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F/i, "Blue Star/Merge Parlour"
Lexicon Devil
Blue Star/Merge Parlour, the last in Lexicon Devil's series of F/i reissues is less essential than Winter only because it pales in comparison to previously re-released pieces of the F/i catalog, notably the full lengths What Not Now??Alan! and Space Mantra;however, like the Boy Dirt Car reissue, this disc goes beyond anostalgia trip or an attempt to cash in on recent trends. F/i wereentirely unique in their ability to rock as hugely as the greatEuropean psych bands, while sounding at the same time like a very exactproduct of the Midwestern wasteland. All the bombast and ascension intheir often sprawling songs feels tempered by layers of gloom andsuburban malaise; any futurism comes with an equivalent expression ofdisdain for an automated, static culture. The F/i sound could bedescribed as industrial psychedelic, with most songs taking off onrepetitive, kraut-influenced grooves and then treated to a healthyglossing of dirty space-age electronics. A clear touchstone would beearly Chrome, but F/i is less claustrophobic, more prone to slip intothe trance-inducing drone epics than barbed sci-fi theatrics. Theirapproach can feel tired at times, and is certainly more successful onthe aforementioned albums, but this disc includes some of the band'sgreat moments too, like the hard, swinging psych of "Blue Star,"sounding like Guru Guru blasted through a silo, or "Om Twenty-One,"where guitars fizzle and bend around grossly modulated synth tones likea punker's homemade homage to Ligeti's 2001 score. Merge Parlour,F/i's three-song side from a split with Vocokesh, shows the band movingin an increasingly electronic direction. "Pleasure Centres/The Beach,"the standout track from the split, and the best song here, is one ofthe most intense and abstract F/i songs ever, with steady torrents offeedback and distorted samples forming the backdrop for more of thefamiliar guitar squeal, waves of industrial percussion, and droningsynths. That the band's original lineup dissolved quickly after Merge Parlourproves they must have had excuses other than a stagnancy in the music.Lexicon Devil has done a nice job with these reissues, sticking to theoriginal material and liner notes without weighting them down withextraneous crap (my guess is there was more than enough). If anyone isto be canonized, it will happen, as it should, by merit of the musicalone.
Blue Star/Merge Parlour, the last in Lexicon Devil's series of F/i reissues is less essential than Winter only because it pales in comparison to previously re-released pieces of the F/i catalog, notably the full lengths What Not Now??Alan! and Space Mantra;however, like the Boy Dirt Car reissue, this disc goes beyond anostalgia trip or an attempt to cash in on recent trends. F/i wereentirely unique in their ability to rock as hugely as the greatEuropean psych bands, while sounding at the same time like a very exactproduct of the Midwestern wasteland. All the bombast and ascension intheir often sprawling songs feels tempered by layers of gloom andsuburban malaise; any futurism comes with an equivalent expression ofdisdain for an automated, static culture. The F/i sound could bedescribed as industrial psychedelic, with most songs taking off onrepetitive, kraut-influenced grooves and then treated to a healthyglossing of dirty space-age electronics. A clear touchstone would beearly Chrome, but F/i is less claustrophobic, more prone to slip intothe trance-inducing drone epics than barbed sci-fi theatrics. Theirapproach can feel tired at times, and is certainly more successful onthe aforementioned albums, but this disc includes some of the band'sgreat moments too, like the hard, swinging psych of "Blue Star,"sounding like Guru Guru blasted through a silo, or "Om Twenty-One,"where guitars fizzle and bend around grossly modulated synth tones likea punker's homemade homage to Ligeti's 2001 score. Merge Parlour,F/i's three-song side from a split with Vocokesh, shows the band movingin an increasingly electronic direction. "Pleasure Centres/The Beach,"the standout track from the split, and the best song here, is one ofthe most intense and abstract F/i songs ever, with steady torrents offeedback and distorted samples forming the backdrop for more of thefamiliar guitar squeal, waves of industrial percussion, and droningsynths. That the band's original lineup dissolved quickly after Merge Parlourproves they must have had excuses other than a stagnancy in the music.Lexicon Devil has done a nice job with these reissues, sticking to theoriginal material and liner notes without weighting them down withextraneous crap (my guess is there was more than enough). If anyone isto be canonized, it will happen, as it should, by merit of the musicalone.samples:
