Review: Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti, ‘Mature Themes’
In rock ‘n’ roll history there have existed lines in the sand: Polarizing musical thresholds beyond which your average listener will not step. Bob Dylan’s baffling “Self Portrait,†for example, or Lil Wayne’s rock album “Rebirth.†Muddy Waters’ psych-blues masterpiece “Electric Mud,†the entire output of Northeast family weirdos the Shaggs. Captain Beefheart and/or Frank Zappa.
The work of 34-year-old Los Angeles singer, songwriter, bandleader and memory-bending artist Ariel Pink and his band Haunted Graffiti is one such line, as evidenced by some of the songs on his wonderfully baffling new album, “Mature Themes.â€
On paper, it’s hard to explain the allure of discordant New Wave boogies about sausages (“Schnitzel Boogieâ€) and meat byproducts (“Pink Slimeâ€), or the sheer ridiculous joy of “Symphony of the Nymphs,†a ditty about a nymphomaniac lesbian at a discotheque, a man named Dr. Mario, and a narrator named Ariel from Beverly Hills who’s a nympho too. And therein lies the threshold.
Dare you cross the line? Depends on your tolerance for music that can frustrate and confuse as often as can give joy.
Me, I come down on the side of Pink’s vision, which for sheer audacity has transfixed me since 2003, when an early member of Haunted Graffiti slipped me a CD of “Worn Copy,†his Cal Arts friend’s bedroom project. Over the years Pink’s output has wavered, but it’s always made me think.
This truth is one reason why Pink’s production style – flat but wide sound, with muffled bass tones and a rich mid-range – has become a reference point for a new generation of bedroom composers. I consider his body of work to be a musical thought experiment on a grand scale, and I’m always excited to hear where he’s taking it.
On “Mature Themes,†Pink (born Ariel Rosenberg) and his ever-tightening band Haunted Graffiti travel even further from the here-and-now and end up lost in a mystical virtual world -- music for a shag-carpeted fantasy about 1970s soft rock, or a vision of future 1982 as envisioned by a sci-fi writer in 1962. Weird time signatures abound. “Early Birds of Babylon†swirls around like a skipping prog-rock LP during a particularly tasty rhythm break. “Live It Up†sounds like a jingle for an imaginary late 1960s airline commercial. And when, in “Farewell American Primitive,†he confesses that “my thoughts make me sick at night,†the musical accompaniment suggests a theme to a 1970s sitcom.
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