Over time, and chefs the world over can likely attest to this, the cutting edge of a knife becomes dull. It no longer slices, dices, divides and conquers the way it once did, just dents whatever it is you’re attempting to halve or quarter. It’s akin to a weight that disperses matter, with either side ballooning up the further you press. Sometimes it bursts—there’s only so much force certain food stuffs can take, after all. Other times, however, once the knife is lifted, it’s left with a distorted water-wing look. The same principle applies to music, too. The reverberations of avant-garde experimentation ripple through the ether long after the melodies, rhythms and rhymes fade to silence. That’s not necessarily a bad thing; most longtime music fans can or should be able to name artists whose forays into the eccentric echo in the more mainstream music they made after the fact.
That’s true when it comes to the debut EP from Jack Ogborne’s new group, the Cindys, which also includes Naima Bock, Finlay Burrows, and members of Belishas. For much of this decade, Ogborne created a flurry of way-cool numbers under the moniker of Bingo Fury—last year’s Bats Feet for a Widow, which I first heard a few weeks back, is a compelling mix of atonal and avant-garde jazz-rock, with his baritone vocals a figurative foghorn bleating abstract thoughts. It’s a mesmerizing listen. Weird as it may sound, however, making such offbeat music became a chore if not a bore for him—which, I think, every artistic person can identify with. As a result, with the Cindys, he’s detoured back toward the mainstream, though it drifts closer to the edge than the middle. Think ringing and distorted guitars, stark rhythms, and haunting vocals—a bit like the Crash Test Dummies, for those who remember the ‘90s band, though his goal was to replicate the sounds and mindset of the C86 scene of the 1980s. To capture the proper feel, he and producer Sam Stacpoole tracked most songs to an eight-track cassette while recording in the damp basement of the Cornish Bank in Falmouth.
The EP opens with “Eternal Pharmacy,” inspired by Ogborne’s days working as a sound engineer, which included handling the board on a tour of concert halls for a major band. It includes a great line, too: “I’ll plagiarize my dignity from you.” “Dry TV” maintains the vibe, while “If It’s Real” delves into a transatlantic relationship of some kind. Guitars chime, lines rhyme, and abstract wordplay surfaces throughout, including on the track that follows, “Marble Lobby,” which unreels in slow motion: “I won’t waste my time anymore,” he sings at song’s end. “Isaac’s Body” ups the ante and tempo, while “Liquid Stitch” purls and loops colorful threads into a mosaic-like creation. The EP closes with “Dish Water,” which splashes a stark confession about love: “I don’t know how to surrender.”
The music is indeed more mainstream than Ogborne’s Bingo Fury offerings. It’s no better or worse, mind you, and as enjoyable, thanks in large part to the ringing guitars. My main gripe is its brevity—at seven tracks and 21 minutes, you’re left wanting more—but that’s par for the course with many new releases.
The Old Grey Cat 