Bird watching in New York City just got more interesting, what with the first sighting of The Whimbrels, a guitar-centric cast of Gotham avant-garde mercenaries – no negative connotations here – embarking on an endlessly fascinating and intensely creative new mission.
Taking as its mascot a feathery creature with a long, drooping bill, these inventive, art-rock veterans – their ties to sonically adventurous freaks J. Mascis, Swans, and Glenn Branca earning them instant credibility – unleash an oddly compelling, often explosive self-titled debut LP of gripping curiosities and strangely melodic fruit. Thrown around violently and fully engaged, their initial volleys of well-coordinated, overlapping riffs and harmonies, interesting tunings, and unexpectedly magnetic hooks is audacious and unusual, the product of guitar visionaries Arad Evans, Norman Westberg, and Luke Schwartz, buttressed by the distinctive, polyrhythmic patterns of drummer Steve DiBenedetto and cunning, furtive movements of bassist Matt Hunter. Producer Jim Santo acts as a savvy guide, a studio shaman of sorts.
Refreshingly original and diverse, although seemingly inspired by Sonic Youth, The Whimbrels’ mutating migrations through tracks such as the tribal, droning “Distant Land” and a trippy, darkly seductive “Eclipse Eye” land softly in jungles of sound. They feel ominous and vaguely threatening, the latter’s brooding poetry almost voyeuristic, as it leads into the spectacular, multi-part closer “Four Moons of Galileo.” Going from ringing, star-spangled slash and strum in staggered free fall, to driving through a manic, post-rock episode of noisy turbulence and slowing before a somewhat exotic, if trashy, stretch of dub and light dissonance, it ends it all in crashing, experimental glory.
What a way to go out, although it doesn’t overshadow “She is the Leader,” spoken-word vocals barely holding the center as gleaming swords of bold, repeating chords are flung at them. Nor does it ground the soaring and feverish “Monarchs” or tame the growling punk-rock dirty bomb “That’s How it Was,” which devolves into a languid bridge and then turns nasty and feral, stabbing blindly at whatever’s poking the bear – Libby Fab taking over behind the kit, beating it senseless. They’re all taking the expressway to your skull.
