The new CD by The Playwrights, English Self Storage, is like a bad Jethro Tull dream in which they are joined by a traditional English folk band with Animal on drums and are forced to play music for Morris Dancers. I’m just glad the nightmare is over for me.
The Playwrights seem like aureate art school students with too much time on their hands. When such people are bored and decide to be “creative” the result is usually pretentious, contrived dross. English Self Storage is no exception. The Playwrights are striving to be distinctive and unusual, eclectic and arty but lack the focus and direction – and possibly even the talent – to make the sound they are striving for natural or genuine.
It’s important to remember that different isn’t always better nor does being unusual make it art.
By bringing the drum and percussion instruments to the foreground The Playwrights have shown why, as a rule, this isn’t done and, by extension, that some rules are not meant to be broken. They mix weak, watery, distant guitar and – could that be – cornet(?!), with yelled, wannabe poetic lyrics veneered with calamitous percussion. The resulting cacophony is headache inducing, disingenuous and discomfited. It also leaves the listener feeling lost and confused (did I mention the headache).
“Dislocated” begins with muted guitar swimming against a sea of tambourine that is then joined by domineering drum that duel for attention. All while Aaron Dewys whiny, grating voice barks out a barrage of lyrics at you.
“21st Century Kaspar Hauser” is one example where the drums are, blissfully, muted but the tangle of artistic-for-artistic-sake lyrics and more-yawped-than-sung vocals compete for prominence with the over played guitar. While this does give you a break from the noise of overbearing percussion it still leaves you feeling uncomfortable.
There was only one track on the whole album that gave relief from the prog-rock-with-a-folk-punk-twist sound. “Leave It For The Archaeologists” is a 2 minute and 24 second chill out that is truly needed after the ceaseless bashing and banging of the previous 28 ½ minutes. It does, however, eventually let you down by finishing and leading into the final track (save the really final but secret ninth track) with the same art-rock noise as all the others.
Now let’s talk about that secret ninth track. A minute of noise after a minute and a half of silence tacked on to the end of the eighth track. This is a pet peeve of mine. This, I think, shows a true lack of understanding on the part of record labels and bands about the way in which I and millions of music lovers listen to and use the CD’s we buy. I think it shows a certain amount of disrespect and contempt for us.
I cut all my CD’s to MP3 (not to share but because we rely almost completely on our MP3 players for car, work and home) and finding an extra bit slapped on like a cheap hooker’s lipstick is irritating. It’s also an annoyance when putting eight or nine CDs on random play. That’s what I want – while in the middle of peeling potatoes or cleaning the house – a minute and a half of silence at the end of a song.
The only other saving grace of this album is its brevity. With only eight-ish tracks and a running length of approximately 36 minutes, it is blessedly over just about the same time the aspirin takes effect.
