The Sound The Speed The Light

Can you see it, hear it, feel it? The sensation upon me, transmitted through these words. Bursting excitement, explosive joy.
A new Mission of Burma album arrives.

Can they top their other reunion albums?

Our first single, "1, 2, 3, Partyy!" is the opener to the new album, a furious scorcher that throttles forward from the deadpan spoken opener. "1... 2... 3..." and with the four count on the sticks that end on "3", a rumbling, slashing bass and guitar duel throws our heroes back into the the ring. No punches are pulled here. Clint barks out his delivery in the same voice he's had since 1979, and one always imagines his lanky form hunched purposefully over his bass during every riff, retreating from the mic to pummel his instrument with the vigor of a man ensnared in the fevered ideals of a youth rebellion, caught within the hands of some politicized, impassioned "movement" that is less discussed than shouted. Burma has always begged anthem status with its biggest numbers, and "Partyy!", despite the jokey title, is a barn-burner on par with Certain Fate or Academy in the canon of pissed-off but somehow exuberant art-punk anthems. Incredible bass solo? Aw, you shouldn't have. It's more than I deserve.

So, how does the rest of the record stand up to the lofty standard set by our opener? Suffice to say that the flow of the typical Burma formula, if they can be said to have one, remains unbroken. "Possession" in its live form has been a treasure of mine; I've deeply dug its groovy guitar scratches and shuffling, morphing beat and gonzo vocal (while listening, notice the completely asynchronized "gotcha!" Roger proclaims during the verse). In studio it has gained a bit of artsy effects, notably some electronic treatments for vocals and harmonies as well as the usual tape manipulations by Bob Weston. All told, it manages to be both as raw as I'd hoped in its ragged, twitchy, anti-groovy squawks and still bizarre enough in its production for Burma to still warrant the "art-rock" label. Listen to "Possession" here.

"Blunder"'s effected intro that retreats into a more live sound kicks in Peter Prescott's first composition for the record, and its lumbering verses give way to a Middle-Eastern guitar riff for the chorus. Clint's bass growls and slices effectively here, and the biting emotional edge of the break is bizarrely truncated by a cymbal crash leading into a tinkling, zonked out bridge. Mean riffage meets weird once more.

Peter's drumming has got to get special mention here as well, as his abilities are fully utilized to great effect throughout the record. It seemed to me that "Obliterati" had straighter beats for the most part, and I feared Peter was simply in a holding pattern, or maybe losing his touch. My fears were, of course, completely unfounded. Prescott contributes muscular beats everywhere, his trademark complex fills, punishing polyrhythms and hyper-fast syncopations driving every song toward the heart of aggression, insanity, emotional desolation, and anger that lurks within even the most upbeat Burma tune.

Roger's vocals are mostly delivered in a classic 60's style, very psychedelic production and frequently screwy lyrics, as is typical of the guy that wrote "Max Ernst". Bob did a better job producing this one; the band feels more than just muscular, they feel like they have more than just volume, more than just power. Instead of "Obliterati"'s flat, heavy tone, SSL is more nuanced, more varied. Everything feels more alive, more electric. Melody comes through with more clarity. Their use of the studio is as good as it's been since that beautiful field of steel-wrapped flowers, "Vs.", appeared in 1982.

This record has melancholy, it can do frailty, sadness. Like Burma's other work, there are some fast songs, some slow. There are still three distinct songwriters here pouring their hearts out. But no matter the sound or the speed, there still pulses behind that light a deep heart of passionate joy and anger in equal measure, a true Heart of Darkness.