High Llamas
Buzzle Bee
[Drag City]
Rating: 6.0
There are 810 "la-la's" on Buzzle Bee. I know because I, unlike
the Palm Beach County Board of Canvassers, counted every last one. A high
number to be sure, but one that takes on an even greater and more absurd
significance when you consider that half of the tracks on the album are
instrumental. Make no mistake about it, friend, that's a lot of fucking
la's. But is it too many? The factual and unsubjectivicated answer is, in
a word: yes. We're talking roughly a 3:1 nonsensical-to-intelligible
lyric-syllable ratio here. That's up there in doo-wop territory (though not
as high as scat). Those are "Teletubbies" numbers!
And at its worst, that's just what Buzzle Bee is: music for
"Teletubbies." Not the surreal banjo-and-snare marches of the theme song,
but rather, the kind of music that Tinky-Winky, Dipsy, La-La and Po might
enjoy kicking back to after a hard day's romping with bunny rabbits.
Sonically, the High Llamas couldn't offend someone if they tried. The music
has an Eddie Haskell character to it-- very proper and calculated. One might
suspect an ulterior motive, if not for the fact that frontman Sean O'Hagan
steeps his chord progressions in penultimate sincerity the way only a
certifiable perfectionist can. It's music not just for a happy world, but
for a world in which nothing unhappy had ever occurred.
With more vibraphonic chime-farts than Lionel Hampton on Quaaludes, and
Mary Hansen on semi-permanent loan from Stereolab, Buzzle Bee
gurgles like a symphony of swamp gas idiophonica. And it's not treading
new ground so much as it is the same old ground with different shoes.
The opening track drifts along, buoyed by a sing-songy chorus of "Lay down/
Watch the traffic go by," a lyric so dreamy it sounds phoned-in from the
Astral plane. O'Hagan's plain-jane vocals are an asset to the track, though,
if only because he wisely avoids the vocal posturing and hammy crooning that
his contemporaries so often fall victim to.
"Get into the Galley Shop" attempts to be a microcosm of the album, if not the
band's entire back catalog. It's catchy and retro in its technique (all the
drums are right-channeled), and the three-part harmonies glisten like tubs of
Nickelodeon Gak. The lyrics are cryptic enough to be either profound or
goofy; you make the call: "You need to take your sandals off to take away the
porcelain/ Hopping in a hotel bar hidden in a marching band/ Music popping
from the bar, driven by a cosmic man."
Buzzle Bee's low point comes with "Tambourine Day," which shark-circles
its melody without ever finding it. But the other instrumentals, taken as a
clutch, are a mixed bag. "Switch Pavilion" centers around Hansen's-- you
guessed it!-- wispy "la-la" phrasing; the sedative "Sleeping Spray" is the
gentle mellow break of the album-- the place where they "take it down a
notch," despite the fact that it's already practically off the scale.
"New Broadway" does its best to be endearing while catching the listener
off-guard with its many style shifts and rhythm variations. It also
showcases some of the better bass work on Buzzle Bee, which is
otherwise lackluster punctuation-- commas and periods rather than pop
exclamation marks. But once the closer, "Bobby's Court," gets past the
pedestrian verse, it features an enraging five-note syncopated loop that's
surprisingly juvenile for the Llamas. Usually, O'Hagan's arrangements
are deeper and a little more intricate; this one sounds like something he
dug out of his pre-microdisney days.
What we're left with when all's said and done is a brief eight tracks and
40 minutes of somnambulist, pianissimo music. But you know, when
push comes to shove, those "la's" are a real bitch. 810! My god, man!
That's enough la's to choke a llama!
-John Dark