The most difficult part of listening to this album is trying to forget that it’s made by Lynch and Badalamenti. Ya, those two famous motherfuckers. If you don’t know the dynamic duo of surreal, dark, and eerie it would be more perplexing than a birthday party at the Black Lounge. These two have collaborated on movies such as Blue Velvet, Mulholland Drive, and worked on the celebrated series Twin Peaks which got rebooted a quarter of a century after it was initially made. Now that’s some deep fucking fandom. This album began its birth in ’91, and in very Lynchian style, has been slowly crawling out of the womb, with a single raisin-weathered arm, ever since. It should be said that Lynch saturates his work in music. Seriously, the shit is sponged in. If you remove the music from a Lynch film, there isn’t much film let. The music is integral to the final product. What other director and film composer would decide to make a band together? You don’t see Lucas plucking a banjo next to John Williams.
Like I said before, it’s really difficult to judge this music without relating it to Lynch’s film work. And that’s simply because the music in a Lynch film is basically a main character. I had to go through this album a couple times in order to separate the music from the men that made it. Eventually, I was able to listen to this album with the least amount of bias I could conjure. And what did I find? This shit is dope as fuck.
This album is composed of unbelievably dark jazz. A crazed vocalist occasionally speaks overtop slippery and drone-like instrumentation about black dogs, ants, and anything else will give you nightmares for years. The instrumentation is dated for 2018, and given this album was created in ’91 that makes sense. But, even if you listen to this album without that in mind, the dated synth sounds and effects make this shit eerier than initially intended. It comes across like a psychopath that stopped maturing emotionally back in ’91, but continued to age physically despite having an affinity with hair brushes, cherry coke, and roadkill taxidermy. The shit is fucking creepy. This music takes a simple idea that may seem childish at first: electro swing jazz, puppies, monkeys, spoken word artists, and through effect and repetition, makes it deeply disturbing. And though it’s disturbing as all hell, this an unbelievably entertaining listen. I’m glad this closeted hunk of audio has finally come to see the light of day. I suggest listening to it with a cup of damn good coffee and some cherry pie.