Geordie Greep’s “The New Sound” is not going to be for everyone. Fans of his former act, the experimental British rock band black midi, which disbanded in August, have never been faint of heart. And Greep’s solo debut further pushes the envelope.
Reminiscent of Frank Zappa’s knack for bending genres and building worlds, “The New Sound” caters to those who can appreciate both a narrative-heavy show tune as well as a discordant progressive rock song.
The continuity from black midi to “The New Sound” is certainly there, particularly in Greep’s medley of blues, jazz and funk. But this record is also unique, perhaps a letdown to a subset of black midi fans wanting more of the same.
“Holy, Holy,” the album’s lead single, teases the rest of the record — an all gas, no brakes musical trip across genre and around the world, that vacillates between euphoria and chaos.
As the percussion, horns, saxophone, three pianos and of course Greep’s guitars — to name only a few of its instruments — compete for attention, Greep embodies a desperate, lustful character, shouting “holy” and intoning profane desires. “How ’bout we take this further?,” he sings. “I’ll meet you in the bathroom.” It’s cacophonous, and somehow pleasing, evidence of Greep’s idiosyncratic skill.
The shattering and reinvention of musical styles continues — likely inspired in part by Brazil, where half of the songs on the album were recorded. The instrumental title track as well as the lyrically austere “Bongo Season” stand out for their Latin and bossa nova influence.
An album title like “The New Sound” might be borderline obnoxious in its audacity, but then again, Greep is able to tickle listeners’ brains in a way only boundary-pushing art can. The description might be appropriate.
Greep rarely slows down, with the exception of the closer “If You Are But a Dream,” where he croons like Frank Sinatra as a string quartet and horn ensemble add to the Old Hollywood mood.
He does occasionally throw black midi purists a bone, through sprechgesang — or speak-singing — and his at times aggressive guitar, the latter most obviously in “Motorbike.”
These 11 tracks vary lyrically as much as they do sonically, moving from poetic and poignant to silly and distasteful, often within a single song.
Part of what accentuates Greep’s departure from black midi is its heavy theatrical flair, apparent through his emphasis on storytelling, like in “Through a War” and “As If Walz,” and the uninhibited use of his voice — subdued vocals crescendo to literal howls on “Terra.”
But nowhere is Broadway’s influence more prominent than the nearly 13-minute “The Magician” — at least, until its final three minutes. Greep drowns his audience with harmonious bliss, masking the song’s descent into dissonant madness, and stealthily cranks up their tolerance for noise.
That choice, in some ways, reflects the full album — and proves that the ordered and earnest need not be at odds with the turbulent and irreverent.
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