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Earthmonkey, "Alms of Morpheus"
Peat Bog—surprisingly not a nom de plume—is a frequent Nurse with Wound contributor, playing with Stapleton's Inflatable Sideshow on Rock 'n Roll Station, An Awkward Pause and other NWW classics. On his own, Bog records as Earthmonkey. His third full-length (and first in four years) is a monstrous double album that finds him in top form, assured and comfortable in his own skin.
Nurse with Wound aficionados should recall that Steven Stapleton produced Earthmonkey's first album, Audiosapien, nearly a decade ago. That's not the case here—Alms of Morpheus is entirely self-produced by Peat Bog, without Stapleton in earshot (though his influence is felt in places). Bog's few outside collaborators are generally identified by first names in the liner notes, lending their appearances a sense of anonymity. In every practical sense, then, this is a full-fledged Peat Bog solo work. If he was ever perceived to be in Stapleton's shadow, Alms should reverse that misconception; its peaks are as powerful as Stapleton's best work. That said, Earthmonkey shouldn't necessarily be considered alongside NWW at all—this is a damn fine collection of songs in its own right.
I'll be the first to admit that Alms of Morpheus is a daunting listen: nineteen sprawling tracks packed onto two discs, settling in at well over two and a half hours. Luckily, the length suits Bog's songwriting. He has a knack for letting his songs stretch out and develop fully; there's plenty of breathing room, and nothing ends too soon. The opener, "Scene not Herd," sets the pace for Alms—its danceable nature and foregrounded melody is akin to Underworld in a parallel universe, perhaps if Karl Hyde wrote on hallucinogens. The song places its emphasis squarely on the rhythm, by the way, which is important. At its core, Alms is a beat-driven album, its best moments anchored by pulsing, life-affirming rhythms full of precision and power, often as danceable as a Chemical Brothers A-side.
Alms of Morpheus is well-sequenced, but given its length, it can be a lot to ingest in one sitting. Luckily, it functions well as a buffet of sorts, with individual songs heard piecemeal—an ideal format for the iPod Shuffle generation. There is truly something here for everyone, whether the paranoid vocal loop in "I'm Just a Naked Man Screaming Here" beneath a maelstrom of guitar psychedelia straight out of Julian Cope's record collection, the Middle Eastern-tinged guitar and Kosmiche vibes of "Glespie's Rheum," or the rollicking bounce of, well, "Bounce" that reprises the melody of "Scene not Herd" in fine fashion. (And this is only the first half.)
Disc two kicks off with perhaps my favorite song of the bunch: "Night Blossom," a patiently unfurling web of gentle, Vini Reilly-esque guitar playing punctuated by a searing solo. From there, Alms spirals back into a maze of head-spinning guitar, Krautrock rhythms, carefully deployed samples and manipulated organic sounds. It's certainly of a piece with the album's first disc, give or take a few distinct tricks: the blissful, fiery guitar work of "Mothership" that recalls "Maggot Brain" for 21st-century noiseniks, for example. Toward the end, there are three freewheeling jams credited to Earthmonkey's Boom Band, including the aptly titled "Hed Phood 4 Phat People." (If there's one thing that can be said of Earthmonkey in general, it's that Peat Bog knows his audience.)
The lifeblood of the record is "Alms of Morpheus," the longest and most ambitious piece on an album with no shortage of long, ambitious pieces. At 20 minutes, "Alms" is no less overblown and indulgent than Prince William and Miss Catherine Middleton's royal wedding, but comes at a fraction of the cost—and, by the way, is a hell of a lot more fascinating. Naturally, it doesn't appear until two hours into the album. For those who make it this deep into Alms of Morpheus, the title track is a worthy reward, an abrasive encore for the fans who stick around 'til the end.
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