There are 810 "la-la's" on Buzzle Bee. I know because I, unlike the Palm Beach County Board of Canvassers, counted every last one. A high number to be sure, but one that takes on an even greater and more absurd significance when you consider that half of the tracks on the album are instrumental. Make no mistake about it, friend, that's a lot of fucking la's. But is it too many? The factual and unsubjectivicated answer is, in a word: yes. We're talking roughly a 3:1 nonsensical-to-intelligible lyric-syllable ratio here. That's up there in doo-wop territory (though not as high as scat). Those are "Teletubbies" numbers!
And at its worst, that's just what Buzzle Bee is: music for "Teletubbies." Not the surreal banjo-and-snare marches of the theme song, but rather, the kind of music that Tinky-Winky, Dipsy, La-La and Po might enjoy kicking back to after a hard day's romping with bunny rabbits.
Sonically, the High Llamas couldn't offend someone if they tried. The music has an Eddie Haskell character to it-- very proper and calculated. One might suspect an ulterior motive, if not for the fact that frontman Sean O'Hagan steeps his chord progressions in penultimate sincerity the way only a certifiable perfectionist can. It's music not just for a happy world, but for a world in which nothing unhappy had ever occurred.
With more vibraphonic chime-farts than Lionel Hampton on Quaaludes, and Mary Hansen on semi-permanent loan from Stereolab, Buzzle Bee gurgles like a symphony of swamp gas idiophonica. And it's not treading new ground so much as it is the same old ground with different shoes. The opening track drifts along, buoyed by a sing-songy chorus of "Lay down/ Watch the traffic go by," a lyric so dreamy it sounds phoned-in from the Astral plane. O'Hagan's plain-jane vocals are an asset to the track, though, if only because he wisely avoids the vocal posturing and hammy crooning that his contemporaries so often fall victim to.
"Get into the Galley Shop" attempts to be a microcosm of the album, if not the band's entire back catalog. It's catchy and retro in its technique (all the drums are right-channeled), and the three-part harmonies glisten like tubs of Nickelodeon Gak. The lyrics are cryptic enough to be either profound or goofy; you make the call: "You need to take your sandals off to take away the porcelain/ Hopping in a hotel bar hidden in a marching band/ Music popping from the bar, driven by a cosmic man."
Buzzle Bee's low point comes with "Tambourine Day," which shark-circles its melody without ever finding it. But the other instrumentals, taken as a clutch, are a mixed bag. "Switch Pavilion" centers around Hansen's-- you guessed it!-- wispy "la-la" phrasing; the sedative "Sleeping Spray" is the gentle mellow break of the album-- the place where they "take it down a notch," despite the fact that it's already practically off the scale.
"New Broadway" does its best to be endearing while catching the listener off-guard with its many style shifts and rhythm variations. It also showcases some of the better bass work on Buzzle Bee, which is otherwise lackluster punctuation-- commas and periods rather than pop exclamation marks. But once the closer, "Bobby's Court," gets past the pedestrian verse, it features an enraging five-note syncopated loop that's surprisingly juvenile for the Llamas. Usually, O'Hagan's arrangements are deeper and a little more intricate; this one sounds like something he dug out of his pre-microdisney days.
What we're left with when all's said and done is a brief eight tracks and 40 minutes of somnambulist, pianissimo music. But you know, when push comes to shove, those "la's" are a real bitch. 810! My god, man! That's enough la's to choke a llama!
