The Gnarliest Album Ever

So, as you probably know by now, the upcoming Wilco album, titled Wilco (The Album) has been leaked. You can listen to a free stream of the entire album here. It, like Sky Blue Sky, is characterized by a sleek, clean sound which has bothered some people in the past. It doesn’t actually bother me at all, but I wasn’t in the mood for it yesterday. So, I decided that, rather than listen to the new Wilco album, I would listen to the gnarliest, most chaotic album I know of: the 1969 classic Trout Mask Replica, by Captain Beefheart & The Magic Band. And that’s what I’m going to write about today.

I was introduced to this album through the writing of none other than Lester Bangs, whom I wrote about previously. I had so much faith in Lester that I went out and bought the album, knowing precious little about it. This was a couple of years ago. Yesterday was probably the first time I ever managed to listen to it all the way through.

That's because it’s a damn tough listen. Don’t pop it in the CD player unless you really want to be challenged (I made the mistake of trying to listen to it in the car—do not do this). Frankly, it doesn’t sound nice at all. It’s chaotic, noisy, and as weird as anything you’ve ever heard. It sounds like a bunch of guys, under the influence of many strange substances, got together and had the weirdest jam session ever. Who would want to listen to that? (And, you might ask what producer in his or her right mind would work with and release such insanity. Well, the answer is none other than Frank Zappa, who was a friend and former schoolmate of Beefheart.)

But, if you can get past these issues, it’s a really interesting listen. Beefheart’s songs are mash-ups of the most savage, primitive variety. Take elements from the Delta blues, garage rock, spoken word, sea shanties, avant-garde classical music, and free jazz, and throw them into a broken blender, and you might get something close to Captain Beefheart. But you might not. The Captain’s vocals cover a range of styles, sometimes evoking Howlin’ Wolf, and other times evoking Allan Cummings of The Guess Who. But he always sounds pretty grizzled, like some crazy, frightening, weather-beaten guy that you would definitely hurry past if you were to walk by him on the street.

As chaotic as it all sounds, the songs were actually painstakingly rehearsed for eight months before recording. The story goes that the band members lived communally in the house of Don Van Vliet, a.k.a. Captain Beefheart, rehearsing and surviving off of small amounts of sometimes-shoplifted food. Vliet apparently wanted them to “live” the album, and forbade the band to leave the house. No wonder Trout Mask Replica came out like it did.

Vliet's lyrics are as strange as the music. Take the spoken introductory line from the song “Pachuco Cadaver” (as if the title weren't enough to convince you): “A squid eating dough in a polyethylene bag is fast and bulbous, got me?” I’ll leave it at that. It’s weird. If you don’t like weird music, you shouldn’t be listening to this album… but then again, if you didn’t like weird music, you probably wouldn’t have read this far.

Anyways, my favorite track from Trout Mask Replica is “Moonlight On Vermont.” The opening guitar riff foreshadows the grungy sound of early Modest Mouse, while the chorus could almost be lifted straight out of a Grateful Dead song. And the lyrics make reference to Steve Reich’s landmark avant-garde tape piece, “Come Out,” repeating the line “Come out to show them,” several times. I dig it. And it’s one of the more conventional songs from the album, so I recommend that you check it out if you want to dip your toe into Captain Beefheart’s water. I’ve also included another great track, “When Big Joan Sets Up,” a song about a woman “too fat t' go out in the daylight,” that has some of the free-jazz elements I mentioned earlier. Enjoy, if you dare:

Captain Beefheart & The Magic Band - Moonlight On Vermont (YSI) (filesavr)
Captain Beefheart & The Magic Band - When Big Joan Sets Up (YSI) (filesavr)