First up on my no-particular-order review docket: The Felt. The original album cover is excellent, but I figured no one would mind if I offered an alternative with a little more juice.
There’s a healthy dose of backwards xylophone in the intro, but it’s just the ambience, not the driving force behind this track. The main melody is reminiscent of Frost, especially after the drums kick in around the middle section. The second half carries a pretty strong electric guitar solo (one of the few guitar features on the album). And the forwards-this-time xylophone coda makes the track something of an aural palindrome.
A big, long, mournful cello piece. I don’t know about the subtitle, Scratch’s Lament, though. For one, I’m not even sure Doc Scratch is capable of lamentation. The track is a little too genuine, a little too legitimately soulful to associate with a smarmy, four-foot-tall puppet with a cue ball for a head.
I don’t know. Maybe this is what’s going through Scratch’s head while Hussie beats the stuffing out of him. I imagine his only regret was that personally embarrassing interlude. Omniscient my ass.
It’s a tale of two songs. The first half is marching-band lite, with a skittery clarinet melody backed up by one lonesome, solemn, drawn-out horn (and the inevitable ticking grandfather clock, because it’s The Felt, and they keep time). Around 3:40 it cracks open into a full-blown synth-driven overture that gives the track a different feel.
Mostly piano, with a side of flute and strings. There’s plenty of time-themed effects in the track, but they’re subtle and serve to accent the melody, rather than overwhelm it. Great melody.
Probably the most conventional track on the album. That says more about the amount of experimentation on the album than anything: this ain’t The Everly Brothers we’re listening to here. The harpsichord is gaudy and pretentious enough to fit Scratch, and the sinister, frantic crescendos are a fitting introduction for the big bad guy.
When I heard the first 30 seconds of this song, I was digging it big time. It’s got an Eastern bloc, Prokofiev sort of vibe. You know, ‘harness the means of production’ and all that. Then, cue the tape deck rewinds.
It’s a high concept track, and I get it: rewind to the beginning, add another layer to the song. It’s clever, but since the effect destroys the flow of the song, it can’t be much more than a novelty. A mildly entertaining one, but still just a novelty.
Call me a traditionalist, but I like this track better in reverse. It’s not just some previous track played backwards: it’s an original composition, all the way through (a very symphonic reimagining of Clockwork Melody).
The reversed play fits the album theme, but makes it tough to listen to.
Play the track in reverse, and it’s a cool crescendo of a song all the way through, with a different take on a familiar melody to boot. Yeah, I know, I’m missing the point, but I just can’t swing that abstract.
RATING: 6 / 13 – a little melodramatic in retrospect. Heavy-handed.
This is the first ‘theme’ album I’ve reviewed. And the theme is ‘time, and how to mess with it.’ It centers on The Felt, of course: that irascible gang of puppet leprechaun frog men. Some of The Felt are borderline clever and cunning, while a few of them are profoundly stupid in their time shenanigans.
Most of the album is dominated by that theme of time. There’s lots of backwards instrumentation, lots of rewind / fast forward effects, and plenty of ticking clocks. It’s experimental symphony, if that qualifies as a genre (there’s not much chiptune or rock to be found here: it’s pretty much all woodwinds, strings, and brass).
With its experimental nature, it’s quite a bit more niche than most of the catalog. There are some very good tracks on the album (I’ve especially warmed up to a few after repeated listening), but the style makes it a little tough to get into.
