Chicago’s avant-rock troupe 90 Day Men have unleashed another complex album of densely orchestrated art jams. Panda Park, released on Southern Records, swirls and broods, frustrated melodies warping and yelping in a chaotic succession of piano and jumble-slam guitar. This is psychedelic rock opera at the edge of turgid sleep. A dreamy, moonlit dip into ambient arrangements.
With Panda Park, 90 Day Men drop seven tracks in 40 minutes. Almost every minute is a worthwhile compliment/assault on the senses with a similar structure to their last release, To Everybody.
The album opens with “Even Time Ghost Can’t Stop Wagner.” The track begins as a repetitive loop of complicated piano and intertwining guitar with a simple enough rhythmic background. Lead singer Brian Case delivers a cut and paste mythology of words as his ornate instrumental accompaniment licks at the speakers like brush strokes. At times, the vocals fight for over-dramatic dominance and Case sounds like he’s channeling Jeff Buckley. At other moments, the vocals drop to a slithering growl, forcing you to acknowledge the wealth the band has sunk in their myopic lexicon. As the opening track tumbles to a finale, distorted beats and pan flute keep the opus interesting.
“When Your Luck Runs Out” begins with a whispered rumination of loneliness and paranoia. A trembling, slightly distorted vocal advises, “When your decisions turn into mistakes don’t feel bad / People lie to themselves everyday / This is not superstition, I’m just scared as shit.” The band holds back and lets the song sift to the bottom, like something left to die in the silt of a shallow lake.
The next track, “Chronological Disorder,” finds Case rejoicing in Andy Lansangan’s carnival organ and the opportunity to overindulge in kitsch vocal delivery. At points the lyrics become too much and lose their meaning. A particularly baffling myriad of 90 Day Men’s jargon flows out in an incoherent slathering: “Kinetic kaleidoscope knothole knoll kleptomania knavery / Languid language magic maelstrom machination / Maiming mantras to Marx malaise.”
Luckily the driving force and restrained liberation of “Too Late or Too Dead” save Panda Park from becoming emotional fodder with little lyrical poignancy. Brushes of acoustic guitar and flourishing keys match up perfectly with the deadpan delivery of lyrics: “There was a time I had so much to say / But that time’s gone and all that’s left is one thing / Looks like they are starting to catch up with you / And I’ll be damned if you take me down with you.”
The off-kilter vox snapping of “Silver and Snow” details a fatal voyage, where neither magic nor medicine can be of much help. “Silver and Snow / Don’t let it go / Like the ideas lost inside your brain / Coalescing and depressing,” Case sings as his notes are digitally mumbled into a warbling recording of urgency in the face of sublime forces. The desperate pleading of “Don’t let it go / Don’t you ever / Don’t you ever / Forever, forever” slowly disintegrates into a bustling froth of elated backing vocal howls and a fearless undertow of shimmering distorted guitar.
The album’s closing statement, “Night Birds,” combines a slow-brewing full band jam and electronic whirlwind noises. Cayce Key on percussion and Rob Lowe on bass keep the flow energized as they morph simplicity into an ever-winding post-rock travelogue experiment. When the delayed hand clap barrage and twisting xylophone kick in at seven and a half minutes, you won’t want them to stop.
Emerging from an underground avant-garde scene has never been so elegantly achieved, as Panda Park marks 90 Day Men as a major force of expressionistic rock drama.
Grade: A/B
