Back when Whirlwind Heat was still fresh from Jack White's teat, their muse was a squawking harpy communicating to the scene dwellers through David Swanson's yowling mouth and Moog squawk. A bit older now, and with their rep attaché bulging, the trio has issued Flamingo Honey. But apparently enamored of their own hype aura, they've spelled out "too cool for school" in wracked and twisted pipe cleaners and call the tangled and spiny mess a second album. It's presumptuous and irritating, this recording of 10 one-minute songs. Presumptuous because at least two of those minutes are cocktease throwaways resting crumpled at the feet of Beck and Thurston Moore. Time wasters. Irritating, because a few other of these minutes gleam with something compelling, only to yank the rug right as we get our footing.
Types like The Locust get away with brief encounters of the weird kind 'cause their little songs are dense brutes or folded-up epics. On Flamingo Honey, Whirlwind Heat have only given us ideas, random thought bubbles full of pickup sticks shaved to points and the notion that this all seemed like a hoot that day in the studio. Opener "The Bone" is a warbling ellipsis at the end of Sonic Youth's Sister; "The Meat Packers", its noisy neighbor, is just insulting. But then comes "The H Is O", and "A Worm's Coat"-- both steps in the right direction. These build kicky dance-punk rhythms in the style of the moment; Swanson's Moog isn't overbearing, and he almost sounds like Ben Kweller on the latter. There might even be some influence from Flamingo co-producer Brendan Benson. But then they're over. The opposite of a one-joke Saturday Night Live sketch stretched to tedium, Whirlwind Heat tells us something good and takes it back just as quick.
Whirlwind Heat's primary influences (Devo, Brainiac) were adept at leaving just the smallest amount of space for melody. The band tries that trick here, building "Flamingo Lawns" around a loping vocal and a cool Brad Holland drum beat. But as it's obscured by Moog freakery around the 23-second mark, and a harmonica appears for some reason, the song becomes like an annoying ringtone on the bus. Put that shit on vibrate, Whirlwind Heat! And next time, have enough respect for the listener to make something whole from the fun of "H Is O" or "Lazy Morning"'s bittersweet melody and lonely whisper quality, because right now, it feels like you're coasting on self-congratulatory vapors.
