11 July 2012 Stuff We Like
Food Pyramid - Mango Sunrise
It has been a minute since I've blogged for Insound, but here I am again. As times change, and endeavors fail, and you are drawn back home because that is where the safety nets are strung; you are left with a particular necessity in certain escapisms (though maybe that word has too negative a connotation). That seeming transport to other states of being brought out in the perfect combination of sound. I mean, this is why we've all ended up here isn't it? Right now, me writing this and an assumed you reading this. That is precisely why this site exists, why our record collections grow, why we scour blogs or Soundcloud or buy week passes to CMJ. So much is added on top of that to fit within context of social sphere: 'taste' from given self-definition, stubbornness and/or neurosis, the industry and market, the star or number range push and pull of the culture critique machine, so on and so on and so on. Endless excess that really sits in complete irrelevance come that exact moment when an album (or song, or
performance) actually cracks through the brain chatter and you, against any will you may have thought you had, are pulled out of one particular second and into some moment that implies an almost infinite.
There are some albums in particular that just entirely lubricate that process, like DMT is to LCD. Instead of taking a walk you are shot out of a cannon, directly through that thin skin between what we try to assume to maintain composure, and what we avoid because psychosis seems like it is probably pretty terrifying. This album is pure cannon fire, and I am not talking civil war era, with big steel cannon balls, the sparkling fuse slowly burning down, thick rope tethering to the ground yet still jettisoning back in a four foot recoil pulling wooden spikes out of the grass. No, I'm talking those WWII anti-aircraft cannons, those mean looking guns sitting atop a set of big tires, painted army green, with cartridges as big as your forearm, spitting fire and violent thunder.
Food Pyramid have taken what was psychedelic meandering on their previous tape releases and converged into an utter opus of pure psychedelia like no release I have heard in quite some time. From beginning to end it does not give, not for a fraction of a second. Mango Sunrise moves in and out, in the most beautiful and natural way possible, of composition and complete non structure. Washes of what feel like hundreds of synths slowly build and then pulsate taking in echoed out guitars, a la Sun Araw, saxophones, and drum machines, and then eventually explode into full on almost psychedelic afro-beat dance tracks.
There is a complexity, a self-awareness, in this album as a whole that sits it above much else in a similar ilk. Every track seems intentionally placed, the flow from movement to movement feeling completely organic. This is not a collection of singles, this is one whole piece of music meant to be swept away into for it's duration. In a world of MP3 playlists and hype machine gluttony, it is a rarity that something this coherent of an album can exist in quite this way, it is only too bad it wasn't released digitally as a single long piece so listeners would feel less inclined to track forward or play their friends 'Oh Mercy' leaving it at just that and walking away versus laying on their backs, eyes closed, breathing deep, giving themselves the just-less-than-hour to fully experience as intended ... such is our modern age though.
Honestly it may be a little late for reviewing this album as it came out a couple months ago, but I still haven't reached that point where the awe fades and I shelf it with so much else in the last few months. This album has been something special to find itself into my catalog, especially as the harshities of the world come weighing heavy and that reminder is most necessary: Life is probably never what you would think it is, you need to always remember, in some respect, to let go. Yes, this all doesn't last forever, at least as far as we can tell, so maybe we should keep at least this much in mind. Sometimes all you need is the right collection of noise to chisel through the bullshit and let that little bit of glow push back through, to give you that realization once more, to add a little moisture and make things malleable again, to remind you that you are alive right at this moment, and that is probably the only thing that quite matters.
– Rich Elias