Remember the clip for Rainbow Arabia's "Omar K", the one where frontwoman Tiffany Preston transforms into a be-fanged vision of Lemmy Kilmister and trashes a Whole Foods with a murderous, mustachioed grade-schooler? Daniel Preston (Tiffany's husband, and the other half of the L.A.-based global fusion outfit) plays the shopkeep who becomes increasingly frustrated with the bizarre antics of these grocery-terrorists (from the hatcheting of a female customer to just a general disregard for produce), only to finally give in when the pair throw a rager in the booze aisle. All is forgiven (I think), but I couldn't help but feel for the poor guy: I happen to feel the exact same way about Rainbow Arabia itself. The aimless rambunction is fine for a while, but nothing really gets off the ground unless the groove is firmly in place.
The fact that Kabukimono has such a high batting average doesn't really have much to do with freshness: out of the seven tracks presented here, two of them are remixes of year-old songs found on the band's debut EP Basta, leaving a scant 17 minutes of new music to explore. It's kind of a shame that the remixes are such duds, because some of the band's songs could benefit from a little cleverly balanced outsider influence. You spend a lot of the time admiring the freeform liveliness and nifty instrumentation rather than the tunes themselves, so when a little restraint is exercised, you find yourself, well, frustrated that it isn't exercised more often.
Still, there's a lot of charm in Kabukimono's amateur feel. Where "Haunted Hall" feels a little half-baked, "I Know I See I Love I Go" imports the same eerie trepidation and offers it some shape, giving way to the perfect soundtrack to a chase through the tangled alleyways of Algiers. Much of Kabukimono is a little seedy and a little dangerous in that way, which is pretty refreshing coming from a band that tries on so many inherently cheerful global stylings. Maybe the blithe Congotronic opener "Holiday in Congo" (a horrifying situation in a certain context) isn't as warmly innocent as it sounds, now grafted into a potentially tongue-in-cheek affair that suggests the Prestons are slyer than we initially assumed. It's a good look.
And yes, the album is fun to bop around to, so maybe it's nitpicky to complain that none of the songs really stick. But when you're throwing us ideas this playful and engaging, it's hard not to expect a little more. "Harlem Sunrise" is most certainly the album highlight, but also provides an essential insight into why some of these tracks work and why some don't: The island vibe and cool tin drums are bouncy and affable, but it's that great, plainly-stated guitar line that provides a wonderful juxtaposition between inner-city melancholy and malaise and windsurfing with a daiquiri in your hand. "Harlem" offers some much need intricacy for a band whose sound too often flirts with greenhornism, and proves that there's room for real expanse in the near future (oh, and maybe more than five new songs next time around).
