct Pele. Instrumental avant-jazz driven by frenetic yet melodic guitar, rolling bouncy bass and some of the best jazz drumming around. It's all right here. My overwhelming respect and devotion for this music has led me to discover many bands that I otherwise would never have had the distinct pleasure of hearing. This allegiance, as well as my collection-driven OCD, has also driven me to purchase as many pieces of work that Pele percussionist Jon Mueller (founder of Crouton records) has been a part of. I never seem to learn my lesson. Even when he re-teams with former members of Pele and Collections of Colonies of Bees (namely Jim Schoenecker), the pieces of music are drawn out synthesizer experimentations. My untrained (but not deaf) ear can rarely pick out any distinguishable percussion, save for extended drum rolls that act as a waving pulse of sound. I try and I try. I continue to believe that this is phenomenal music that is just above me. And maybe it is.
There are very few sections of any Pele song that leave an imprint in my brain such that they repeat for days, but while I am listening I couldn't be more content. The music I own and have listened to once on CDs like The Interview, Amalgam, Ears Only, Supershells, and the Crouton released collaboration between Mueller, Schoenecker, and Bhob Rainey are not so much testaments to patience (see: Sandcats) as they are insignificant. Maybe it's about the live presentation, but even then I couldn't imagine finding much, if any, enjoyment from the shrill sound of a headache incarnate.
Will I part with any of these CDs? Probably not. I know they represent something, and even though I'm not exactly sure what, I cling to the hope that this is something far above me. The musical experiments dangle in front of me a greater sense of being, a higher sense of enlightenment that truly talented musicians can achieve and create perfection, indecipherable to the uninformed. Jon Mueller may be a percussionist of Greek God proportions, gracefully presenting his powers on a select few albums that few will hear and fewer will own.
The doubt that this is true grows exponentially every day, along with my wish that Pele would return.
Try as I might, I can't let this be completely sour. I'm currently listening to Hat Melter's Unknown Album, a limited Crouton release, and I find it's inversion of cellos experimenting in place of synthesizers far more tolerable. More importantly is the compilation entitled Just Drums. As is completely inferable, it is a collection of drum solos (seventeen to be precise) that left me far more satisfied than anything else I've just referenced. At times it sounds like the percussionist is just warming up, or has no intent on "getting to" anything. At almost no time would any listener say, "Man, that cat can really cook." But at almost all times, the drum solos serve as perfect music to read, study, write or talk by. They can actually be listened to, sure, but they're much more effective as a source to drive thought and conversation; even the five minutes of stop-and-go by Jon Mueller.



Jon Mueller's "Pop"
from Just Drums: Drummer Compilation
(Currently available - along with most other Mueller-related releases - through Polyvinyl Records)



LINKS LEFT IN THE CHAIN: 80
Bright Eyes' "Little Drummer Boy"