The urgency of political animosity comes in many forms: you can throw a shoe at a world leader, devote a blog to atrocities in Pakistan or create a piece of art that might make headlines and catch the attention of local politicians. Do any of these actions actually repeal administrations or heal wounds? More importantly, do they speak to anyone except the converted? Probably not, but sometimes you need an immediate purge to get the message across.
Based on the text Conspiracy Nation: The Politics of Paranoia in Postwar America, War Zones is Elliott Sharp, Bernhard Lang and a host of guests' proverbial brick tossed through the window at the grand opening of a McDonalds. The first half of the disc, Sharp's semi-improvised "Ripples From the Bang", focuses on the intimacy of disaster aftermath, but does so from numerous individual perspectives — hence the need for the distinct flavors of Philip Jeck's turntables, Hans Koch's various reeds, drummer Fredy Studer, vocalist/laptop manipulator mixmastertodd (sic) and rap poet/author LaTasha N. Nevada Diggs (Yohimbe Brothers, Vernon Reid, DJ Logic). After a bustling serge of Jeck's high-pitched turntable textures, Sharp's fragmented eight-stringed guitarbass E-bow drones, miscellaneous fluttering lips and otherwise Venusian atmospheres, the group slinks into the shadows and offers a fey backdrop to Diggs' scattered phrases. Stringing together "accelerate cosmic reaction", "green light take ya there", "smells like bulldozers", "another gold rush", "hush daddy" et cetera, she uproots the musical context in a jarring — sometimes heavy-handed — way that takes several listens to appreciate. Continuing after Diggs' rant, Sharp and Studer launch into late '70s King Crimson groove under a sweltering brew of bass clarinet, fuzzy electronics and fraying static. Sharp joins Diggs in the "blame" step of loss, the duo repeating the word "time" and naming various culprits of suffering ("blame FEMA", "blame the pigeons", "Coca Cola buys Vitamin Water/daughter loses mother"). The composition continues this blueprint, oscillating between instrumental interludes and spoken-word passages, eventually finishing in a roaring incineration.
Excerpted from a larger Lang-penned theater piece (Der Alte vom Berge), the second work, "Paranoia", is divided in eight segments and based on three sets of text: "Justifications" (a mélange of "paranoia as a political function" internet searches), "CIA Protocols of Political Assassination" and quotes from Paranoia magazine. Musically similar to the first half of the album, the group begins with processed whispers and Studer's volatile restraint, treating the sounds as a single shape that they eventually cross fade with a wash of echoing feedback (a welcome relief from the worn-thin repetitions of "AIDS" and "Y2K"). Again, Diggs returns, this time as provocative chanteuse with lyrics such as "got a license to dope/got a license to smack/got a license to drown/I'm your special agent ass-jiggle/wiggle, wiggle, wiggle/Project Dimple." Changing scenes, the rhythm section's offering of late '90s Illbience (i.e. driving, mid-tempo drum loops, rumbling sub-bass) cues Koch's sonic assault, a hard-driving, freest-of-free tenor solos. The band recapitulates to an a capella duet then ease into an even fiercer version of the B section before Jeck and Sharp spin this oratorio into a shimmering haze.
So. Does this SWR-commissioned work (Germany's equivalent of NPR) make you want to dig out the air pistol from the bottom of your closet and take some sort of stand? Considering the fact that the librettists aren't really saying anything new — and fear-mongering is as commoditized as Pizza Hut — the answer is "not really". However, manifesto aside, War Zones, is a successful chapter in the Sharp/Lang discography; an inviting mythology rife with impressive experiments and exceptional performances.
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