"Chaos theory" is a deceptive term. While it seems to suggest some kind of rational, mathematical explanation of chaos, it's really just a qualitative study, examining the properties of a system in a state of flux. The most well-known application of chaos lies in the fractal, an ever-repeating geometric pattern based not on traditional shapes, but on complex, non-linear shapes. Everything is offset by an immeasurable and elusive factor. And yet, out of the chaos, can come something as beautiful as a mandlebrot.
The chaos theory has been put to work for everything ranging from telecommunications to washing machines that use fuzzy logic circuits to attempt to untangle clothes moving in a chaotic fashion. Chaos theory and fractals have also been applied to music-- some of the algorithms that are used to create fractals have also been applied to the realm of sound. Unfortunately, the result is a complete disappointment when held up to the beauty of a fractal.
But those trying to get the sounds of chaos down on record, take heart. Put away your theoretical physics textbooks and graphing calculators, and pick up a copy of Some Best Friend You Turned Out to Be. Max Tundra's latest effort is undeniable proof that a record can be chaotic without succumbing to dissonance.
"Cakes" kicks off the album with an analog flute and snare drum segment that would be at home in a "Legend of Zelda" game. Seems innocent enough-- pleasant, but not that far from traditional electronic music. Soon, however, the song shifts its structure completely, employing a drum machine beat and a piano track that seem to have little, if anything, to do with each other musically. And when you think you've got the segment figured out, the drum machine gives way to a blissful synthesizer loop, and ambiguous drones call to you from beyond. Suddenly, as the song begins to shift back towards its second segment, an elephantine trumpet comes out of nowhere, blasting the track, and your expectations, to smithereens.
The album's second track, "Lamplite on a One Horse Shoe," opens with a seemingly random analog mantra. Like the greatest works of electronic minimalism, that relatively simple figure is built upon, added to, and transformed until it becomes something different, but retains a discernible similarity to its original.
But the real beauty of Some Best Friend You Turned Out to Be isn't in its electronic segments, but in the fact that the album doesn't limit itself to electronic elements. Instead of creating a record using all analog synthesizers, all samplers, or all acoustic instruments, Max Tundra has crafted an album that uses all three. "6161" uses lo-fi, reverb-doused guitars, xylophones, and layer upon layer of crusty analog synthesizers to construct a sonic collage of mammoth proportions. But what makes the track truly stand out is the amazing melodic complexity demonstrated-- what seems like hundreds of individual, unrelated melodies adding up to an alarmingly cohesive whole.
The 11-minute "Carbon Cones" serves as the perfect closer, and summary, of Some Best Friend You Turned Out to Be. At times explosive, at times meditative, and always putting to use an eclectic series of acoustic and synthetic instruments. Due to its at times overwhelming nature, it would be natural to put something here to the effect of "this record is not for everyone." But to say that would be ridiculous-- this is the kind of dynamic, creative record that should be heard by as many people as possible. Though it occasionally resembles electronic minimalism, Some Best Friend You Turned Out to Be is the first of its kind: a true maximalist record.
