 |
|
Sound Factory
Shadoks
Of all the tracks included on the Brazilian volume of the excellent Love, Peace, & Poetrypsych comp series, Sound Factory's "Let's Go" is by far the strangest.The song tries at a fairly generic, surf-influenced groove, but comesoff sounding more like a cautionary tale against heavy acid use, ahideously top-heavy mix capped off by singer Kevin Brennan's falsetto,so bad it's honestly not even funny. The song is a sad but perfectintroduction to the band's single, thoroughly obscure album, reissuedlast year by Shadoks. Sound Factory cannot be explained away asan amateur psych record or even as a novelty for the collectors marketalone. Something about the group protects them from seeming either tooincompetent or too generic for the adventurous listener. Seven of thesongs are covers (Cream, Traffic, Jefferson Airplane, and Blind Faithamong others), lending the automatic charm that comes with foreignersborrowing so directly (and almost exclusively) from theBritish/American rock canon. Portuguese accents get bent awkwardlyaround Robert Johnson's wail, and a Tropicalian lilt is brought to thestodgiest of thick, white rock, shoddily-played and cheaply-recorded;while it might be easy to call this music unoriginal, it's impossibleto say it's no fun. Missteps like "Let's Go" transcend camp valuebecause they are almost too obtrusive or annoying for even a committednovelty enthusiast to stomach. Novelty gets left behind for a stranger,more rarified appeal, as if the group's unintentionally off-kilterapproach prevents them from being so quickly placed or dated. A fewmoments of truly exceptional musicianship further complicate things.The guitar and bass players are undoubtedly skilled, their inventiveparts frequently coming into odd juxtaposition with clumsier sections.Brennan's solos are at times masterful Hendrix-isms, made more enticingby their frequent burial deep in the mix, and drummer Trajano's shakycroon gives two Steve Winwood classics a fragility that, professionalor not, lends a new beauty to the tired songs. The result is a recordcharming for its amateur-ish exuberance but also thrilling in the waythe band conquers its limitations, managing an addictive, ifidiosyncratic sound. -
Of all the tracks included on the Brazilian volume of the excellent Love, Peace, & Poetrypsych comp series, Sound Factory's "Let's Go" is by far the strangest.The song tries at a fairly generic, surf-influenced groove, but comesoff sounding more like a cautionary tale against heavy acid use, ahideously top-heavy mix capped off by singer Kevin Brennan's falsetto,so bad it's honestly not even funny. The song is a sad but perfectintroduction to the band's single, thoroughly obscure album, reissuedlast year by Shadoks. Sound Factory cannot be explained away asan amateur psych record or even as a novelty for the collectors marketalone. Something about the group protects them from seeming either tooincompetent or too generic for the adventurous listener. Seven of thesongs are covers (Cream, Traffic, Jefferson Airplane, and Blind Faithamong others), lending the automatic charm that comes with foreignersborrowing so directly (and almost exclusively) from theBritish/American rock canon. Portuguese accents get bent awkwardlyaround Robert Johnson's wail, and a Tropicalian lilt is brought to thestodgiest of thick, white rock, shoddily-played and cheaply-recorded;while it might be easy to call this music unoriginal, it's impossibleto say it's no fun. Missteps like "Let's Go" transcend camp valuebecause they are almost too obtrusive or annoying for even a committednovelty enthusiast to stomach. Novelty gets left behind for a stranger,more rarified appeal, as if the group's unintentionally off-kilterapproach prevents them from being so quickly placed or dated. A fewmoments of truly exceptional musicianship further complicate things.The guitar and bass players are undoubtedly skilled, their inventiveparts frequently coming into odd juxtaposition with clumsier sections.Brennan's solos are at times masterful Hendrix-isms, made more enticingby their frequent burial deep in the mix, and drummer Trajano's shakycroon gives two Steve Winwood classics a fragility that, professionalor not, lends a new beauty to the tired songs. The result is a recordcharming for its amateur-ish exuberance but also thrilling in the waythe band conquers its limitations, managing an addictive, ifidiosyncratic sound. -
