We, as a people, have an aural problem. We hear things but we very rarely listen. And that societal fault is the thing that is so fucking wrong with Kimono Draggin’….well, not what’s wrong with the three guys in the band per se, but…..
You see, of all the perky little ears that will hear this disc, they will hear but they will not listen. They will hear discord…despite it not being there as the tunes flow effortlessly. They will hear missed notes….despite those notes perfectly and appropriately filling the spaces they need to fill. They will hear goofiness and take that as not being serious….despite the humor being clever, tongue-in-cheek, and fun, and the guys being spot-on with their playing.
This record is awesome. Brilliantly off-kilter, sometimes Stooges-esque minimalism that flips into some “experimental” Mothers moments and big, fat dollops of rock. And while there is the musical angularity going on, that factor doesn’t drown the album out in “odd for the sake of odd.” It’s so musically sound — just not sound from this part of the universe.
Imagine some Beefheart pop/rock songs played by Mr. Bungle.
Eleven tracks long, and really, how can you go wrong with a song called “Allan Sherman’s Father Was a Racecar Driver” or “Julius Seizure Salad”? Well, let me tell you: you can’t.
(Spaynsive Productions, 98 Sugarbush Drive, Guilford, CT 06437)