"Drum-n-bass is just fast techno. Flip a switch, twiddle a knob, 33 to 45, instant D&B.;" Tell this to a junglist, and he'll bite a chunk out of your arm. Or, tell a punk that he's just listening to sped-up garage rock, or a hardcore devotee that his music is just even faster punk, and you'll be met with a similar response.
It's both temptingly simple and degrading to these genres to suggest that the speed they're defined by is simply a variable that can be tweaked to produce another style. But what's often overlooked is how difficult tempo is to master; anyone who's ever been in a band can attest to the challenges involved in starting at the right speed and keeping a beat with three other people. And it's at the extremes of the tempo spectrum that some of the most musically thrilling artists reside, proving that speed can be seen not only as an aesthetic quality but also as a genuine aesthetic in itself.
Take Tokyo, Japan's Melt-Banana, for instance. "Free the Bee," the first track on the band's new album (somewhat unfortunately entitled Teeny Shiny) comes off as drum-n-bass. Until you realize the drumming is live, and that what you thought were samples of police sirens are actually guitarist Agata's high-pitched string twistings. The blindingly fast beat continues under a loopy guitar riff and vocalist Yasuko's barked rhymes, only to shift into an even higher gear when the crushing chorus hits.
As on Melt-Banana's previous four LPs, speed is the rule here. Although continuing in the tradition of 1998's Charlie-- a savagely well-produced album that found the band's songs consistently stretching beyond the two-minute mark in search of more cohesive and varied song structures-- the band rediscovers the breathless energy of their earlier 25-song-apiece albums, Scratch or Stitch and Speak, Squeak, Creak. Yasuko neatly demonstrates that speed isn't a function of testosterone as she spits out syllables chosen more for their sound than their sense.
Even when the main vocal or guitar part (the term "melody" doesn't quite fit) slows down, as on "Lost in Mirror" and "Moon Flavor," the complex drum patterns churning underneath still seem detailed at the subatomic level. The brittle, martial rhythms provide the perfect counterpart to Agata's amazingly versatile guitar work, which can change from staccato skullfuck to elastic playfulness in an instant. In "Third Attack," the guitarist imitates a turntable, a yappy little dog, and a power drill, all before the chorus kicks in.
Agata's playing invites comparisons to Rage Against the Machine's Tom Morello, and Yasuko's fixation on Public Enemy and Cypress Hill would seem to tie the group to the "rap-rock" movement. Luckily, none of these comparisons come anywhere close to being accurate. Though influences can be picked out of Melt-Banana's sound (most immediately, hardcore and noise-rock), the end product is wholly unique, seeming to subsist purely in the speed at which their music is played.
The band itself seems to be under a mortal imperative to work as fast as it can; the production certainly falls flat in comparison to Charlie, and it's a sure bet that the entire thing was slapped onto tape in a day or two between live shows. Their constant touring is usually attributed by fans to Agata's "rare blood malady," an unspecified but eventually fatal condition that spurs the band to play as many live shows as they can together. These sources are a bit dubious; however, the guitarist fuels the rumors by wearing a surgical mask in concert.
For someone like me, though, whose biggest speed fix comes from playing along with the "fast money" round on "Family Feud," this rough taste of pure energy beats half an hour with Louie Anderson any day of the week.
