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HOT OFF THE PRESS – Blackout Beach’s Skin of Evil
It’s Wednesday, and that means it’s time for Nick Courtright’s weekly first glance at music discovered in the last seven days, whether it be just-released, just-leaked, or some long-lost gem that has remained under the radar. Click here for other recent editions of Hot Off the Press, featuring acts such as Deerhunter, TV on the Radio, M. Ward, Deerhoof, Juana Molina, Crystal Stilts, White Denim, and Grizzly Bear.
Released on January 27 on Soft Abuse
Report Card: B+
In regards to sanity, Carey Mercer could go either way. The prophetic declarations of times past that mark much of his work have established his position as heir to the throne of Scott Walker and Current 93’s David Tibet—like those men, he breaks many of the unwritten rules about how to be a successful vocalist, while also lending a healthy push to the question of whether the guy in charge is a genius or merely a madman. And while Mercer seems a little reined in by the full band nature of his primary project, Frog Eyes, and even more tempered by Swan Lake (the super group à la eccentric of Mercer, Spencer Krug of Sunset Rubdown and Wolf Parade, and Dan Bejar of Destroyer and The New Pornographers), his Blackout Beach project gives him the opportunity to go, without checks and balances, absolutely apeshit.
And that’s what he does with Skin of Evil, a deliciously murky concept album built around Donna, the notion of the perfect woman, and her past and present lovers, most of them woefully scorned, yet loving her nonetheless—on a scaffolding of chiming but stark guitar and otherwise complementary instrumentation and backup vocals, rarely is an album elevated so greatly via a close inspection of the lyric sheet. For without it, it’s nearly impossible to sort out the complexities Mercer injects into Skin of Evil’s cosmology, just like it’s also nearly impossible to imagine someone belting vocals with such manic, panicked sincerity. As such, the, dare I say, poetic lyrics are 100% fit for overthought grad school analysis (“my enemy is time,” “woe to the minds of soft men,” etc.), with dramatic notions of passion and mortality very near the surface. Flames, a vague pastoralia, militarism, and a brooding sense of despair also shape the verbal aspect of an album that relies heavily on interpretation to fatten up its dense and notably pop-less thirty minutes. Listen after listen, it’s astounding that a man could make such a romantic album seem so utterly startling.
Mercer’s done some truly excellent work, and Skin of Evil is quite possibly the most impressive album of his career, but in the end this is an album 99 out of 100 people will find mystifying and even unpleasant—hell, even those who ultimately like the album will have their struggles with it. But that’s the risk you run when you choose (or default to) a corner of an industry reserved for the unabashedly off-center. And while Mercer may never find the sort of commercial acceptance that his brothers in Swan Lake have found, it’s nice to know he’s out there on the avant edge, being quite crazy or quite smart, or maybe a bit of both.
Listen to music by Blackout Beach here
Otherwise largely incomprehensible lyrics to be found here