I
I haven’t even listened to it yet,
but I have looked at it with some surprise–
precisely because there’s nothing to see.
I will describe it from the inside out.
Black vinyl, black label, on which tiny
numbers indicate sides, inside black sleeves.
An insert, the only art, a gray and tan
indeterminate image, a map, or
just random splotches in raised, tactile print.
A study in nothingness, nothing else
inside, no lyrics, no photos, no notes,
no credits say who did what, when, or where.
The outer cover, the solid light brown
of corrugated cardboard, or a paper bag.
II
The title in Spanish translates into
“Dirty Lucre; the Eyes of Emptiness.”
It opens beautifully, but soon becomes
weird, noisy, but not unpleasant,
funk drums, dense layers, rich bass, and that voice,
a skillful tenor, Rush-like, Yes-like. First,
it’s difficult to understand a single word.
Later, in his signature breathy croon,
lyric clarity, melody forward.
This later work from The Mars Volta
is friendlier, a dark, prog-pop rock thing
intricately and expertly performed.
The best bands defy categorization,
every move is an act of subversion.
michael jarmer 