It’s been more years than I care to count since I had my first cinematic experience in a gum–mottled dream palace, halfway up a backwater side street. I can still see the cracked toilet mirror and smell the fetid seat fabric in a musty dark room where I witnessed another’s fantastical third-eye visions spat from an unbridled mind. No amount of narcotics will ever recreate the joy that I felt that day. Enter Parker Street Cinema – purveyors of upbeat instrumental music set to a nonchalantly smooth rhythmic back-office, a dynamic trio from San Francisco who come bearing gifts of sound in the shape of their first full-length release Music, In The Blood.
With an absence of the loud-soft-loud formula and no guitar player (bass player excepted) in sight - what sort of frivolous nonsense is this, you may say – but hey, it works. The mercurial basslines and titillating piano make for a magnetically charismatic intercourse. PSC strike me as a quirky bunch, with a certain joie de vivre evident in their sound. Their original drummer absconded from the group to pursue a career as a professional poker player you know!? …I’m left basking in the madness of it all!
Initially what stand out are the uncanny trace similarities to other songs within the music. Opener “Animat” winks coquettishly at “Genesis” by Justice but quickly dissipates into stadium cyber rock ala Muse. With subversive bass sonics playing tricks to pristine percussion there’s never a dull moment. The “Hymn Of El Cerrito” is to Nirvana’s “Something In The Way” what “Smells Like Teen Spirit” was to Boston’s “More Than A Feeling”. Is that a jazzed up cover version or an incident of thinly veiled chord progression theft? “Halfway To Quito” initially smacks of Longview’s “Can’t Explain” lovelorn balladry, and I swear I hear Placebo’s “You Don’t Care About Us” on a lower RPM in “These Precious Seconds”! Incidentally, this familiarity ruffles my curiosity as opposed to inciting boredom. Talent borrows, but genius steals, as they say.
PSC’s dramatic musicianship is their strength, with a dirty, chunky, groove-centric/funk-infected bass sound, like a freestyle dancing diplodocus, prone to augmented breaks of fuzz that would move tectonic plates. Juxtaposed with nimble piano/synth and crisply executed beat-keeping which morphs from solid spinal scaffolding to intermittent flicks, ticks, and frills, these guys play with gusto and it shows; you can feel the frenetic energy in the music.
With the obvious limitations that exist for a three-piece outfit, the potential for it to become tedious is ever present, but just shy of 42 minutes, the 11 tracks come to a perfect halt before interest wanes. A suitably fitting timescale for quasi-quixotic instrumental music, if I may say so. If pressed to kvetch, then I’d say preening a few tracks would transform a particularly good album into an exceptional EP. I make this point only in reference to the consistency in quality; there are at least five tracks here that would merit an accolade greater than just good. However when diluted in the album as a whole, the sum of all parts equal just that. Good – with shavings of greatness. Certain areas descend into overindulgent experimentalism. This is not as bad as it sounds; however, it detracts from the collective cohesiveness from a straight-through-player standpoint.
From the somniferous mood of “Separation” to the first person perspective novella-narrative of “Something About The Audience,” there lies a celebratory air of hope and redemption with more structural meandering than the Mississippi. Topped off with the punchy “Blood Music,” pounding maelstrom of “Halfway To Quito,” and mirthful swagger of “These Precious Seconds,” this welcome vitality and vibrancy makes for a compulsive boogie-inducing experience. Theatrical and articulate, for optimum results listen to this album at loud volume and you’ll see what I mean.
These guys breathe for music, from the disgruntled symphony concert attendee discourse to the sampled conversation of youths discussing the necessity of music in their lives. Even the album title Music, In The Blood can be construed as having fanatical undertones. The artwork is quite striking too. It’s evident that this fixation is not a lifestyle choice but rather a blinkered obsession. Hysteria comes to mind but in a good way. Come; witness the celebration of life through sound and savour an encomium to musicality. Take my hand and join me as I scamper through the streets zealously pounding on doors screaming “It’s here! It’s here!” at the top of my shrill voice.
-James Crossan