Hilikus

Growing up as a Christian, there’s a particular sentiment that I became very used to hearing: “If that’s what you think then fine, but don’t push your beliefs on me”. Back then I used to bristle when I heard those words, mainly out of insecurity and religious fervour, but nowadays I bristle simply at the close-minded cynicism of it. People share the things that are important to them, of course they do. And so today I wish to offer a Defence of the Evangelist.

Evangelism can be born of two different intentions: conquest, or generosity. The former is the sort that provokes that reaction of “don’t push that on me”, the sort that cares more for the delivery of the message than for the recipient themselves. It’s sharing for their own sake, not for the sake of the person hearing it. People see through that – we know when our feelings and beliefs are not being treated with respect. When these exchanges happen, neither party leaves with the sense that they’ve been listened to. So to be clear, I’m not here to defend evangelical conquest. The evangelism of generosity is a different matter though. It comes not from a sense of obligation, as conquest so often does, but from joyful overflow. It is an attitude that says “this thing has done so much good for me and I would love for you to experience it too”. It doesn’t seek to erase or rewrite the recipient, it wishes only to augment. It is the giving of a precious gift.

In Hilikus, Brandon is a generous evangelist. Through the song he gives testimony to a distant past (“about a hundred years ago”) as a retreating, lonely boy, who gains confidence and companionship in a newfound friend. The cryptic portmanteau of the title tells us the identity of this friend is weed (as an aside, despite knowing full well that the word means “High-Like-Us”, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to break the habit of calling the song “Hill-a-kus”). Having undergone his radical conversion, Brandon emerges as a true believer, ready to spread the good word about marijuana. For the song’s pre-chorus he moves from his personal account to make a broader point about history, though how it tallies with the overarching narrative of the song isn’t terribly clear. I guess he’s trying to say that we need to get high in order to come together and recognise the reality of the social order. Or something? Maybe? All I’m sure of, and I realise I’ve made this point before, but Brandon is definitely rapping. The band have tried to deny it on numerous occasions, but you can’t use the phrase “glisten with my syllables” and tell me you’re not rapping. Come on. If the verses and the pre-chorus are the gospel, the chorus is the altar call, the invitation to join the faith – “so good to be, you’ve got to be Hilikus”. It comes with no threat or judgement, just the unmistakable feeling that you’ll be missing out if you refuse.

If Sink Beneath The Line is what happens when everything goes wrong for Fungus-era Incubus, Hilikus is what happens when everything goes right. Every lyric is catchy, impossible not to join in with. The bassline is iconic, one of Lance’s best – its undeniable strut is the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Enjoy Incubus. It also happens to be the first thing I played when I got my most recent bass home after buying it. Mike’s solo is my favourite from this period, the kind that you find yourself singing long after the song ends. Of all the songs that found their way on to the Enjoy EP from Fungus, Hilikus is the most notably changed, with an extended midsection following the solo, courtesy of the newly joined DJ Lyfe. This addition, as well as an extra pre-chorus, heightens the anticipation for the final chorus, making the whole track wonderfully satisfying. Not only that, the updated version has tidied itself up a bit, softening some of the more belligerent guitar and vocals from the original cut. In his book Every Song Ever, Ben Ratliff has a habit of describing certain music and artists as generous. I love this idea of an artist treating its audience, giving a little more than it needed to. It’s the way I feel about Hilikus, that it is a gesture offered out of abundance.

Cynicism is easy; we all prefer the comfort of the familiar. But we should keep a look out for the generous evangelists, those people who know how to share the good. Hear them out. If they don’t convince you then you don’t have to take anything on. At the very least you will have allowed for that person to glow a little brighter for a moment. But there’s always a chance that their passion might ignite something in you, that you might receive a most valuable gift. And be a generous evangelist yourself. Be open handed with those things that give you meaning. Throw cynicism to the wind and let your loves be loud. For the record, I’m a great advocate of guilty pleasures – or rather, I don’t believe in them at all. If you’re into something then give yourself permission to embrace it, no matter what it looks like from the outside. As the year of our lord 2020 plumbs ever-deeper depths of shit, we mustn’t underestimate the value of celebrating what we love. This blog serves as my evangelism. I hope that in sharing my love of this band it will go forth and multiply, and help others to share those things they love.

Amen.

Black Lives Matter

I’ve been going back and forth on whether to make this post, torn between wanting to respond to the current moment and not wanting to make a performative gesture. Ultimately, while I am a White man from a rural town in England with no expertise or special insight, it feels right to use what little platform I have to draw attention to the real and urgent needs of the Black community, as well as to affirm some basic truths.

So, let me be clear: Black lives matter.

No doubt some may read this and think “this is just a music blog, why have you got to get political?”. But music doesn’t exist in a vacuum and it cannot be discussed meaningfully outside of its context. The history of music is inextricably tied up in the history of race, just as every person who produces and consumes music today is affected by race. All music is inherently political, inherently racial.

This is no less true for Incubus. The band members themselves are racially diverse, and I’ve always appreciated the wordless statement of inclusivity and acceptance that this portrays. Mainstream Rock music is a space occupied predominantly by White people, so it can’t be overstated the value of having Black (and Latino) representation in the band, both for fans and for those aspiring to work in the music industry. What’s more, Rock, as well as the other genres Incubus is built on – Funk, Jazz, Hip-Hop – are genres pioneered by Black artists. Without them there would be no Incubus, nor in fact would there be most of the music we hear on the radio today.

The band themselves are never shy to use their platform to draw attention to social and political issues – most recently making statements affirming their commitment to the Black Lives Matter movement. Kilmore has even gone so far as to put out a mix, Musical Activism (BLM), in response to the current wave of protests. In the Instagram post accompanying the mix he writes that “it was an incredible release of heavy emotions happening now and throughout our history”, and all that emotion is keenly felt throughout the 51 minute runtime, from extremes of lament to joy. The mix takes us on a tour of Black artists from across the last century, both in their music and their speech, including but not limited to: Herbie Hancock, Nina Simone, Childish Gambino, Gil Scott-Heron, Edwin Starr, Bill Withers, Bob Marley, and 13 year old Keedron Bryant, the incredible voice from a video that has gone viral in the past few weeks. Keedron’s plea of “I just want to live” is one of the truths that I’ve been attempting to grapple with from my position of privilege – the fact that Black people are not asking for anything radical, as talk of protests and activism might lead you to believe, but just safety, just dignity, just humanity. That Black people still need to ask for these things, have ever needed to ask for these things, is unspeakably shameful. Justice is long overdue and will require the wholesale dismantling of systemic racism, including defunding of the police.

I don’t wish to make this post overlong. Below I offer some links that I have found helpful recently for engaging in active antiracism in the hope of bringing about that justice. And please get in touch with the ways that you yourselves have been able to get involved with Black Lives Matter projects. I’m always trying to be a better ally on these issues and I’m not averse to critique and direction, so if you have advice for how I can tackle these topics in my writing then I’m all ears.

DJ Kilmore’s Musical Activism Mix: https://m.mixcloud.com/Kilmore/musical-activism-blm/

Antiracism resources for White people: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1BRlF2_zhNe86SGgHa6-VlBO-QgirITwCTugSfKie5Fs/mobilebasic

List of US bail funds you can donate to: https://bailfunds.github.io

PDF of Guthrie Ramsey’s Race Music, an excellent history of Black music: https://t.co/rhEep2U5Mg?amp=1

Sink Beneath The Line

Rather than start this post with my usual bullshit, I’m going to cut right to the chase: Sink Beneath The Line is, in my opinion, one of the worst songs that Incubus has ever put out. It’s the perfect distillation of every flaw demonstrated by the band during this era. As such, I’m likely to be retreading a lot of ground that has been covered in previous Fungus posts, but at least there’ll be no ambiguity on where I stand.

From the off the introductory guitar riff is given that trebley effect that makes it sound like elevator music, or the kind of hokey thing you get played when put on hold on the phone. The effect is that the song immediately associates itself with something that is inflicted upon you rather than something you would listen to for pleasure. It’s as though it’s trying to beat the listener to their criticism – a “hey, before you tell us this sucks, we already know”. It speaks to this insecurity that I’ve talked about before, this sense that the band hasn’t yet fully accepted that they’re allowed to consider themselves credible.

As with the majority of Fungus, the technical ability of the musicians is evident but here the major key jauntiness is grating. Sink is too kitschy, over-reliant on the listener being in on the joke. And I’m no curmudgeon – as I’m sure you’ll see in my post for Hilikus (spoiler alert) I have no issue with goofy songs. But tracks like Hilikus or Take Me To Your Leader work because they don’t give a shit about looking stupid. Sink on the other hand is too ensconced in it’s own sense of irony. It thinks that by offering a knowing wink the listener will excuse how baldly irritating it is. It reminds me of when comedians say something overtly sexist or racist, but in that way where we’re all supposed to laugh at how outrageous and un-PC the comment is – they might be acting like they’re above it all, but at the end of the day they’re still saying the thing. Sink Beneath The Line likewise is trying to play off its corniness as sophistication, but what we’re still left with is the tiresome chorus, the guitar licks that should have been left in the 80’s sitcoms they were lifted from, the scatting, the gospel ad-libs, and the lyrics.

The lyrics make me very uncomfortable. They tell the tale of a girl who longs to hang out with the cool kids, and in her shyness sits down on an anthill, resulting in her underpants getting swarmed by creepy-crawlies. Even setting aside the unwelcome mental imagery, there’s a weird moral to the story. Considering that at this point the band is building their brand on a philosophy of self-acceptance and revelry in being the outsider, Sink Beneath The Line seems to take the opposite line and suggest that the subject should have just tried a bit harder with the in-crowd. Brandon does make sure we know how much he regrets not making this girl feel welcome, because he is of course a Good Guy™️, but it’s not enough to overcome the feeling that she is getting a raw deal (in more ways than one). What’s more, it’s all a bit rich when you consider all the insecurities presented by the band throughout this album, and even on this very track. It would seem there’s either a lack of self-awareness or a case of projection going on.

All in all, Sink Beneath The Line is a quintessential product of a band that is still figuring out what it wants to be, still trying to find the balance between being fun and weird and creative and unique and credible. To my mind, this is one of the times they got that balance wrong, but hey, these things happen. In the interest of fairness, I actually think this song is catchy and poppy enough to have fared well as a single. It’s certainly no worse than some of the singles the Red Hot Chili Peppers got away with. But maybe it’s for the best that they didn’t get to play with the cool kids on the radio just yet. Perhaps they needed a bit longer on the periphery, just until they’d learned to cover their asses.

Psychosilocybin

The cover of Fungus Amongus features the distinctive image of the Fly Agaric, a variety of hallucinogenic mushroom. In its use as a recreational drug it’s often viewed as an escape from reality or a path to new experiences, but the mushroom is also a familiar sight in fairy-tales and childhood cartoons. They become houses for fairies and Smurfs, or for Big Ears from Enid Blyton’s Noddy series. That or they allow Italian plumbers to expand to twice their original size. In any case, the Fly Agaric is a symbol of being taken beyond mundane reality – of magic.

  Some would say that music functions in a similar way, transporting us not just through time, as I’ve discussed previously, but through space as well. There is some music that is inseparable from the place it was made; something of the culture and the climate is absorbed into the sound in a way that would make it impossible to create anywhere else on earth. Fungus is one such album, and Psychopsilocybin one such song: intrinsically Californian, marinated in L.A. sun. It’s built upon the rich musical heritage of The Golden State, with roots that reach back through Red Hot Chili Peppers, Faith No More and Metallica, to Santana and Zappa. In fact, when looking at everything that preceded them Incubus come to be seen as an inevitability, the logical product of this musical gene pool.

  The moment the guitar starts up in Psychopsilocybin you can feel the sunshine seep in. The chords have the quality of an old, corny commercial – you’re being promised a good time. Without too much ado, the song launches into it’s first chorus. Brandon is Psychisilocybin‘s backseat driver, it has to be said, contributing little more than irritating distraction, with aimless melodies and inane lyrics (Again depicting a protagonist with an aversion to showers. Strange hill to die on, but go off I guess). Make no mistake, it’s Mike who is firmly behind the wheel throughout the song, channelling equal parts Carlos Santana, Kirk Hammett and John Frusciante. He may not have yet found the Einziger sound, but this track really shows off the scope of his ability, from tasteful jazz licks to full-on shredding. The little runs at 3:55 are a great example of the guitar work that I love from Mike in this era – melodic, vibrant, a tone the colour of sunsets.

The whole track meets the brief of an auditory mushroom trip. It’s unpredictable but never jarring, boisterous without getting aggressive. The passage of time through the song is not linear, instead it folds into itself, getting deeper rather than longer. The bridges in between solos slither hypnotically, while Brandon’s hazy evocation of colour suggests that he’s not so much performing the song as responding to it, watching it from the outside. It all gets a bit meta. When the song finally ends it comes as a rude awakening, dragging the reluctant group back to reality.

Incidentally, the only distinct memory I have associated with Psychisilocybin is listening to it on my walkman in the car. During my teens we lived several hours away from my grandparents, so we regularly took long journeys to visit them, me in the back with my headphones in the whole way there. It was on these journeys that I formed strong bonds with Incubus, and more generally began to relate travel with music. Even today if I have to drive anywhere I’m more concerned with what I’ll be putting on the stereo than the route I need to take. I like this idea that music can take the role of both vehicle and companion, the thing that transports us whilst sitting with us as we go. Personally I’ve always found it hard to feel isolated or lonely when I’m listening to music. And while some may seek music (or magic mushrooms) to escape reality, I tend to reject that idea. Rather, I find that music enhances reality, transfigures the mundane, allows the sunlight to spill out and cover the world with a glow. It sharpens colours, deepens emotions, draws out the glorious little intimacies of our lives. And if that isn’t magic, I don’t know what is.

The Answer

 

Throughout the 80’s and the 90’s, American school kids were offered one simple directive: Just Say No. It was the mantra of the War on Drugs, the ineffective and deeply prejudicial program to root out the evil of narcotics use, and an era which saw the emergence of the Drug Abuse Resistance Education initiative. With cops playing teacher and a “cool” cartoon mascot, the point of D.A.R.E. was to portray drug taking as dangerous, morally reprehensible, and the takers as reprobates and losers. At best, it had no influence on the kids at all, but some reports actually found it made drug use more likely. The impotence of the scheme is hardly surprising; it was patronising, out of touch, and devoid of any compassion. It was trying to turn a screw with a sledgehammer. And blunt approaches require a blunt response.

The Answer is such a response, aggressive and direct. José opens the track boldly and ensures that his presence is felt throughout. When Mike and Dirk enter it’s to give the impression of a boxer bouncing round the outside of the ring, sizing up the opponent. This is a mode of Incubus that we don’t see very often – they’re spoiling for a fight. Brandon throws the first punch, his delivery urgent and pointed. And while we’re here, let’s address the elephant in the room: He’s definitely rapping. There’s been interviews given by the band in recent years where they outright deny that Brandon ever rapped, but I don’t know how else you would describe his performance here. I don’t think it’s something to be particularly embarrassed about. I mean, to be clear, I’m glad they grew out of it, but there shouldn’t be anything inherently shameful about the marrying of rap and rock. And especially when you so evidently did do it, why bother to pretend otherwise? Better to acknowledge it and move on.

Not that there is any hiding in shame on this track. Here, Brandon goes a long way to address the criticisms in my previous post for Speak Free, making the target of his words clear in the first verse with a reference to D.A.R.E. It’s cleverly done, only discernible if you’re reading the words, but it’s enough to lend some real weight to the lyrics. Throughout the song Boyd refuses to pull his punches, making some surprisingly incisive arguments (“You killed the very thing that kept us hanging on to our dear lives”). The invocation of “now kill me” at the end of the first chorus is uncharacteristically morbid however and ends up just a little too jarring. The song is once again a plea for individualism and freedom of thought, and when Brandon advises that “what his law says may not be the stepping stone for you” it is a call to reappropriate and reverse that old slogan, Just Say No.

The Answer barrels along without any let up in the energy. In the chorus Brandon switches the puncturing rap of the verse for a legato croon, the wheels lifting off the runway as the momentum of the song carries it away. It points in the direction that Incubus would head with their future choruses, an opportunity for the singer to flex his vocal muscle. When the band comes out of the second chorus and into the mid-section it all kicks up another gear, drums hitting a frantic double-time, a guitar solo of squealing tyres. It’s exhilarating stuff. All in all, the song is what you want from an answer: straight, self-assured.

On the subject of self-assurance, one thing that has surprised me in writing this blog is how it’s completely untethered any sense of certainty I have around my own opinions. The longer I dwell on these pieces of music, the more I lose any sense of objectivity. It’s often said that when you dissect art you kill it on the operating table, however I’m actually finding the opposite to be true. Before I started this blog I would have told you that I have no real affection for Fungus Amongus anymore, only a withering nostalgia. But now, I’m actually enjoying the company of these songs. It’s gone beyond notions of good and bad, I like this, I don’t like that. For better or for worse, this music is woven into the fabric of my life, inextricable and inevitable. I’d set out on this project imagining I would ‘review’ each song, offer a judgement, but it’s like trying to rank my family members – I can’t say that one is better than the other, all I can do is describe the differences in how I relate to each. And I don’t know if that’s because of how close I am to Incubus, of how integral they are to my personal history. Perhaps with a different artist, with some detachment, I could maintain a sense of impartiality, but then again I struggle to imagine that being a worthy use of my time.

The problem with writing is that once it’s out there it’s out there, no backsies. It forces you stake a claim and stand by it. This problem is exacerbated with the internet, where it’s never been easier to write something and throw it out to the world, where there’s a culture that thrives on ‘takes’ and offers little room for getting things wrong or for changing your mind (It’s worth noting here that I do believe accountability is vital, I’m not advocating that every awful opinion gets a pass). In writing this blog I have to contend with the fact that I am setting in stone thoughts that are fluid. I have likely written posts here that I already disagree with. But that doesn’t mean the act is futile. Rather, we just need to make peace with the fact that our creative endeavours are snapshots of a moment, and sometimes we get it right, and sometimes we embarrass ourselves years down the line by that time we thought it would be a good idea to rap. In either case I think the value is less in being right, it’s in what you learn when you look the doubt in the eye and do the thing anyway. It’s in hearing the call to create and answering yes.

Speak Free

1994 was a year that left an indelible mark on the face of alternative music, with a series of releases whose influences are still felt today. Dookie. The Downward Spiral. Grace. Superunknown. Monster. MTV Unplugged in New York. The Blue Album. And while all this was going on, four Calabasas teenagers were going round suburban house parties peddling a little cassette called Closet Cultivation.

The demo tape is now largely lost to history, found only in the memorabilia collections of fans with more money than sense, though it can be listened to on Youtube if you find your curiosity implacably piqued. However, one of the three provocatively titled, murky recordings has gained something of a legacy with certain sections of Incubus’ fanbase, thanks to its later inclusion on Fungus Amongus.

Speak Free leans a little more towards the rock side of funk rock, with Mike eschewing his staccato scat guitars for power chords and pentatonics. The intro riff is a swaggering, mid-tempo, bluesy affair, the kind that Tom Morello would be pleased to call his own, however it’s what follows that gives the song its reputation: an explosion of slap bass from Dirk Lance, a groove that demands its moment in the spotlight before burying its head and getting to work on the verses. The showcase of Lance’s ability on Speak Free has for some fans become the standard against which all Incubus bass-playing is judged – I recall in the years after Ben Kenney joined the band, Mike had to address this group of fans to reassure them that yes, of course Ben can slap, and it’s cute that anyone would think he couldn’t. (As a bass player myself, the Speak Free riff is unquestionably cool but in my opinion there’s more challenging slap to be found on S.C.I.E.N.C.E.) Nevertheless, Speak Free really is Dirk’s song, each section led by his memorable basslines.  This is true also of the atmospheric mid-section, with the steady crawl of the bass worming its way beneath Brandon’s contorting vocals. It’s a moment for the song to open up its lungs before the constricting return of that intro riff, the lyrics a self-fulfilling prophecy as the gasps for air become more desperate with each repeat.

The track finds Brandon back in his socially conscious mode; the verses a denouncement of an unnamed oppressor, the chorus a rallying cry to the listener to think for themselves, to speak their truth. It’s a laudable sentiment, but it falls into a classic trap of being so couched in vagueries and ‘poetry’ that it doesn’t quite find its target. Alternative Rock as a genre is especially susceptible to this problem, haunted by the phantom You, the faceless enemy at the root of all the singer’s woes. And I’ve been there as a lyric writer myself, falling back on the easy defence that I’m “just letting the listener make their own interpretation”. But these days I’m looking for something more direct. I want you to name names. If what you have to say is going to change the world then say it with some goddamned bite. It’s something of an irony that Brandon’s hard-won free speech is spent on such veiled words.

Speak Free may have only made a modest contribution to the musical landscape of 1994, but its sound is inseparable from that era. It’s a relic of a genre that was too addled by hallucinogens to find its way out of the decade. And while it’s rarely seen as a positive thing to describe music as dated, personally I like hearing the creak in the bones, but then I’ve always been a bit of a sentimentalist. The fact is they don’t make ‘em like they used to, and I’m sure that’s why so many people find themselves returning to Fungus over and again. It’s the mosquito trapped in amber, a fixed point in time that we can bring back to life. And it’s a tug at some younger part of ourselves, buried deep under the years, a part of our own history that we can still hear speaking today.

 

 

First Impressions: Trust Fall Side B

I’m taking a break from the scheduled programming, as today sees the release of the band’s latest, Trust Fall Side B. The companion piece to 2015’s Side A, I had been under the impression that Side B morphed into 8 as the amount of songs stacked up, so it’s nice that they’re honouring the original with a true follow-up. Equally, I’m really pleased to see Incubus getting back into a flow of more regular releases. It feels as though there’s a genuine excitement between the guys these days which is something to be really thankful for after all this time. Anywho, I’ve just had my first listen so without further ado I’m going to jump straight in with my initial impressions. Buckle up.

Karma, Come Back

The first track enters moodily – the groove doesn’t ambush you, for now it just prowls, biding its time. The chorus is understated, but it’s catchy. In fact, all of the melodies are really strong and Brandon sounds great in his delivery. There’s lots of nice musical touches woven in, Ben and Mike sound like they’re having a lot of fun together. In the bridge the riffs finally go for the kill, the feathers fly, and it’s over as quickly as it came. The dust settles as Brandon emerges with a third verse – a really beautiful moment of peace and poise. Another chorus and some more big riffs round things out. I didn’t expect such a slow-burner for an intro track, but it’s effective and memorable. If Karma ain’t coming back after this, I’m not sure she was ever gonna come.

 

Our Love

So, it’s not true to say this is a first impression because Our Love has been out for a while now. That being said, I previously couldn’t imagine it as anything other than an opener. It works really well as a second track though, maintaining all the energy that Karma had worked to build. It’s another earworm (I’ve had it going through my head on and off for the last fortnight), and taps into some classic pop sensibilities, not least of all with the V-IV-I progression of the chorus, comfortable and familiar like the path leading to your front door. The switch up to the acoustic-led bridge is really well done, a welcome curveball. Ben’s melodic bass in this section sounds like something he would have played on Crow, which is always welcome in my books. The outro simmers, ending abruptly just as you feel it’s about to go further. The whole song is concise, it does what it needs to do well, and refuses to outstay it’s welcome.

 

Into The Summer

Having had this song around since last summer, it hardly feels new at this point. I was almost surprised to see it on this EP in fact, it suited its temporary status as a standalone. But I’m quite happy to see it here. In fact it’s my favourite thing the band has done in quite a long while. Not a small nod to Duran Duran, it’s a love letter to 80’s summer anthems. Ben sounds absolutely fantastic. The synths in the second verse can get it. The chorus is unabashedly nostalgic, all neon pinks and sand between the toes. The bridge kicks my ass every single time. The way it morphs and modulates is sensational. It isn’t ostentatious, but it demonstrates the band at their best.

 

On Without Me

This one took me on some turns I didn’t expect. The intro leads you to thinking the song is going to be an all-out ripper, but pulls back at the last second into a verse that sounds like it could belong on If Not Now, When? The chorus is anthemic and gives Brandon a chance to soar. The mid-section of the song goes on a bit of a journey, through synths, surprising chord changes, big guitar riffs. The song ends with a refrain of “I used to be a giver, but now I only wanna give up” – a despondent lyric but nevertheless a musically satisfying conclusion to the track.

 

Paper Cuts

A simple, controlled piano ballad. Pianos aren’t entirely unfamiliar territory to Incubus, but this is more akin in its starkness to something like Mexico as opposed to Here In My Room or Promises, Promises. The production on Brandon’s voice works nicely, providing an accessible warmth. It’s an interesting story being told, the chorus speaking of writing to someone without ever intending for them to read. Like a paper cut, the song is short, sharp and neat.

 

 

I’ll always look forward to new releases from Incubus. Upon first listen Trust Fall Side B takes the sense of fun found on 8 and moves it into fresh places. It’s so good to hear the band continuing to push themselves and take risks – risks that by all accounts seem to pay off. If I’m being honest the back half didn’t grab me as strongly as the front, but on the whole I consider it a strong first impression and I’m excited to sit with it over the coming weeks. I’m also interested to place it next to Side A to hear how the two pieces work together – perhaps that will be a future post.

As always, I want to hear your thoughts as well! Let me know what you make of the EP, either here or on twitter at @incubusblog.

 

Until next time…

Medium

“Everything in moderation” is one of those stock phrases you hear from time to time that at face value sounds sensible, but when followed to its logical conclusion it doesn’t really hold up (just a smidge of nuclear war, anyone?).  Nevertheless, this is the line that Brandon chooses to straddle on Medium. Through the course of the song’s three verses he searches for a comfortable balance in his daily living, negotiating his morning coffee, his steak for dinner, and his B.O. levels.  It’s a puzzling song, in itself making a compromise; not wacky enough to pass off as a joke, not weighty enough to make a statement. In taking the path of moderation it attempts to have the best of both worlds and ends up with neither.

All that said, “the medium is the message”, as the adage goes. Looking beyond the lyrical content to the music that carries it, Medium is a blend of skittering quirk and mystical intrigue. For whatever it’s worth, it’s always reminded me of the soundtrack to the original Spyro game for the PS1, probably due to the animalistic grunts in the intro, which sound like creatures from the Beast Makers world. But leaving that aside, there’s something primal and earthy about Medium. It’s in the rich, textured percussion, in the guttural chanting of the song’s title, and in the hypnotic, weaving bassline. Through the verses Mike turns his guitar into an otherworldly chime, and the interplay of the instruments here offers a glimpse of where the band will soon head with S.C.I.E.N.C.E. Brandon meanwhile takes a perplexingly sultry tone, as though his tale of poor personal hygiene is somehow expected to seduce. The whole song builds towards a satisfyingly crunchy riff at the end, placed sweetly between snarl and restraint – everything in moderation, I suppose.

There is a further sense to the word ‘medium’: something that is travelled through. At the risk of repeating myself, while it undoubtedly has its merits, I prefer to see Fungus as a rite of passage rather than something fully realised. As I note above, there are hints of what the band is to become throughout these tracks, but there is still some ironing out to be done. There’s a lot of really strong ideas, but there’s also immaturity – Brandon in particular is yet to find his voice. And again, I don’t wish to be damning. One thing I’ve felt the need to reiterate is that I write as a fan, so any criticism I make is in the context of love for the band, and likewise as a fan I don’t take my own opinion all that seriously (I know, I know, I write a blog…). I’m by no means an expert or a serious journalist, so disagree with me all you want, and don’t let anything I write get under your skin. Now that I’m a few posts I’m finding the biggest challenge is striking the balance between honestly assessing what I consider to be flaws in the music and conveying my genuine affection for the band. I hope I’m reaching a happy medium.

Take Me To Your Leader

A scrawny young man in a loincloth emerges from the forest, blinking in the California sun, and comes face to face with a highway. He surveys the scene with a mixture of fascination and delight, curiosity pulling him down the road and on into a busy city centre. Numberless people mill around him wearing unfamiliar clothes, performing unfamiliar tasks, paying little heed to the stranger in their midst. For a while he wanders as a tourist through the newly discovered society, eventually making his home on a grassy island in the middle of roaring roads, returning to the way of life that makes sense to him. This world was not his, nor did he need it to be.

So follows the narrative of Incubus’ first music video in Take Me To Your Leader. First and foremost the song is about the joys of getting stoned, but beyond that it serves as a gateway to one of the more prominent themes of the bands’ lyrics throughout their career, that of being an outsider, of feeling at odds with the world and its conventional wisdom. It’s a theme evident not only in the story of the video but also in the song’s B-Movie title, the alien’s first contact with an unknown civilisation. And while the plight of the misfit is a subject that has been explored ad nauseum by artists throughout time, what I have always found refreshing about Incubus’ perspective is their inclination not towards tension and conflict, but towards self-acceptance. To them, being an outsider is not a problem to be solved, it is something to embrace and celebrate.

Take Me To Your Leader embodies this attitude perfectly. It’s brash and boorish; it revels in its own absurdity. The timings in the intro are so off-kilter that it’s hard to tell whether they’re doing something sophisticated or failing in the attempt. Dirk’s riffs thump around atonally while Mike’s trickling guitar runs are the sound of brain cells shedding to the floor. The lyrics are technicolour hallucinations, a series of bizarre “what if…” questions that have no interest in an answer. You can turn your nose up if you must, but it’s having way too much fun to care what you think.

Every high school kid feels out of place, misunderstood at some point, and it’s all too easy for those feelings to morph into bitterness and self-doubt. As I went through that phase myself Incubus were there to affirm me and to show me that even though my outlook and interests may go against the grain, they were still valid and good. It’s encapsulated in Brandon’s confession “I think I like being way the fuck outta my brain”, this sense of acknowledging yourself and enjoying what you see even if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else around you. You do you, let your freak flag fly, etc., etc.

Incidentally, of all the songs from Fungus TMTYL is the one to have been played live most recently, getting a handful of outings in 2004. Evidence from youtube shows, ironically, the band looking somewhat sheepish playing the track, but to my surprise it doesn’t sound entirely incongruous with a Crow-era Incubus. I daresay they could still carry it off today, although it’s about as likely to happen as the sky turning purple.

 

Trouble in 421

My small group of Incubus-loving friends and I came to the band through their turn-of-the-century albums, and it wasn’t until a little while later that we moved back to discover their looser funk-rock roots. One of these friends was concurrently going through a metalhead phase, an aspirant shredder taking his cues from Zac Wylde and Dimebag Darrell, and upon first hearing the guitar solo in Trouble in 421 he was vexed. “I don’t know why he doesn’t just play fast all the time”, he blurted. It was classic myopic teenage idealism: If Mike can rip like that on guitar, why would he ever choose not to? Why play with the restraint we hear on Make Yourself and Morning View? Playing lots of notes at breakneck speed is what makes a guitarist good, and people need to know how good you are, right?

A comparable strain of this idealism is also found in the narrative of Trouble in 421. Brandon presents himself as a happy-go-lucky stoner who makes to greet his next-door neighbour, only to be met by an unwelcoming character who eyes him up with paranoid, dilated pupils. Clearly what we are to understand is that the occupant of 421 is a crank, one who does the bad sort of drugs. Brandon on the other hand is a Good Guy, and does the good sort of drugs, exhorting the listener to “get high the green way”. It’s the same attitude seen in my friend, that adolescent short-sightedness, that yours is the only way anyone should approach the world. The singer is too busy getting high on his own supply to consider that perhaps his neighbour doesn’t want to be disturbed by a dreadheaded white kid who uses words like “soirée” and “indubitably”.

The music that a teen listens to is The Best Music In The World and as such anything that they try to produce themselves tends to be imitative rather than truly original. Trouble in 421 is similarly pubescent, a mush of Red Hot Chili Peppers and Primus tropes. The solo section sounds to me like it could belong on Superunknown however, which is no bad thing. A scroll through the comments of any Incubus song on youtube will show that there’s a minority of fans out there who feel that the band peaked early with this track. Personally, I couldn’t disagree more. There is nothing in the song that bears any resemblance to the band I fell in love with. I get that Mike kills it, but it feels inauthentic. It’s a cover song played by musicians capable of much, much more.

There is a tradition in film and literature of mythologizing the teenage years: the intensity of emotion, the boundless sense of discovery, the realisation that the world is, actually, yours. It’s an age that is rightfully held as precious; I loved my teenage years and look back on them fondly, often. But I was also a huge idiot for most of that period. Today I am better, wiser, smarter, more compassionate, more at peace with myself and the world around me than I ever was then. I’m grateful to my dorky teenage self, but boy am I glad I’m not that person any longer. I feel much the same way about Trouble in 421, and Fungus Amongus on the whole. I don’t begrudge its existence in the slightest – it was a necessary rite of passage and is perversely charming, in the same way as my attempt at long hair when I was 15 –   but it’s a relief to have moved on.

 

While I’m here, the blog has a new Twitter account so you can keep up to date and get in touch. Follow me at @incubusblog.