In a vacuum, BLK JKS are a competent, at times thrilling band that is equal parts of soar and sway. But we don't live in a vacuum. BLK JKS-- Fader cover stars before releasing a lick of music in the U.S.-- have been introduced as a savior of sorts with a zippy hook: "African TV on the Radio." That's a fool's game and that much was clear the minute the swirl started. So they will be judged (probably not all that well) against the strains of expectation. But that's too bad because After Robots, produced by the Secret Machines' Brandon Curtis, is a hugely ambitious album, with swooping forays into kwaito, ska, reggae, ambience, jazz, prog, and furor. It's not always great-- the band has a tendency to let its best ideas get the best of them-- but there is a bigness of sound that is hard to approximate. And even harder to control.
The band was discovered, in part, by (who else?) Diplo-- who came up with the "African TVOTR" tag-- while touring in South Africa in 2008. One year later, during their second trip to America, Curtis dragged them to Electric Lady Studios to begin recording After Robots. The enormity of sound-- often a loose-limbed rumble and shout-- always starts out well. "Molalatladi" is a full-on revival by minute one, roiling with a brass section, guitar solos, a sloppily mixed clatter of percussion and chants on high of "Away, away ah-ho." But it tumbles and tumbles on, climbing and climbing, for nearly four minutes and then it peters out. There's a lot of sparks and smoke, but few fireworks.
This is a strange band, one minute rivaling the Mars Volta in bombast, the next prettily strumming about like Vampire Weekend's bolder, authenticated friends. Vocalist Lindani Buthelezi has a voice that sounds heroic when swathed in reverb, which hides some of the deficiencies, but his songs are often shrouded. He sings here in English, Zulu, and Xhosa, mixing and matching dialects on songs, turning moments of revelation on "Molalatladi" into opaque reflections. When things are slow and allowed to unfurl, as on the dub-inspired "Skeleton", guitarist Mpumi Mcata is able to stretch his singed chords out and Buthelezi sounds more lucid. Closer "Tselane" finds the band stripping away all but an acoustic guitar, and suddenly Buthelezi's quick-tongued lilt reveals a wide-eyed hopefulness. But only on the breezy psych-out "Lakeside" do BLK JKS fulfill promise. The vocal harmonies are tucked deeper into the mix, the guitar tones are gorgeously bright, the crescendo hits at the perfect moment. It isn't TV on the Radio-- BLK JKS don't seem to have the same knack for clarity at the right time-- but they make a powerful noise.
That After Robots has been released just a scant few weeks after the runaway success of the politically-tinged South African sci-fi glopfest, District 9, is fitting. The intersection of hype, payoff and muddled message is a unique coincidence of South African cultural currents. And just as there is both hope and fear for director Neill Blomkamp's follow-up, BLK JKS have some refining-- and maybe a bigger budget-- to work on next time around.
