Ten chubby digits clapped midline in positive affirmation, as a rare toothless grin beamed up at me in the midst of plush toys and pink linens. The fussiest critic I had available to me, my barely two-month old cousin Caitlyn, would soon unwittingly answer a recent musical query-- whether the enjoyment of sound was hinged upon recognizable cultural structures like language and tonality, or whether there was something inherently deeper present in all music, from which pleasure could be equally derived independent of age, sex, or ethnicity.
To establish a baseline of response, I previously exposed Caitlyn to countless hours of the Nuggets compilation, which she particularly enjoyed. I was now ready to present her with the "experimental" recording-- Dengue Fever's self-titled debut, released on Trey Spruance's (Mr. Bungle) Web of Mimicry label.
"Alright Caitlyn," I said, with babbling affectations sprinkled throughout, "I need you to listen to this album, and give me your honest response regarding every note you hear." I prompted her to squeeze my index finger in acknowledgement before continuing to supply her with some background information on the group. "The band consists of some real top-notch musicians: the brothers Holtzman, Zac on guitar and Ethan on farfisa organ-- the former of Dieselhed pedigree-- saxophonist and Beck-collaborator David Ralicke, drummer Paul Smith, and bassist Senon Williams of the Radar Brothers. The story on the female lead-vocalist, Chhom Nimol, is pretty incredible as well, the singer getting her start as a Cambodian pop star who frequently entertained requests from the royal palace for private concerts with the king and queen."
I checked all corroborating factors-- food, diaper, and temperature-- once more before signaling to the babe that I was ready to begin when she was. With the drop of her arms I pressed play, prompting the sultry melody of "Lost In Laos" to begin, my eyes trained intensely upon the glib expressions the child would soon issue.
Observation #1: Initially little response, but after a minute and a half, head shaking was exhibited.
Though the sax-infused opening tune left her a bit cold, the swelling tones and tinny-warm guitar line soon made Caitlyn swing in her crib, while Nimol's high-pitched and wavering voice fit in harmoniously with the perforated rhythm section. This excitement continued through to "I'm Sixteen" and "22 Nights", songs equally influenced by Khmer heritage and the surf guitar of Dick Dale. The tracks focus on the vertical aspect of the music also had a pleasing effect on Caitlyn, causing her to spit up in excitement over a sound so rich in harmonic engorging.
Observation #2: Subject covers her eyes while concurrently moving legs up and down in a rhythmic manner.
A brass skeleton, "Hold My Hips" is a decidedly meaner track focusing on the darker aspects of dance music that is only occasionally punched through by island flourishes of bright instrumentation. "Flowers" continues this theme with a droll dialogue established between the saxophone and organ, creating a melody not completely unlike something spawned by The Hollies or The Byrds ca. Younger Than Yesterday. The many stops and starts juxtapose nicely with the near fugal progression of "Thanks-A-Lot", which develops over the period of its brief life from a sparse fuzz-guitar driven tune into a liquid cool melody complete with male-female harmonizing vocals. "New Year's Eve" rounds out this relatively sinister portion of the album with a creeping bass line that increases in tempo exponentially until finally progressing into a high-register dance song with psychedelic underpinnings, ultimately plummeting back toward its roots in the quagmire of languid silence.
Observation #3: After a brief episode of crying, subject returns to happy state, with erratic movement of all appendages.
I had an inkling of the notion prior to viewing her expressions of glee, but by the song's end it was confirmed that funk is part-in-part the universal language. "Ethanopium", an instrumental take on one of the Ethiopiques series' jewels, begins with a thumping rhythm bound high in the mix, but the true worth of the song lies in the continuous and-- I have to say it-- sexy bass, that draws a straight line directly to the soul-funk of early-60s James Brown. "Glass of Wine" sharpens up the mood a bit with a more traditionally foreign sound that provides a pleasantly flush backdrop for Nimol's ensuing conversation with a wavering guitar and a simple organ melody. Creeping psychedelica inevitably returns to the surface of the album though, on both the chromatically playful "Shave Your Beard" and the sax-lullaby "Pow Pow". The groove ultimately finds its resting place among the South Pacific dreams of "Connect Four", an original Dengue Fever-tune that glides along like a percolating Stereolab on beach vacation.
Not content to merely providing glorious pop-tunes in easily digested song-wrapped packets, Dengue Fever choose the high road of cultural exposure, forcing the hand of the listener in a bid to fully comprehend their art. Though the lyrics are readily available online for those that choose to follow the stories along with the music-- and I recommend it-- one does not have to understand the content to appreciate what it means to have a good time. As Caitlyn and I discovered, as long as it's of a quality design, novel experiences such as Dengue Fever can prove to be just as-- if not more-- exciting than that which you may readily call comfortable or normal, though it may require the unexpected help of a humble and uninformed perspective.
