It's a maxim among many who think about such things that no new technologies are ever really "new," but are hybrids and re-conceptions of pre-existing modes of doing similar things. For its part, the record album, despite the second term's indication of a collection of disparate works, has never shaken its association with the narrative format, where songs are chapters and musicians storytellers. As actual works of literary art, concept albums tend to approach the idea of "story" rather loosely, a function of the obvious fact that songs have nothing on words as tale-creators. Perhaps then, the Gainesville power-pop band Morningbell is on to something with Through the Belly of the Sea, which they've styled after that most nonlinear of the fictional arts, the "Choose Your Own Adventure" books.
Even aside from the music, then, Belly sits at a rarified, if not necessarily sought-after, level of indie rock ironic nostalgia, by combining the classic rock-ness of the concept album with the dime-store novelty of the Bantam book series. The trick to the album is simple, and seems like a fun idea; you read the liner notes while listening, and after each track you are given two choices as to your next move. Relax on the coral reef? Fight the mysterious sea monster? The world is yours. For a lot of people, shuffling music around is a daily activity, so Belly's batshitness is of a much lesser conceptual realization than that of, say, Zaireeka. But in a way, this is the most compelling aspect of Morningbell's gimmick; its regressive approach toward listening technology, limiting iTunes' infinite-choice power to but two post-song options. Along that line, perhaps a good idea to market the CDs might be a slogan like one from the back of a comic book: "Magically Transform iTunes Into a Paperback!"
The record as either music or narrative, however, does little more than tread water. The tale told is of some sort of vague oceanic exploration, and it becomes quickly clear that the songs, for the most part, have little to do with adventure or science fiction. Reading the half-paragraphs that carry the story forward takes about 15 seconds each, after which the waiting game starts for something exciting to happen in the song, which invariably does not. Opening track "The Speed of God" is impassive keyboard pop-as-expedition-launch, which leads to, without option, to a brief interlude on track seven. I read during this song that a JOLT!!! happens as my ship is attacked by a sea monster, but the music-- which aims for The Life Aquatic but lands somewhere in a Krofft Brothers interstitial-- is indifferent. I decide to "flee," and end up "Lost Again", before opting to watch an octopus walk across some coral, both excursions set to slight mid-tempo indie pop.
I'll stop short of recommending a Rick Wakeman or Jethro Tull degree of nutty orchestration for an album with this set-up, but Morningbell's anonymous, aqueous Shinsiness is much too thin for the fantastic voyage they seem to have in mind. That Belly could be listened to in its published running order without any huge change in effect is a testament to either the universality of its lyrics (hope, fear, going home, etc.), or the more likely explanation that the Choose Your Own Adventure idea is, well, a rather thorough publicity gimmick. Morningbell's real breakthrough with Belly, then, instead of any adventurous narrative novelty, is its unique way to gain notice for otherwise timid music.
