Used to be that a man was judged by the height of his church. The advent of the Gothic era found architects consciously testing the limitations of their craft as the European countryside became home to freemasons fueled by religious fervor, the first inklings of humanism, and the sole intent of creating the largest damn cathedral this side of Bayeux. Spires crept precariously higher and higher as the movement progressed, yet many designers continued to adorn their work with intricate stone-tracery in lieu of buttresses and other such means of foundation. The logical constraints of gravity that had long antagonized their art no longer seemed to concern many, as they immersed themselves in "embellishment" and paid little or no attention to the shortcomings of their tools.
Naturally, many of their achievements were only temporary additions to the landscape; some crumbled before their completion while others managed to withstand only a few years. Had their designers not been so deterred by an exalted pissing contest, they may have actually built something with enough stamina and integrity to endure time's heavy toll. It just goes to show you that a little perspective goes a long way. Likewise, if a latter day gothic architect were to gaze upon the excessive sonic weight bore by any (International) Noise Conspiracy song, even he'd tell you that shit was ready to collapse.
With Refused, the music of Dennis Lyxzén had a foundation strong enough to support the occasional interjections of electronica, jazz, and whatever other assorted weirdness he and his fellow Swedes conjured up in the studio. In fact, by the time the group had recorded their swan song, the excellent The Shape of Punk to Come, they had begun to invert the genre's oft-formulaic sound by cohesively weaving whole sections of evocative ambient noise into the mix. Now, having left the safe folds of Refused for the infinitely more didactic and uninspired (International) Noise Conspiracy, Lyxzén and partner Lars Strömberg turn to derivative song structures that try in vain to hold up the unwieldy mix of two effect-happy guitars, an incessant saxophone, clumsy keyboards, and Lyxzén's sub-par James Brown impression for over 45 minutes. Forgive me if I flee the scene for fear of imminent implosion.
A New Morning, Changing Weather, the Conspiracy's sophomore effort, showcases the group's ability to liberally borrow from the Scorpions, Spinal Tap, and Nation of Ulysses without shame. "Born into a Mess" actually sounds like an über-rendition of "Sex Farm" (albeit, with an overtly Marxist slant). Much is made of the group's communist rhetoric, which is exemplified by an, admittedly, impressive reading list contained amidst the album's liner notes. But I've yet to understand how lyrics such as, "I blow my mind everyday/ Turn on your love lights and let them shine on me," is supposed to incite a mass meditation on the flaws in modern economic procedure. Social commentary occasionally surfaces in the form of either puerile prose or oblique randomness, or sometimes, in an uninsightful succession of buzzwords. An example: "Situations symptomatic/ Define the objectified and celebrate the phallic/ To deconstruct this before we run out of time." Sounds like Foucault as interpreted by Trent Reznor.
The most offensive thing about A New Morning is how generic it sounds. There's little-to-no variation in tempo, instrumentation, or aesthetic appeal, imbuing the album with all the emotional scope of Ben Stein. Lyxzén and Strömberg's exchange of guttural yelps and uh-huh's are sung in a perpetual state of over-emphasis, belying the triviality of their lyrical content. Even the various spots throughout the record in which the musicians are afforded the chance to experiment seem nothing more than afterthoughts conceived once the respective songs had already been arranged, and often come off as nothing more than ZOOM pedal wankery.
Lyxzén's preoccupation with approximating the angst of teenage suburbia will sell a lot of albums amongst the burgeoning screamo crowd. Will he pull his album from the shelves when he hears that "Capitalism Stole My Virginity" is being played round the clock on M2, or at the local shopping mall? Probably not, but from what I can discern, the (International) Noise Conspiracy are at a far greater impasse. If their intention is to invoke the spirit of revolution in their fans, they need to offer a coherent and appealing alternative to the status quo and reflect it in their music. If their goal is to ascend to the upper echelons of hair-metal, they're only one virtuoso guitar solo away.
