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For a good chunk of his latest disc, A Guess at The Riddle, the literary and very musical David Grubbs pulls off a lot of very catchy, jangling guitar-driven pop songs in which the only other instrumentalist is drummer Adam Pierce (Mice Parade/The Dylan Group). Although Grubbs does some bass guitar overdubbing, on tracks such as "Knight Errant," "A Cold Apple," and "One Way Out of the Maze," it's so low in the mix and masked by his guitar; the positive outcome, perhaps intended, is that it then feels like listening to a very tight and dynamic duo riffing off of each other. Greek cellist Nikos Veliotis (featured in Grubbs' recent live performances) adds his swooping harmonics, which, along with the electronic augmentation of Matmos, turns "Hurricane Season" into a brewing and ominous piece worthy of its title. The snappy and extremely catchy "Pangolin" tears along to powerful yet unamplified electric guitar and broken bass lines which pack a lot of intensity into a brevity of under two minutes; no fancy guitar solos required. Although no recording equals that of live performance, there are a lot of moments on A Guess at The Riddle where it feels like I'm in a small club, listening intently at the edge of the stage.
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The electrified gong that radiates through the beginning moments of "Makruna" and continues through its 38 minute duration marks a phantom presence that galvanizes the whole of these recordings. The track "Minya" was originally recorded as a solo live performance in 1999, but it used elements of sound that had been previously recorded by both Colin Potter and Andrew Chalk. Only 111 copies of this performance were made, but now a reworked version—along with two new tracks—has been released in an edition of 500 copies.
Makruna Minya is a quiet and carefully paced record. "Makruna" reverberates with the humming and quiet pulse of gong, but also bubbles over with the sound of a small creek, the voices of individuals on the street or on the television, stone plates scratching over each other in circular patterns, and the uneasy sound of steam passing complacently through small pipes. The palette of sounds is very natural and, as a whole, the track progresses uniformly with changes taking place on a subconscious level. As the slate rubbing together becomes louder, children laugh and yell very low in the mix, and marbles jumble together in a bag. As soon as the commotion dies away, the sound of the gong has become clearer, the distinct shuffle-and-crack of walking on grass or leaves becomes audible and bird calls shift and stutter in the mix. All of this sounds relaxing on paper, but Jonathan Coleclough has a way with sounds that make them feel positively unsettling. The gong strikes illuminate the surrounding environment and fill the sky up with a dark oil that blocks out the sun and gives the world a blue tint. The children no longer laugh, but sound as if they're crying and the television reports sound frightened, almost paranoid in their delivery. Whatever it is that is happening feels consumingly hopeless. "Makruna" fades away into the orchestral "Minya," a piece composed of synthetic tones, oceans crashing onto the shore, and the strange distortion of radio signals. The tones on "Minya" are all descending and are, at times, reminiscent of human wails or sorrowful moans. The sounds continuously wash out with each other, each sound following the movement of another until a chorus of whispers and pseudo-screams crash down and reset the pattern. "Minya" is a more physical composition than "Makruna" and it circulates with a heaviness that is almost tangible. "Minya" moves so ferociously that it shakes itself towards its own destruction and by song's end it is reduced to a deep and growling bass tone that has been stripped naked of its previously chaotic glory. One final screech gets away before "Makruna Coda" hushes the album towards its end. The final sounds are from "Makruna" but are not washed away in a sea of processing. What I thought was a gong is now just a bell and the mysterious voices now sound as though they are being yelled down a tunnel flowing with water. The sounds fade away and leave a deep impression of the last sixty tumultuous minutes that does not dissolve. After the music has stopped churning, Coleclough's compositions will thrive and remain in the mind like a residue that grows and grows. 
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It's utterly unfortunate when I can listen to a band and tell either their influences or what band they're trying to sound like on almost every track. Especially when said band shows musicianship and skill that could very well spawn a truly unique and powerful sound. Sadly, this album is not the record that reveals this untapped talent for The Plastic Constellations.2024
A band almost tailor-made to pander to college crowds, the Constellations rely on a humorous outlook and an seemingly endless supply of energy to pound out their mostly derivative rock. The songs never reach past some desire to show off how clever or great the band is, and it falls firmly on its face. Opening track "We Came to Play" is an anthem and a call to arms at the same time, as the band gets "laced up" to face more crowds after facing some level of adversity. The rhymes are tired and weak, and all the song ends up as is self-aggrandizing wordplay. Most of the lyrics, in fact, are written from the band's perspective on a myriad of subjects, some specific and some vague. Sticking by friends, how hard it is to grow up and move on, being away from home, and the urbane desire to show off some gangsta vibe are all discussed, and, truth be told, it's almost no surprise that the band is made up of 22-year-old males. It's typical subject matter for the college crowd, all bravado and little substance, and it comes off like a bad English paper written by someone from Rhode Island who wants to talk about "keeping it real" and being "from the streets." Even the song titles suggest this: "Beats Like You Stole Something," "Evil Groove," and "Keep it Live" are a few examples. Truth be told, the band does have some solid playing, and there are sections of songs that show what potential exists in this group. But it remains aloof, and these songs pose and preen but don't become anything other than vain caricatures. With time, perhaps they'll mature into a solid rock outfit. Until then I'll keep it live elsewhere.
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