Artist - The Mars Volta
Album - Frances The Mute review
Label - Universal
Reviewer - Brent Steven White
Miles Davis once was asked, later in his career, why he stopped performing the ballads that had previously made him so successful. He responded to the question by saying, "I stopped playing my ballads because I love to play them." While on the surface this quote may seem somewhat silly and contradictory, it subtly illustrates a crucial and often over-looked element of creating art; the need and desire to creatively evolve. Omar Rodriquez-Lopez and Cedric Bixler-Zavala, along with the rest of the Mars Volta, completley embrace this artistic necessity on their new album: The profound, brilliant, and often difficult 77 minute epic, Frances The Mute.
If the band's first album, 2003's De-loused in the Comatorium, were a simple, pretty, and linear painting done on a blank white canvas, Frances The Mute would then be the polar opposite; it would be a million different microscopic brush strokes on a piece of paper the size of your hand. And, to take this analogy further, don't expect to see one of the brush strokes without seeing them all. Frances The Mute is not only a test of patience, but a test of emotional endurance, as well.
The lyrics, which are sang in English and Spanish, focus around a fictional character created in a diary found in the back seat of a car repossessed by previous member Jeremy Ward who, sadly, died of heroin overdose shortly before the release of De-loused. One could conclude (and it wouldn't be unfair in doing so) that Bixler-Zavala incorporating Spanish lyrics, as heard in the song "L'Via L'Viaquez," among others, is quite the commercial risk. But then again, this album as a hole is a commercial risk.
Rodriquez-Lopez's self-indulgent, pretentious guitar playing is nearly intolerable. As producer of Frances, his need for himself is such that a lot of the space between songs, which on De-loused was just simply air, is filled with gutter guitar noise and overly done leads. Bixler-Zavala boarders on overdoing it as well. For the most part, though, he appears to understand the duality of his duties of being a vocalist/voice manipulator, and letting the music breathe when it needs to. He doesn't vocally scribble all over the music; he instead colors within the set lines of limitation.
Frances is five tracks with three of them cut and subdivided into listings of the title plus A, B, C, D, etc. Why? Who knows. (Again with the self-indulgence). Each complete track is on average 13 minutes long with the exception of "The Widow," the only song to follow standard structuring and a consistent refrain. It also happens to the be first (and probably only) single from the album.
Enough credit isn't given to the rest of the band whom all are very talented musicians. Indeed, Frances often feels like the "Omar and Cedric Experience with Guests." Strangely, this isn't too far from the truth. John Frusciante and Flea (who plays trumpet on this album instead of bass), from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, make appearances on the
avant-garde,
Miles Davis-post-Cool sounding "Cassandra the Gemini." Also appearing are salsa pianist Larry Harlow, percussionist Lenny Castro, and fellow El Paso, Texas musician Adrian Terrazas, who plays saxophone.
As on De-loused, Bixler-Zavala's lyrics seem like stream-of-conscience thoughts. This is not to suggest, however, that the quality of his words aren't well done. Perhaps the best lyrics can be found in "Miranda That Ghost Just Isn't Holy Anymore:" "I've always wanted to eat glass with you again but I never knew how to talk without the walls dropping" is an interesting prose, but Bixler-Zavala makes you think with lines like, "They would scatter separating the mother from child. She can bat a broken eyelid raining maggots from it's sty." Tasty. Frances is also the first album Rodriquez-Lopez and Bixler-Zavala recorded sober since At The Drive-In's Vaya (ATDI was the band Omar and Cedric left in early 2000), though reading the lyrics might make you think otherwise.
The brilliant thing about The Mars Volta - which is illustrated perfectly on this album - is their ability to make unpopular music accessible to an audience that would otherwise likely never be exposed to it. The salsa structures, the free jazz jams, the incredible improvisation, combined with the latin rhythms, the spanish horns, and the nonsense noise, make The Mars Volta more than just a modern day prog band. Those of you who are informed know that prog rock is a selective taste, and free jazz-rock is even more so. In today's scene, The Mars Volta exist off to the side of all sides of the music, and that makes up the majority of their manner, which, if used to their advantage, could make them appeal to many, many people.
The sad thing I fear, however, is that Frances The Mute will go nowhere, falling through the cracks into the void with other forgotten works, unable, unsuccessful, to penetrate the thick walls of all the meaningless musings built higher and higher throughout the years; only later to be discovered like an overlooked painting from an overlooked attic, sold at a garage sale for cents, to then do nothing but accumulate dust day after day, and year after year.
