The Critics' Verdict

The general public is going wild for the the new album "ARTS and SCIENCES", but what do the critics have to say about it? Your children may love it, your grandparents may be ranting about it on social media, and you yourself have been streaming it constantly since it was released the other day - but to really answer the question of whether it's any good, we need the experts. To that end we have called upon the services of two music critics to pass verdict on the album. 

Sidney Motorhead is a jazz critic who mainly writes for his own blog, but has been published several times in various newspapers and music magazines whose names elude him now.

Grendel Crisp has written several books* about rock music and its practitioners, and currently lectures on the history of classic rock to various colleagues at his place of employ. 

*still unpublished

WHO'S INSIDE OF THE EGG?

SM. Well, who is, really? This deceptively simple number opens the first side of The Exploding Breakfast Society’s new LP with a question that will haunt the attentive listener from the initial scratch of the pickup until the final ring of the conclusive note. The egg; at once primeval and pristine, encapsulating the antediluvian as well as the extratemporal, in its very shape manifesting fragility and force eternally entwined in an idealistic conglomerate of ultimate beginnings and final destinations. The lyrics hint at a cyclical narrative taking off from a complex vantage point where the unfathomable yawps heard at dawn of man merges with the infant’s first cries of anguish when faced with unrelenting postnatality, reimagined through a lens of the mundane realities of your common and garden Wednesday morning. The mention in the ultimate verse of a question that “comes with the season” points to the reoccurrence of a conclusive phase, indicating a both demise and resurrection. Electric guitars howl, organs grind, and the tormented vocalist relentlessly pours forth well measured lashings of existential anguish: What does it all mean? Where is the beginning and where the end? What secrets lie buried deep within? Who, indeed, is inside of the egg?

Heady stuff, no doubt. However, let us now turn the tables around. Rather than looking to the inside, let us raise the question of who is actually outside of the egg. Not so bold now, eh? Thought so. On the whole, a rather tiresome dirge, bumblingly performed by a gang of pretentious halfwits.

GC. An auspicious start to this long awaited follow-up to last year’s debut album from the group. The dreaded second album, eh? Is it going to be their equivalent of Fun House or something more like This Is the Modern World? Their Freewheelin’ or Second Coming? I’m sure the next few songs will be an indication. So far, so good. I’d say it’s pointing in the general direction of With the Beatles. 

CONVERSION I (DO THE METRIC BEAT)

GC. Is this a different band altogether? It’s not at all psychedelic! I liked it immediately, but by the time I stood up from my chair for a bit of dancing to that infectious beat - the thing ended! Too short! I had to put it on repeat in order to get the dancing bug out of my system.

Ten points for the beat, with deductions for the short duration. A solid Eight, then.

SM. A kind of lopsided rhumba assaults the unsuspecting listener here, transporting us to a low, garish nightclub, filled with exotic fragrances and dancing. The lewd voice of a flamboyantly dilapidated crooner cuts through the stale air, enticing us to various acrobatic excesses, until our poor senses can withstand no more and send us fleeing from the dandruff saturated subterranean atmosphere to seek salvation in the cool refreshing air out on the pavement. The horror! The horror!

TREBLE

SM. A generous helping of confusion and despair awaits the listener on this one. This brilliantly preposterous ensemble for once coming clean as to their own deep felt inadequacies and shortcomings. Out of the shadows emerges a mythological being, a kind of Virgilian helpmeet to gloss over the most jarring mistakes produced by the apparently webbed fingers of our dear musical misadventurers. Strong solos, no doubt executed by the ever-present yet elusive hero/heroine named in the title. Ripping little number, with a heart wrenching conclusion.

GC. A bit too harsh and modern for my tastes, but I quite like the lyrics as they remind me of someone I know, someone who’s always there to help steer things in the right direction and guide the misguided to a brighter future! I’m beginning to wonder if maybe I’ve actually met these youngsters somewhere along the way and given them a few pointers about what to do and how to best wrangle a tune out of the old six-string? The more I think about it, the more certain I become. In short: a masterpiece! Except for the music, which is too loud.

THE TEMPTATION OF JANSSON

GC. What a novel idea! A hybrid between the indistinct sounds of the legions of long-haired, guitar-wielding footwear-inspectors of my youth, and a cooking show! I approve.

Music: A+. Words: they sound good, but when I tried to follow the instructions I ended up with a fishy mess of alternately burnt and overly creamy potato! I would grade it an A for the words, but with strong reservations regarding the resulting dish!

SM. A sloppily executed mess of inane guitar noodling and tuneless singing, drenched in excessive amounts of reverb and body odour. Pretty much a textbook shoegaze number, in other words. Grub sounds good, however.

THE INNER CIRCLE

SM. Another stab at dark esotericism. A journey to the innermost recesses of confounded spirituality, ultimately placing the protagonist in a metaphysical cul-de-sac. Will the Face be unveiled? Will the Book be read? Will the Beard be made to reveal its secrets? Musically mildly satisfying, had it not been for the unearthly howling noises brutally intruding towards the latter part of the song. Enter at your own peril.

GC. This song is what’s wrong with today’s society. I like a bit of mysticism as much as the next man, but when they veer into the occult I have to take a step back. Not a word about our true saviour, but plenty about a bearded miscreant atop some stairs. No thanks! The music is lovely, though.

CONVERSION II (TWENTY-TWO YARDS TO A CHAIN)

GC. This intricate tapestry of poetry and factual information should be played in every primary school in the nation to help the younger generation remember our old, ingeniously simple system of measurements that is now being replaced with a complicated and pretentious continental system. Next they'll want us to start communicating in French!

Douze points, then.

SM. A futile attempt at intellectualism, resulting in little more than a half-cocked deconstruction of antiquated systems of measurements. The backing is once again the stale, gelatinous bossa-nova-on-a-three-day-bender that we were subjected to on our last visit to this degenerated den of debauchery. A titillating prospect of an evening, perchance, but what about next morning? Or, in the words of the immortal bard, “jazz, delicious hot, disgusting cold”.

THE ISLAND

SM. A gentle ballad, taking place… you guessed it, on an island. The joys of an insular existence ruthlessly marred by an unseemingly loquacious dragon, roaming the land in search of young flesh. Once again, a song that highlights this ensemble’s obvious fascination with the occult. What about the mysterious island? Guernsey, most likely.

GC. I always listen to the lyrics. This one was hard to follow. On the surface it seems like a straightforward tale of the gallant knight encountering a cold-hearted dragon in the woods, then proceeding to break it down with moral arguments and logic. Instead the dragon gains the upper hand, and the protagonist is left brooding and desolate, perhaps contemplating a life of philosophy and silent contemplation. The melody is obviously borrowed from some mediaeval bard by way of the pretentious and long-haired youths in the folk rock circles of old Blighty - a stain on the nation’s proud musical heritage if you ask me! The arrangement here isn’t quite as long-haired as that, but they are not doing themselves any favours by role-playing ancient minstrels in this way.  

HONEY BADGER

GC. A chugging, hypnotic rhythm with a heavy beat - set to a lyric about animals pestering each other on the grasslands of Africa. A winner! 

SM. An exercise in so-called “heavy metal” music, a new-fangled genre popular with the more unkempt portion of the young set, coupled with a set of lyrics inspired by man's relentless struggle against nature. A shameless appeal to the listener’s baser instincts, redeemed only by the avant-garde middle section, that actually manages to adequately frame some of the raw animalism hinted at in the lyrics.

IN A BOOK

SM. A fast paced number, this one. Cool, swinging, adorned with clever instrumental breaks. Lyrics refreshingly built around a literary theme. On paper, a sure-fire number one. If not for that one tiny detail that ruins this otherwise flawless little ditty. The vocals. I have not been able to confirm any details as to the singer's identity on this track, but if my ears are at all to be trusted, it would seem that the microphone has been usurped by a drunken badger with a particularly bad case of laryngitis, and possibly an upset stomach. A shame, really.

GC. I doubt these ruffians have ever read a book. 

THE CHAIRS

GC. A moment's rest after the loud assault on the ears we have just endured! The idea that furniture is sentient, however, troubles me to no end. I'm sure to lose sleep contemplating the ramifications. Musically and lyrically faultless, though, and therefore beyond any rating system dreamed up by humans.

SM. A peculiarly compelling strain of introspection flows through this wistful little tune. The “chairs” referenced in the lyrics must not be mistaken for actual, physical pieces of furniture, but should, obviously, be taken as metaphors for something at once fundamentally supporting and at the same time utterly unforgiving in the human condition. The narrator voices the anguish and pain inherent in, effectively, giving birth to the inner chair. Musically it is, admittedly, ultimately flawed, marred by indecision and revisions which could have been reversed in a minute, but perhaps all the more hauntingly beautiful for it?

EARTHQUAKE SERENADE

SM. A seismological love song, performed, judging by the sound of it, by a cardiopulmonary bypass machine working in tandem with an electric chain saw. A bitter and unpleasant narrative, delivered in an equally nasty pseudo-baritone voice. Yet strangely compelling, especially after repeated listening. Grab your headphones and run for the nearest Anderson shelter!

GC. I don’t agree. But then I can’t abide by music whose key or intent I’m unable to identify. I leave such frivolous pursuits to more open minded ears. 

HONEY BADGER STRIKES AGAIN

GC. A slight return of some ideas and phrases from a previous track - a reprise, if you will - just to see what happens! I like the sound it makes, and I especially appreciate the brevity of the thing. I give it a short standing ovation, then head straight for the lobby.

SM. Again?

CONVERSION III (IN DEFENCE OF WHAT USED TO BE)

SM. And we are back in the dimly lit nightclub environment that we have already visited a couple of times during the course of this long player. This time the lilting voice on stage urges us not to give up on traditional virtues in favour of new fangled notions such as the decimal system. A sentiment to be applauded, surely, if nothing else for its sheer idiosyncrasy. But is it art?

GC. Who is this singer? I have come to suspect that he is not really belonging to this unkempt bunch of rockers, but is rather a more sophisticated fellow, perhaps clad in bespoke garments and sporting a nicely trimmed moustache and a knowing glint in his eyes? It’s certainly the impression I get from these small vignettes that detail the pros and cons of various systems of measurement.

TREES

GC. The complex philosophy behind the lyrics are unfortunately beyond me, but anyone who's heard the haunting vibrations of a xylophone being struck or endured the distinct timbre of the soprano recorder will grasp the idea of a relation between the realms of lumber and music respectively. The song also has a pleasing, rustic tone that is bound to appeal to listeners of a certain age! B+ for the thought-provoking ideas and inoffensive sonics.

SM. A plethora of hypophrygian tonality assaults the patient ear of the listener, having come thus far in the proceedings. A delight for the arboristically inclined, rather trying for the rest of us. But perhaps worthwhile nevertheless? Heart of oak, and all that. You know.

THE GREAT EXHIBITION

SM. Sentimentality raises its shrunken head yet again on the penultimate installment of this mind bendingly eclectic collection of musical caprices. Harking back to a time when exhibitions were great and the world lay open. At least for those able to afford the price of admission. Musically it trundles along pleasantly enough, save for the occasional stutter in the horn section. But what is the haunting theme that wafts through the last moments of the track?

GC. At last, something that lifts the spirits and gets those toes a-tapping! I could listen to that piano all day. Truly memorable! Except halfways through I am suddenly overcome with dread, and boredom. Who am I fooling? Was I not secretly admiring those malevolent guitars and strange lyrics earlier - that spoke of evil doings and secret societies? Yes, I admit! I must make amends and declare this album a total triumph from start to finish! I will now spend the coming days perusing the lyric sheet for hints of demonic or heretical content, and I will revel in the strange sensation of rebellion and mischief! Watch out, world!

THE OTHER EXHIBITION

GC. It starts with a simple but immediately memorable tune, which then proceeds to go through a number of variations in melody, harmony, timbre, arrangement and attitude. Once again, a piece of lyric is repurposed, set to a new melody with other roots and connotations. The end section takes the listener on a journey into sound worlds of the future, to a place beyond the Earth's atmosphere - somewhere in the vast reaches of space between the planets, perhaps even beyond. The Oort cloud? Yes, probably. I award this a gold medal. 

SM. A memorable odyssey through the deranged and the delightful. The strangely compelling theme introduced at the end of the previous track is now given centre stage, presented to the listener in several wildly diverse incarnations, each of them compelling while at the same time leaving the ear wanting more. Rather than definite answers, the final track of this motley compilation of musical offerings poses further questions and expectations. What may the future hold, for the acoustical assailants responsible for this inspiringly inconclusive set of sonic diversions?