New Music From Wax Chattels, Alan Courtis
Wax Chattels
Live at Part Time Punks
(Captured Tracks)
The curse of having a reasonably good memory is remembering every ill-founded notion one ever had, and this writer recalls, briefly during early adolescence in an insufferable bout of music snobbery, having strong thoughts about the use of guitars (good!) and synths (bad!) in rock and punk music.
Certain ideologies should rightfully crumble with age and experience, purists be damned, and there’s a difference between being wise and being judgmental. So, in the year 2018, what to make of the Auckland, New Zealand trio Wax Chattels, stomping in a post-post-punk realm with drums, a bass and a keyboard?
Don’t overthink it; focus on what’s there, not what’s missing. What’s there is a potent offering of off-kilter rock that leaves the listener on edge and off-balance. This feeling of unease, wrapped up in throbbing outbursts, is what sets Wax Chattels apart.
While synth-punk forebears, such as Suicide or Métal Urbain, may lurk in one’s mind, the Screamers are a more apt comparison to Wax Chattels, but with a less bratty attitude and more brooding discomfort.
The new EP Live at Part Time Punks captures the group’s July performance at the Los Angeles radio station KXLU featuring five tracks from its deviously capricious and agitated self-titled debut album.
The opening track “Concrete” taps out a one-note keyboard Morse-code message with interjecting bursts that offer uncertain payoffs; tension builds as a sonic release oozes out, rather than bursting the blister, and the minimal one-note mystery eventually expands to two keyboard chords and echoing vocals.
Even more suspenseful is “Gillian,” named after Gillian Anderson from The X-Files, that simmers eerily before finally boiling over two-thirds of the way through the track. Going for more immediate gratification, the two-minute “It” uses a nervous keyboard skronk and machine-gun-fire snare-drum hits, amid both calm recitations and charged shouting, to get under the listener’s skin.
“In My Mouth” uses its Speak-and-Spell toy tones and particular odd take on minimalism, punctured with stabs determined to disrupt any graceful poise. Wax Chattels’ raw, primitive moments work well, but this writer can’t help but feel like the trio has potential yet to be unlocked—sort of like aural martial arts that both pummel and trip the listeners off their feet.
Alan Courtis
Buchla Gtr
(Firework Edition)
The late, pioneering electronic instrument inventor Don Buchla created devices that looked like panels from spacecraft with intimidating arrays of knobs, wires and sliders but no conventional keyboard, like a piano, in an intentional attempt to sway musicians away from playing keyboard music on his inventions.
He represented the West Coast way of thinking in the ‘60s among electronic music proponents that frowned upon commercial, traditional music and favored the experimental. Buchla even said, “...if I made something that was too popular...I was doing something wrong...”
The non-traditional Argentinian musician Alan Courtis, known for his work with the outfit Reynols, explores the possibilities of one of Buchla’s inventions—the Buchla 200 modular synth—plus an electric guitar (and a multitude of processing effects) on the double-album Buchla Gtr, released on vinyl on the Swedish label Firework Edition.
It’s comprised of four side-length tracks, and while Buchla wanted to discourage straight-up mimicry, while favoring fresh, new sounds, articulating this music with words is difficult without earthly comparisons.
On the album’s first track, drones resemble revving spaceship engines, building power, while ringing tones and pulsing rays interact; squeals alternate between left and right channels in stereo, while the immersive sounds act like an aural pool of gel serving as a holding tank for medical experimentation from aliens.
The second piece uses abrasive sounds in the background and wavering hums that drift and bend, demonstrating the multitude of notes between the notes of a traditional western scale; at times the piece is even infuriating, with a sci-fi horror soundtrack vibe, resembling the growl of cybernetic wolves.
Part III begins with unusual chirping noises—not exactly from birds or insects—and bouncing sounds evoke the incessant ricocheting of a racquetball game; as the track progresses, it becomes more chaotic and nightmarish, like the noises of irritated ghosts.
The final part uses gentle boops before what sounds like a demon-possessed harmonica enters the scene; ornamental globes scamper and fall down a staircase in an aural cascade, before an artificial tornado provides a compelling episode.
One fear within modernism is that technology erases humanity in some way. This is a pessimistic and unimaginative view; while technology can offer shortcuts for lazy artists, it can also open up possibilities for expression and stimulate creativity, as demonstrated by Courtis’ ear-opening, inventive work.