"First off, it's a pony, not a 'little horse.' Secondly, the pony takes a little while to get acclimated to new people. Give it another minute, then it'll blow you away, I swear."
I rolled my eyes and sank back into the uncomfortable lawn chair. My reason for sitting idly in the hot sun that day-- wrinkled feet soaking in a brilliantly colored kiddy-pool-- was my friend Trent, who'd invited me over to see the new animal he had gotten for his little girl. Enticing me with the promise that the pet had a talent I would have to see to believe, his Shetland-- coincidentally named Pink Anvil-- had yet to impress me with anything beyond how one little creature could produce so much dung.
Eventually fed up-- and halfway to a heat stroke-- I gathered my things to leave as Trent attempted to bar my way. Suddenly, his hand in my face, I heard it-- the sinister opening chords of Schubert's The Erlking, simultaneously hummed and neighed by the tiny and unassuming Pink Anvil. The lied was ugly but recognizable, nearly making it worth sitting in listless uneasiness for the past few hours.
"That's pretty cool!" With visions of Schumann and Carnaval in mind, I inquired, "What else can it do?"
I was disappointed, but his ashamed admission brought to mind an interesting inquiry-- should the listening public demand anything more of a novelty act than what it is-- a novelty? This question was begged many times during my exposure to Halloween Party, the debut album by Ministry's Paul Barker and Max Brody, working together under the non-metaphorical nomen Pink Anvil.
Described as a continuation of the avant-garde experimentalism of Brian Eno and David Byrne's My Life In the Bush of Ghosts, Halloween Party suggests Brody and Parker might have slept through the majority of the classic album, awaking only to hear a few minutes of "Mea Culpa" before deciding that that was "good enough." Whereas Eno and Byrne sought to create myriad moods, textures and musical forms with their project, Halloween Party-- recorded near the Mexican border using a similar setup of FM radio, patchbay, and some delay pedals-- creates merely a two dimensional backdrop of horror-show found sounds and campy B-movie soundtracks ("Unmerry", "Rubber Suit, Pt. 2", and "Adagio in Cb"), with an occasional sprinkling of harsh programmed drum-beats in the style that has come to be expected from the Ministry-brethren ("Downer", "Sugarwater", and "Near Death").
"Rubber Suit" (traditional) delivers some surprises as a satisfying minor-chord keyboard progression is interrupted by a series of screams, moans, and howls that nearly jars the listener out of the catatonic lull induced by the album, providing one of the few sincerely enjoyable moments of the disc. Unfortunately, the moment is ruined as a rush of white noise and borrowed horns quickly betray the suspense, causing the song to flounder in its own directionless and mocking continuation. Even more regrettable: with the sense of expectancy established, the remainder of the album-- particularly the otherwise pleasant, "Desert"-- is robbed of any gripping shock value, which is the lone motive one might have in purchasing an album like Halloween Party in the first place.
Press comparisons peg the duo as a contemporary of noise-artists Black Dice and Sightings, but on the merits of this album alone, it's difficult to understand the foundation for these claims. The bands mentioned above exhibit dynamic displays of instrumentation with rich and inventive layering of the sonic building blocks at their disposal, while Pink Anvil is content to haphazardly plug away at the dried husk of a once venerable musical concept. It's unfair to presume they should share the limelight with those on the forefront of musical innovation simply because they have more history: as Pink Anvil, they're second-stringers, a pair of transient one-trick ponies.
