Destruction has always been central to the Flying Luttenbachers. It's a key ingredient in both their unique brand of punk/jazz/skronk/metal/improv music (or as the band's only permanent member, Weasel Walter, calls it, "brutal prog"), and in their live shows (which tend to teeter mercilessly on the edge of an Andy Kaufman is-this-for-real sensibility before ending with Walter and company annihilating their setup and stomping at the remnants with nihilistic glee). Besides, the whole history of the band-- which, I should add, predates most of the "edgy" extreme noise bands benefiting from all sorts of instant press these days-- is interwoven with a vaguely outlined plot about the destruction of the world, civilization's fall into chaos, and the rebirth of order in the form of... a 100-foot tall green aluminum robot that hibernates underground, waiting for an opportunity to break free and fly off into the far reaches of space. (Weasel's words, not mine.) Giant robots or no, it's a far cry from the fairies-and-gnomes bullshit that served as inspiration for most stereotypical prog-rock.
With all this chaos and calamity at heart, it came as no real surprise when, less than six months after the release of Infection and Decline, the Flying Luttenbachers self-destructed. One member quit, the other was kicked out. And this isn't the first time this has happened. In the 12 years since a precocious youngster forged an unlikely alliance with experimental jazz impresario Hal Russel (whose real name, for the record, is Luttenbacher), the lineup of the Flying Luttenbachers has seen more change than a tollbooth attendant. Indeed, Walter's vision seems to be one of an ever-changing band that evolves alongside his ideas, with each change, ideally, bringing him closer to realizing whatever mad ideas lurk in the dark recesses of his twisted mind.
Say what you will about his music, his persona, and his fashion sense (the white button-up shirt, the X on his forehead, the boots, and the antenna in his hair): there's no denying the uniqueness of Walter's vision. His regimen is challenging, and his goals even more so. He readily (and often) admits he has yet to achieve what he's aiming for, but one gets the feeling he's getting closer. The Flying Luttenbachers' first decade saw them playing everything from structured jazz-inspired death-metal to abrasive and painfully deafening free-jazz (an incarnation that included recently revered Chicago improvisers like Ken Vandermark, Fred Lonberg-Holm and Jeb Bishop). Currently, Walter is touring on an absurd one-man-band shtick, where he plays along (mostly on bass) to pre-recorded backing tracks, cracking wise the whole time. Chuckle if you must; as Weasel recently told the Chicago Reader, "I'm willing to take the risk of sucking, because without doing that there's no progression."
Regardless of the lineup and execution, a few elements remain Luttenbacher constants. Among them, Walter's near-humorous obsession with approach: his it's-never-good-enough demeanor, combined with a penchant for showmanship, has earned him a reputation for yelling at his bandmates during sets and tromping about, making clear his utter disappointment in his performance after many shows. He's also developed a proud inaccessibility. The Flying Luttenbachers make difficult music, precise as can be, impossible to ignore; that much always stays the same. Infection and Decline documents the last year-and-a-half of Walter's attempts to realize his far-fetched musical ideas.
Dual bassists Jonathan Hischke (who also does time with My Name is Rar-Rar and Strawberry) and Alex Perkolup join him here, dueling with quick wits, quicker fingers, and a few effects as weapons, while Walter assaults his homemade drum kit with formidable, latent rage and precision. The kickoff track, "Infektion", opens with crescendo, escalating like the blood pressure of a speed-freaked metalhead who's just realized he's about to be hit by a truck. One bassist plays a grind-metal riff over and over while the other thrashes up the scales like he's scoring a punk rock suspense film, Weasel bashes unabashedly, and then it all stops, and changes. The music plummets, stops again, then mutates into the worst kind of call-and-response muso nightmare, as the two bassists exchange piercing high-pitched licks that would seem improvised were it not for how tightly they cling to Walter's percussive skeleton.
"Elfmeros" begins similarly, but quickly takes a turn for the primal and propulsive: here, as on their dead-on (if more than a bit savage) cover of Magma's epic "De Futura", the Luttenbachers demonstrate why they're more than just a wild gimmick with a zany live show, ably navigating a composition filled with surprise twists and turns, insane feedback, and skull-crushing percussion. "The Elimination of Incompetence" is as challenging and epic an undertaking as Walter has ever attempted, and again, his cohorts manage every sharp turn and abrupt stop he throws their way before the whole thing crumbles to the ground. The repetitive, almost gabber drumming, and bursts of sheer noise that make up "Destruktion Ritual" may lack the tension or anger of its show-stopping in-concert equivalent, but it's still worthy of documentation.
Music nerds everywhere ought to be glad Infection and Decline exists; it serves as the only proper recording of this chapter in Luttenbachers history, one that saw Walter claim new control over his unchained beast. He's tying up his loose ends in Chicago right now, readying himself for a move to the West Coast where he hopes he'll find a more receptive audience for his particular brand of constructive deconstruction. Maybe Weasel Walter will finally find the Mecca he's been searching for out on the west coast. Maybe he'll drive his new bandmates to create the musical monolith he's been dreaming of all these years while waiting patiently for others with a similar vision to emerge. And maybe not. But one thing's for sure: his uncertainty will feed the music. Chaos, constant change and self-described failure seem to suit Flying Luttenbachers best, nurturing a necessary fire that fuels Walter's seemingly endless excursions. And if the failures are this intense, I'm not sure the human ear has what it takes to cope with Walter's version of success.
