One of the hazards of writing about music for a living is the temptation to forgo the
writing at all, Õcause youÕve found yourself completely lost in the pleasures
of listening to the subject at hand. When the subject is the High Llamas,
the problem becomes very acute indeed. For sheer aural pleasure, and I mean
the ruthlessly addictive kind, the High Llamas are the kings of the hill,
have been for some time now and, with the release of Beet, Maize &
Corn (Drag City) in late 2003, remain the unchallenged champs of
music for listening to Ñ and not
writing about.
In fact, IÕve returned now after tackling that first
paragraph, which I must say I struggled with, so eager was I to get to the
next track on Beet. I took a short
refreshing break to dig into, for the dozenth time (yes, youÕll want to),
ÒThe Click and the Fizz,Ó a typically High Llamsian affair that on initial
meeting twinges the ear and tickles the memory banks with a yearning
sweetness blowing in on a breeze of unusually admixed instruments and
harmonies. But thatÕs on first hearing; the first listen brings other
listens in rapid succession, thereÕll be this nagging sensation, eventually
becoming a severe hounding at your psyche...your heart, anyway.
Built around deftly chorded piano or acoustic guitar
motifs and augmented by exceedingly tasteful string ensembles, vibes,
banjos, horns and winds, head High Llama Sean OÕHaganÕs songs are in
actuality small pop chamber works, simple enough in appeal yet concerning
themselves with a large number of ÒformalÓ musical elements that draw from
a vast and, more to the point, astutely juxtaposed array of sources. The
lyrics? TheyÕre not designed to make you feel stupid, exactly, but youÕd be
hard-pressed to pin down what OÕHagan is on about at any given time. An
impressionist, he paints open views of scenes he likes, moods he feels,
doing so with an ear for musical cadence and cascade. Especially intriguing
is the combination of his heartbreaking harmonies with the oblique strands
of his words, which creates a very special, yes, magical place, which is yours and yours alone. (ThereÕs a
dreaminess to much or most of what this English band does, and that must be
why thereÕs a tinge of melancholy about it, too; it seems to recognize that
while one daydreams, oneÕs life is slowly slipping away.)
Back in the Õ80s OÕHagan was a member of the Irish
agit-punk melodists Microdisney, along with Cathal Coughlan, who went on to
form the even more aggro Fatima Mansions. OÕHaganÕs diverging interests in
Bacharach, the Beach Boys, Morricone and Mancini, among other extremely
non-hardcore-type inspirations, found him stirring the pot alone in the
studio, brewing a lot of very non-punk-rock ideas that eventually led to
the forming of High Llamas. Several albums through the Õ90s, such as the
West Coast pop-soaked Gideon Gaye and Hawaii, found him often (shortsightedly, I think) accused of attempting
to rewrite the Beach Boys postÐPet Sounds songbook. High Llamas fan Bruce
Johnston of the Beach Boys, however, was so taken with the epic sweep of Hawaii that he asked OÕHagan to produce the first new
B. Boys album with Brian Wilson in several years. (Meetings were
held, Mike Love made a stink, OÕHagan said no thank you.) Further albums,
such as the cruelly undervalued Snow Bug, found OÕHagan incorporating very subtle electronic elements in with
his vibes, trombones, banjos and guitars. Snow BugÕs insanely upbeat ÒJanet JangleÓ is like the
theme for an afternoon talk show with actually interesting guests.
Beet, Maize & Corn is wonderful. Wonderful for the
way it shows OÕHaganÕs compositions evolving so masterfully, wonderful for
his increasingly awesome arranging prowess Ñ albeit here done much more
sparely and sans the electronics. Beet is the bandÕs most quietly complex album to date, yet feels like the
most easily accessible. The ornamenting blends of instrumentation are
perhaps not so unusual anymore Ñ banjos and vibes over tack piano and nylon
guitar, trombones loafing about in the distance Ñ but OÕHaganÕs painterly placing of the instruments has reached an acute degree
of genius.
In lesser hands, something like OÕHaganÕs stuff would
veer off into the saccharine. Yet this music, often referred to as an
oasis, or Òa safe placeÓ (and I donÕt mind saying it again), soothes and
stimulates in a way that seems to defy our biases about what might
superficially be thought of as elevator music. IÕm fascinated by his use of
broad-stepping, adventurous melody over superwide yet carefully stippled
harmonies, and the best chord progressions in all of pop music, seriously.
(Further evidence of which can also be found on High LlamasÕ recent Retrospective,
Rarities & Instrumentals, a
double-disc package on the V2 label that culls material from their first
five albums as well as B-sides and remixes.) On Beet, OÕHagan looked to the warm recorded sound of
Õ50s doo-wop and R&B sides, and further studied the work of early
20th-century classical composers such as Delius and Britten. Over the phone
recently we talked about other sources, all of whom were Òa few people trying
to extend harmonies in pop music.Ó Names like jazz reinventors Carla Bley
and George Russell popped up, as did Õ70s English pop ironists Stackridge,
Duke Ellington, Miles Davis, and OÕHaganÕs revered Robert Wyatt; he mentions the
obvious inspiration of the Brazilian composers of the Õ60s and Õ70s.
Interesting to note that the tropicalistas of Brazil proudly proclaimed their ÒcannibalismÓ of music from
Europe and America; OÕHagan freely admits that there was a bit of
contriving on Beet, where he
rubbed the music of different eras and nationalities together to see what
kind of friction he got, much like, say, Debussy had done long before him Ñ
and often improving upon the source material.
Tellingly, OÕHagan said that, as a lad, it was The
Twilight Zone that rocked his world,
because of its power to put him in a very strange place for half an hour once a week. ItÕs this
evocative sense of place Ñ one that you mightÕve got especially well in the
past from hissy old monophonic records tracked on analog reel-to-reels Ñ
that makes the High Llamas a most rarefied listening experience. That place
is aided by the painterly work of one Fulton Dingley, by the way, the
finest audio engineer ever to draw blade against tape. Or, he would have if
OÕHagan had the chance: ÒWe want to spend time and make records in the big
24-track studios,Ó OÕHagan says, Òbut we canÕt afford it. I absolutely
would record with tape any day, any time, but the luxury of recording that
way is kind of disappearing.Ó
TodayÕs dissonance becomes tomorrowÕs consonance, thatÕs what ÒtheyÓ say. OÕHagan is
a self-taught musician, but a real student of music. ItÕs been a huge
advantage in his case Ñ just listen to these fresh ears heÕs got, reel backward
at his why-not approaches to the organization of pop historyÕs sounds in
ways that just arenÕt normally done. Enjoy your solitude in
this special place heÕs created just for you. OÕHaganÕs super-expanding of
harmonic and melodic content within the pop context is, without
exaggeration, a major contribution to the pop canon, and by a bit of
extension, to a much better world in which to live.
