Broken Spindles
Broken Spindles
[Tiger Style; 2002]
Rating: 6.9
Broken Spindles is an instrumental outfit helmed by Joel Peterson.
Joel Peterson is the bassist for The Faint, the one with the 80s-est hair, supposedly the perfectionist of
the band, whose recalcitrant onstage sunken-Anglo concentration-face often looks like scorn for us needbags
in the crowd.
The Faint is that group whose first album wrapped lame lyrics around captivating guitar hooks, and whose
second album wrapped wild keyboards around libidinal screeds. Their third and most consistent album further
out-techs their previous work, but already sounds dated, and not for some obvious retro-reason: the
industrial hellscape they conjure brings to mind too many Reznorisms and too many straight-to-video fallout
movies about people in leather fighting in derbymobiles for some weird commodities like amethysts. The
Faint's a blast live, though, revving up their smoke machines and waving their synth-free hands around like
a bunch of dang incubuses. They're one of Saddle Creek's treats.
Saddle Creek's that Omaha-centric label run by that elfin fellow with the bright eyes. I can't make fun of
him anymore because I was just wowed by a performance he did with his gazillion piece ensemble, during which
he kept his afterschool psychodrama to a minimum, except for a spell where he overscratched his arm in
faux-torment.
Joel Peterson can be spotted in photos all over the Internet rubbing or squeezing or holding his arm, too.
Maybe the gubmint's testing something on them Nebraskans that's giving them a rash, and their anti-consumer
stance won't yield to facilitate the purchase of some Benadryl. Or maybe Peterson's arm is tired from
programming all this percussive racket for this Broken Spindles project.
There's always something kind of test tube baby about laptopica, but Peterson found interesting ways to
grant his record some organic textures; though a bit of the disc was composed using Reason software and
sounds to some degree like what you'd expect in a Faint instrumental piece, the album benefits from guest
guitarists, live bells, chimes and odd instruments, and some burbly-gurgly-crackly undertones that link
several tracks, occasionally reminiscent of crinkling fabric or a palpitating heart.
The disc is too propulsive to be background music, but too modest to be your evening's main event. When the
songs slow down (see "The Oldest Accident") they unfold fluidly and not unlike patches of Tortoise's
Millions Now Living Will Never Die, bringing to mind a visit to the world's hippest indoor aquarium.
The slithering jackhammer "Connection in Progress" is the antithesis of the mellow material, with its
grinding beats and frenetic guitars (listen for some Iron Maiden polish-reewwl scattered throughout). The
beginning of "Twitching and Restless" is perfect for a watching miserable retirees and pregnant smokers
trigger their car alarms in a depressing parking lot, until its last nine minutes, when it erupts into a
digital slurry. Sounds like Mad Max using a Jiffy Lube's equipment to perform orthodontics in Voltron's
womb. Or maybe like Chernobyl's hedges being trimmed by a 767 piloted by vomiting zomborgs having a marital
squabble.
So I'm getting all into the album, and a friend starts trashing it; some of her best lines were: "Whip out
the glowsticks, we're going to a Tampa nightclub"; "This must be what plays during the gripping chase scene";
and "Didn't Sam Prekop release this four years ago?" Ah well. I predict that we'll lose Joel Peterson to
scoring-- Broken Spindles sprang from an attempt to soundtrack a skateboard vid, and at live appearances,
he's playing the music as accompaniment to a film. I think he's got a miniature monolith in him yet, though,
provided Broken Spindles survives the "Damaged Goods" tour with Crooked Fingers, Burning Airlines, and Twisted
Sister.
-William Bowers, October 18th, 2002