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LifesizeMonsters Brain in a Box

Everyone’s a producer.  In this modern era of cut ‘n paste desktop recording, modern technology makes it a doddle to whip up convincing productions without leaving the comforts of one’s own home.  As a result, online music forums (and, alas, record stores) are awash in mediocre, self produced twaddle.  Self-produced records rarely display the rather obvious benefits of being performed by real live musicians and recorded by real live engineers in actual commercial studios.

            Desktop musos could learn a thing or two from Brain in a Box, released under the moniker of Lifesizemonsters.  Any self-respected student of pop culture will recognize the name, which was lifted, bloody, dripping letters and all, from the tantalizing ads that called out from the pulpy pages of comic books.   This comic motif is carried through the entire package.  The cover art depicts monsters and madmen, and even a play on the old Comics Code Authority.   The whimsical illustration gives some indication that Brain in a Box does not take itself too seriously.  Make no mistake, Blackwood is (living) dead serious about his craft, but Brain in a Box never capsizes under the weight of the composer’s pretense.

            In fact, though essentially a vanity production by one man, Brain in a Box suffers not one whit from the pitfalls that hobble most self produced albums.  While the production is not immune to a certain whiff of egocentricity (the main man goes by the singular name of “Blackwood”), the proceedings feel very much like a group effort, enlisting as it does, a roster of strong guest performers, along with at least one additional member of the current Lifesizemonsters line-up.

Meat hooks, Mirth and Murder

The album kicks off in fine fashion with the hyper-driven art-punk title track.  With an incessant bass line punching through multi-tracked vocals and a start-stop arrangement, the tune revs up to a peak before dissolving into a thick soup of snaking guitars and treated vocals that, at times, verge on Bolan-esque warble, before reaching a final energetic climax.

            A cliché prog rock segue of spinning radio dials gives way to a religious sermon before lurching into the heavy dirge that is “Validity”.  Pivoting on the conceit that “only the eyes of the dead can see”, this is progressive rock of the first order, bringing to mind Echolyn, or even Amon Duul II.

            The sturm and drang of “Validity” gives way to the spirited “Jealousy”, a pulsing popper with wry vocals and a devastating guitar solo.  Blackwood is walking a tightrope between Bowie styled art rock and Roy Wood’s manic Wizzardy, without losing his own identity in the process.                          The track is only slightly let down by a bit of noodle towards the end, before sliding straight for the heart of the sun with the unashamedly psyche of “Johnny”, all tremolo vocals and Spanish guitar weaving around an unsettling voyeuristic lyric.  This is the stuff Bowie might have made after The Man Who Sold the World, had he not been besieged by Martian drag queens.  The dreamy final section’s soulful female vox and mournful guitar is an album high point.  This is uncommon stuff.

            “Love” extols everything except the subject of its title in its anxious retro rawk refrain.

            With “Synchronized Drowning”, we are once again subjected to Blackwood’s unsettled schizophrenia.  Good time beach party blasts, surf guitar and an exquisite saxophone support Blackwood’s shouted vox.

            “Dry Heave Blues” is another mish-mash of styles, with a metallic guitar squall underpinning a deadpan vocal delivery that eventually goes quite literally down the drain.

            Good old-fashioned reversed tape effects are the hallmark of “Hate”, which only just interrupts the flow of Brain in a Box with an experimental poem electronique.

            The punk funk of “Ego” features a shift between musique concret effects, slinky Roxy Music Saxes and Chili Pepper’s white boy funk junk.  Never a fan of modern funk rock m’self, I still found the spoken word and chiming guitar interludes to be of interest.

            The nightclub ambience of “Attack” goes on a bit too long before dipping into a bizarre Tom Waits-cum-Elvis vocal, which is interrupted by the threats of an irate club goer.

            Finally the album proper is capped off with a cover of Floyd’s “Paintbox” that sounds like the song might have sounded had dear old Syd still been around when the original was recorded.  Featuring by far the strongest vocal performance of the album, this is a delightful paean to the past so obviously dear to Mr. Blackwood.

Bonus Sized

Oddly, for an album that doesn’t actually appear in any other form, the CD contains a suite of bonus tracks that consists largely of organic sound effects depicting, one gathers, the entirety of natural history in a few short minutes.  Contrary to that which has come before, this aint rock ‘n roll, by any means.  There is some slight stylistic connection to the rest of Brain in a Box’s generous application of sound effects and found sounds, but it lacks the counter-balance of the songs themselves until the Spanish inflected acoustic strum of “Reflections”.

            The final cut, “Murder” sounds like what would happen if Faust recorded a Sunday school sing-a-long and ran the lot through a ring modulator.  Strange stuff, this.

Brain Boggled

Brain in a Box covers a lot of territory, hopping from one genre of rock to another.  The list of instruments employed by Mr. Blackwood numbers into the dozens, though he wisely chose to call upon his talented cadre of companions to side-step any potential homogenization.  The one key element that shines above it all is Blackwood’s voice.  He’s a singer of no small merit with a confident and comfortable delivery, yet he never feels inclined to show off his vocal chops.  You won’t find any histrionic octave leaps or metal-drenched yodeling here.  Blackwood’s vox always serve the track, evoking and emoting only the mood determined by the songs’ subject matter.

            The mood of the album can get quite dark at times, but it never disappears up its own allegories, and the witty arrangements keep things from settling into any one place for long.  There are hooks a-plenty, and it’s all just sleazy enough to irritate one’s grandparents.  What more could one ask of a Rock ‘n Roll album?

Scot Solida

Author of numerous articles for Future Music, Computer Music and Grooves magazines, and co-author of The Billboard Home Recording Handbook, Reason Focus Guide, GarageBand Focus Guide.   

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