Recorded in a dank basement in Padova, Italy, Valende sounds more like an American teen flipping through his parent’s record collection, stopping abruptly to blast a few bars from this or that selection and then quickly discovering something new.
Jennifer Gentle is 23-year old vocalist and guitarist Marco Fasolo and 30-year old drummer, Alessio Gastaldello. The Italian duo has released two previous albums (also recorded in the same Padova basement), I Am Are You (2001) and Funny Creatures Lane (2002) on Italian label Sillyboy. Then Australian label, Lexicon Devil re-released the albums as a double-disc, Ectoplasmic Garden Party in 2003. The next year found the band becoming the first Italian act to sign to Seattle’s Sub Pop, and the group’s third record, Valende is set for a late January release.
The duo effortlessly mixes quirky, brittle pop with layers upon layers of fiendishly creative psychedelia. Bowed guitars, toy flutes and vocals nearly lost in a cloud of effects make for an interesting experiment of songwriting and production.
The album kicks into a timid guitar hook with “Universal Daughter,” which quickly builds into the disc’s strongest upbeat track, showcasing Fasolo’s Marc Bolan electric warrior voice, while tossing in an assortment of plastic humming and unique instrumentation. The lyrics flail about in an overload of parallels between popsicles, pregnancies and TV screens, until Fasolo lets the listener join in his exuberant glee, exclaiming “and everybody’s envious to the extreme.”
“I Do Dream You” blasts off with a Kink’s-style guitar slam, garage rock keys twinkling and an irresistible chorus catch. The key moment however is the deflating balloon solo, which actually feels like a screeching, out of control guitar shiver. Jennifer Gentle’s self-reliance yields numerous eccentricities but this hyper solo infuses the band’s experimental aesthetic with its lust for creamy pop in a way that few bands could actually pull off. It’s also nice to be caught off guard by a song, taken aback and bumped around — it makes for deeper listening.
After the squeal of “I Do Dream You,” Jennifer Gentle settles down into a long stretch of psychedelic slow-burners, linking lilting acoustic melodies, lush backdrop orchestrations and experimental ballistics together for almost the remainder of the album.
Fasolo’s voice drops away, washed clean with reverberation and echo and chorus effects, as if the slowing percussions work to mold his vocal chords. “Tiny Holes,” copping a melody from the Beach Boy’s “Surfer Girl,” sounds organic and tempestuous, blending the vocal work into a landscape of strings and chimes, letting the guitars swagger and dash behind the lazy melody. “Circles of Sorrow” finds Fasolo’s vocals even more mixed into the surrounding instrumentation, becoming barely audible over toy plinkering and exotic, puttering strings and guitar, slowly expanding into a surreal children’s story as the band moves further away from where Valende began, dipping into pan flutes and watery murmurs.
The album’s mid-section then strings together three songs into one epic exploration. “The Garden Pt. 1” exhibits sparse, beautiful acoustic guitar work after a stream of fairy-vocals sparkle downriver. But the simple duel guitar composition resolves itself and bleeds into the experimental syncopation and organ-blast heavy bombast of “Hessesopoa.” This seven and a half minute abstract attack scatters the previous melodies into a miasma of clashing sounds. Wailing sub-harmonics, muted voices and clanging cymbals fall apart and on top of each other over tumbling percussion. The track eventually wears itself down and floats into another acoustic ballad, “The Garden Pt. 2,” which basically continues its sibling song’s course.
While creating an interesting juxtaposition to the quiet “Garden” tracks, “Hessesopoa” is more of another punch in the ear. Another example of Jennifer Gentle toying with its listeners.
“Golden Drawings” and “Liquid Coffee” find Jennifer Gentle tracing through territory that’s equal parts early Spaceman 3 and 13th Floor Elevators. The latter track begins to build Fasolo’s vocals back into a more rock-oriented tone, regaining some of its scratchiness during a slightly off-key chorus break.
The album’s closer, “Nothing Makes Sense,” sounds like a ’60s Brit-pop group tripping on Saturday morning cartoons. An acid-burned Monkee singing the Small Face’s “Lazy Sunday.” Then the vocal wackiness steps it up a notch with piercing Chipmunks pitch shifting. The track crashes down into a lulling hum before fading away.
With luscious instrumentation and uncompromising experimental wandering, it’s hard to tell that Valende is in essence a home recording, but more so the album is a travelogue of collected glimpses of pop, psychedelia and jingly pop.
Grade: A/B
