Pygmy Lush Bitter River

Despite what seems like an endless string of vinyl releases this year, Robotic Empire hasn't been putting out a lot of full-length albums lately. While it might not be surprising that they'd release the debut from Virginia's Pygmy Lush considering that the band's members did time in two of the label's most memorable acts, Pg. 99 and Majority Rule, it is surprising what these guys actually ended up committing to tape. Few musical concepts go unexplored across the disc's sixteen tracks, which swing wildly from dark American roots music to surf-inspired garage punk without a moment's warning. Rather than cram these ideas together uncomfortably into half-baked hodgepodge songs, Pygmy Lush gives themselves the length of each song to get comfortable with whichever style they choose. The result may ultimately be disjointed but it works in the way a great mixtape can, with each song playing off the dynamics of those surrounding it. It might not be rare anymore to hear a band mess around with different musical styles but Pygmy Lush is unique in their ability to make each one work. Just over half of the disc's cuts were recorded with Converge guitarist and producer extraordinaire Kurt Ballou, who contributes a mean saxophone and slide guitar to the standout "Hurt Everything." The disc's remaining tracks were from two earlier sessions, one of which resulted in a single twenty-five minute atmospheric post-rock track that sounds like Godspeed You! Black Emperor meets Earth. Most of the disc's tracks though take their cues from Nick Cave, Isaac Brock or Tom Waits in their twisted interpolation of traditional stylistic elements into unique and occasionally bizarre new songs. The disc's opening, a Samuel Johnson quote popularized by the late Hunter S. Thompson, sets the tone for the disc's more visceral tracks. "He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man" originally applied to those who drank to excess, but here it takes on a new meaning, seemingly describing the catharsis of discovering a more rudimentary side of expression. Here's the (potentially) bad news: If you're looking for something as sonically aggressive as Pg. 99 you'll be sorely disappointed. Pygmy Lush might be abrasive, volatile and even occasionally raucous but the majority of their music is fairly subdued. For every instance of screaming and screeching, there are three darkly beautiful passages. The sludgy power of "Send Bombs" is muted in the track's reprise barely ten minutes later. Despite the fact that it's the same track, both versions have their place on the record and work well to complement one another. In fact, it's a great window into the decision making process of the band, making it extremely apparent that many of these songs could just as easily have been barnburners as mellow, droning acoustic dirges. What makes Bitter River a real treat is that you essentially get it both ways as Pygmy Lush flips back and forth across the seemingly vast divide with ease. Bottom Line: Thanks largely in part to its refusal to fit into any one genre, Pygmy Lush's Bitter River is one of the most strikingly bold albums released this year of any sort. It's not necessarily the easiest listen but its blend of neo-folk, doomy screamo done right and expert arrangement guarantees a one of a kind listening experience. Like the past work of the band's respective members, Pygmy Lush's music isn't for everyone, but these guys keep up their own tradition of releasing rewarding, envelope-pushing music bound to find a devoted audience.