Having released one of the most fascinating albums of 2016, US trio experimental brother sister trio Jack of None offer up one of this year’s most compelling in its successor Who Shot Bukowski. Weaving a tapestry of art, alternative, post punk and electronic rock, to simplify their sound, the band infests ears and fingers the psyche across ten tracks of creative drama. It is a journey into the shadowy side of the human condition, an adventure into devious infectiousness, and increasing addiction to embrace with every manipulative listen.
Splitting themselves between Philippines capital Manila and Chicago, Jack of None consists of brothers A.G. (principal composer on guitar, bass and synths) and Julian Syjuco (guitar) alongside sister Maxine (poet-songwriter and vocalist). Last year their first album, Who’s Listening to Van Gogh’s Ear?, was greeted with widespread acclaim, going on to receive 3 nominations at the 15th Independent Music Awards including Best Album in its genre, though what that genre maybe is anyone’s guess such the eclectic nature of their imagination and sound. Who Shot Bukowski is destined to not only replicate its predecessor’s success but thrust the threesome towards thicker and richer attention with its irresistible theatre of contagious intrigue and bold enterprise.
Swiftly Who Shot Bukowski reveals that doughty adventure and imagination in opener Strangest Bedfellows, allowing the hints and seeds sown in the more industrial lined Who’s Listening to Van Gogh’s Ear? to blossom and flourish. The track glides in on a slow swing, guitar and rhythms teasing with tantalising bait around the seductive temptation of Maxine’s voice. Steelier grooves erupt as things get provocatively hazier and magnetically sinister but still the emotive affair between ear and song continues to have the thickest grip whilst sharing increasingly catchy and flirtatious lures along the way.
It is an outstanding start swiftly matched by the following pair of Sticks and Stones and X-Y-Sex. The first of the two merges industrial and psych rock with folk pop hues, its touch simultaneously grainy and warm as Maxine erotically touches the imagination with her tones. A Marilyn Manson like causticity breaks as the track bursts into a more volatile state but soon returning to that initial now increasingly jazz funk laced calm; a carousel which continues to turn across the song before its successor steals the show with its noir lit beauty and haunting contagion. The previous track reminded of US industrial electro rock outfit Scream Machine, this even more so but equally has something of eighties UK band The Passage to it too. Like a dream almost nightmarish in its Orwellian design as visual eroticism teases, the track is pure bewitchment leading the imagination on a flirtatious dance from start to finish.
Dear Georges (Vous Petit Monstre) is next, an even darker bête noire of emotion and thoughts with its entrancing charms and seductive shadows, all led by Maxine’s almost predatory melodic grace and the similarly disarming exploits of her brothers. It too carries flames of metallic toxicity through the raw torrents of guitar but is at its most fantastic with its deviously mellow caresses.
Lyrically every song is a story, a gothic poem of sorts which is as much an engineer of the imagination as their delivery and the sound cradling their revelations, The Brainwashers another fine example within its raw dance and invasive electronic machination. A uniquely beguiling hook offsets a slight repetition of earlier tracks in certain moments, a lining of dark sounds and insidious suggestion adding greater individuality to the encounter before Polyamorous Serial Monogamist writhes seductively in ears. Every melody and smouldering syllable is a physically swerving enticement only accentuated by the surge of guitar and keenly slapping beats, it all woven into a mesmeric incantation.
From the six seconds of Again, the excitable rock ‘n’ roll exploits of The Princess and the Pistol (Can You Feel That?) tenaciously romp with the senses, the track a restrained yet tempestuous incitement while next up Little Devil Girl provides its own suggestive haunting with almost visceral charm and beauty. It is an edge which grows with the subsequent surge of guitars and bass groan which emerges within the garage punk scented treat, the superb encounter never losing its composure but instilling lingering seeds of fear.
The album closes with Tenderly, She Said, a song which from a melodic kiss of acoustic guitar grumbles and smooches with the ever arresting presence of Maxine. Progressive in its tone, hungry in its diversity of texture and flavouring, the song grabs ears and imagination with sublime craft and ease, epitomising the album with its own inescapable alchemy.
Who Shot Bukowski simply captivated and thrilled from its first moment in speakers and ears, and indeed has only tightened its lure and grip ever since. This time around Jack of None would not be too misguided in hoping those previous nominations become awards.
Who Shot Bukowski is out now across most stores and @ https://jackofnone.bandcamp.com/album/who-shot-bukowski
http://www.jackofnone.net/ https://www.facebook.com/jackofnoneband/
Pete RingMaster 02/08/2017
Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright
There is a touch of Muse about the opener, but just a passing whiff before a Pixies-esque spicing emerges in the following Magic. Again it is a scent in an offering uniquely Maths and the Moon; a track which merges a charming sonic irritability with tenacious beats and the spiny lure of the bass. As with the first, the song is inescapably contagious, inciting body and ears with equal prowess and success whilst its fuzzy air and emotive drama seals the imagination’s involvement. Across its length, it blossoms an increasingly blistered surface to its melodies and voice, flirting with a Jesus and Mary Chain meets scorched shoegaze like glazing, while superbly continuing the impressive start to the album with a success quickly backed up by Amongst Trees and its shadow grasped balladry. It is a subdued and mesmeric persuasion where poetically suggestive guitar and voice hug ears as drums and bass build a pulsating frame around them. A thicker stroll of psych rock does emerge within the track, another enticement as catchy as it is soothing in the album, which in turn breeds a rolling rhythmic incitement which provides the hook for celestial harmonies and sultry melodies to hang around.
Masked Laughter (Nothing’s Left) is a lighter distraction; its elegant fuzzy harmonies blossoming into halos of sonic suggestion around effect cloaked vocals whilst Critical provides an industrial toned intrusion with a carnival-esque revelry and infectiousness to its melodic undercurrent. As with its predecessors, there is a busy creative machine working away within the muggy climate of the track, new revelations emerging with every listen and in turn a fresh wave of virulent contagiousness.
The track is glorious and quickly matched by the compelling and devilish canter of The Sin Eaters. Once again grooves and melodies entangle spicy hooks as the crisp jabs of Corsano create an alluring frame. They are all sinisterly seductive ingredients courted by hidden dangers in the song’s shadows as the track becomes a tenacious soundscape of drama and tangy temptation, much as its successor Spiro Agnew. Bishop and Chasny explore in the same scenic emprise as the previous pair, where Middle Eastern flirtation romances the senses whilst sparking in thoughts a tapestry of interpretations of the sound soliciting ears with every listen; that a success found by each track in their individual ways.
The passions are ignited just as potently too, finding further lust as the following We’ve Had Enough with its opening saunter of evocative keys swings in with drama and rampant devilment. Riffs and grooves are soon driving infectiously through ears, vocals spilling the narrative with salacious intent as clean harmonies court ears in the background. The diversity of emerging sound is matched by the great variety of vocals, every second and twist of the song as unpredictable as they are a fluid persuasion. Like a temptress ruffling the love sacks whilst stealing the gold, the track is a salacious temptation leaving ears and emotions on a high ready for the quick step and tenacious revelry of Bring Us More. Jazzy keys, pop bred harmonies, and funk kissed energy are all sucked into the fiery climate of the song’s rabid creativity, once more the likes of 6:33 coming to mind alongside hints of Trepalium and Mr Bungle whilst devouring the unique goblin sound.
The following An Offspring To The Wolves is immediately a darker imposing character, the bass of Guillaume Colin resonating with menace and toxic enticement as a doomy air colludes with stoner-esque sonic expression. There is an underlying swing to the lumbering infection surrounding the captivating and varied vocal delivery of Bismuth, part of a slow smothering of the senses sparking with flames of sound and emotion across the consuming prowl of the senses. As all tracks upon the album, it is impossible to fully explain all of the textures, emotions, and dark almost meditative radiance oozing from the cauldron of sound and invention at work, but easy to say it is thoroughly absorbing.
settling into a muscular stride with roving rhythms and sturdy riffs. That premise is immediately twisted with a sultry funk swagger within the forceful beats whilst vocals are equally steamy and fiery to match the metal and hard rock essences teasing the mix. The track continues to swerve and writhe with unpredictable endeavour before discovering a chorus which is pure toxic virulence. Essences of Mr Bungle and Red Hot Chili Peppers spice up the indefinable temptation but only to ensure thoughts are further away from finding a valid description to the sound and triumphant moment. A jazz bred psyche kissed diversion ignites the imagination next, before the bass restores some kind of order with its throaty composure, yet it is just the spark for even more delicious bewitchment as the band transforms into a mix of Oingo Boingo and the Cardiacs for a simply bewildering and seductive devilry. The track is a brilliant start but just the beginning of something quite special.
and threatening the senses with dark riffs and rhythms with the entrance of opener Twisted Lip. The track soon settles into a feisty keen stride, the bass of Alex Ghilardi growling imposingly whilst the guitar of Florent Beaucousin coaxes and fires up thoughts in league with the richly impressive tones of Marques. It is an immediately flaming temptation which elevates its psyche metal seeded bait with the pop rock twist of the chorus. That Faith No More comparison is a swift suggestion though song and Pink Tatami only use it as flavouring to their ripe feast of sound. Across its saunter the song fuses in some funk twists with a Red Hot Chili Peppers lilt and a strong melodic rock grunge like enticement, an ingenuity which only adds to the potency.
