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Embrya Along with D'Angelo and Erykah Badu, Maxwell has been heralded as one of the saviors of R&B. His '97 debut, Urban Hang Suite, had mad appeal with the older soul headz because it developed around a theme, much like the Marvin Gaye and Curtis Mayfield albums of the early '70s. Maxwell's sensitive, sexual persona dripped into provocative grooves, and he delivered songs about hot, butt-naked sex with the class of a gentleman. Maxwell brings the noise on his second joint, Embrya. The music is thick, suffocating the ears with phenomenal rhythms provided by Stuart Matthewman of Sweetback. Maxwell's falsetto emphasizes the lust in his lyrics, even when the poetic nature of his words hides his intent to get freaky-deaky. He flips the script on "Eachhoureachsecond...," a funky cut about 24-hour sex. The tracks "Everwanting: To Want You to Want" and "I'm You: You Are Me and We Are You" boom through the speakers, while the ballad "Drowndeep: Hula" is the best of the slow cuts, providing a mood for listeners who want to whisper sweet nothings. Lovers, pick up this album--it's perfect for the hip-to-hip and thigh-to-thigh time of the night. H.V. Claytor Jr.
Bedside Toxicology Nivek Ogre's first solo outing since the demise of Skinny Puppy, Rx (a.k.a. the Ogre/Atkins Project, as it also features Pigface's Martin Atkins) offers a few surprises: no songs about animals in peril, no torturous eruptions of anguish, no horror-show theatrics. You know something's up when the first song--a disarmingly straight cover of Syd Barrett's "Scarecrow"--chimes right in with acoustic guitars. But before you Goth kids start crying (you'll ruin your white-face makeup, darlings), the electronic waves come surging in with "K Y Re:amin," tides of tension rising over Atkins' signature drumming. From there on, Bedside Toxicology winds its way through your nervous system with languorous (dis)ease: "Crackhead Waltz" dances you through the carnival after a few huffs of ether; "The Daze" circles your head in a haze; and closing instrumental "For Dusts and Mists" proves Ogre isn't losing his marbles--he just likes rattling them around in a steel bowl while toying with his synthesizers. Through it all, Atkins keeps a twitching rhythm as digital spasms burst across the empty room--empty except for Ogre, who twists his characteristic phrase-chains into surreal poems not unlike, as one lyric goes, "Sick nursery rhymes sung to the dead." If these are songs for stiffs, then maybe Hell won't be so bad after all. John Graham
Terraform Whether or not one enjoys the minimalist aesthetic of Steve Albini, one has to admire the dexterity and consistency with which he applies it, as both musician and engineer extraordinaire. On the second full-length from Albini's current musical outlet, Shellac, his less-is-more approach is taken to its extreme--so much so that 1994's Shellac at Action Park now seems like Sgt. Pepper's Pet Sounds by comparison. Case in point is the 121Ž2-minute opener, "Didn't We Deserve a Look at You the Way You Really Are." On this challenging track, Albini barely interjects voice or guitar over Bob Weston and Todd Trainer's repetitive bass and drum line, a two-note pattern that is only rarely and subtly varied throughout the lengthy song. The remaining two-thirds of Terraform are closer in scope and feel to Action Park, but standouts like "This Is a Picture," "Mouthpiece" and "Rush Job" still seem stripped down to their bare elements: razor-sharp riffs, propulsive bass thumping and smacking-you-in-the-forehead beats. These precisely executed songs and the no-frills production give the LP an intensity unmatched by anything else released this year. Stephen Slaybaugh
originally published August 5, 1998 |
