Kirin J Callinan has some pretty conventional ways of establishing himself as an unconventional, provocative artist. The Australian native sings and more often howls in a louche, heavily accented brogue that rarely has much use for cadence or strict melody-- a confrontational pose that startles the listener into attention. He also performs solo, looping his guitar and vocals through a battery of effects and headsets, relieving you of the temptation to focus your eyes elsewhere. During a recent show in Los Angeles, he wore Stars and Stripes boxers and asked the crowd if it would be a federal crime to shit his pants. He then performed the last two songs in nothing but his underwear. Typical stuff, but nonetheless, Callinan manages to distinguish himself on a basic songwriting level with his debut album. While most of his peers deal with matters of the heart and head, Embracism is a physical record, one of grabbing hands, gnashing teeth, and thrusting groins. It holds a mirror up to the human body and reveals something alternately beautiful, hairy, awkward, scarred and imperfect, but rarely less than fascinating.
While Embracism is a treatise, it’s not some sort of high-minded dissertation. On the title track, one of the year’s most riveting singles, Callinan snarls the only question that seems to matter to him: “Do you measure up? Or do you still got work to do?” Contrary to the assumption that man has become a sedentary and domesticated animal in 2013, “Embracism” lays out his waking life as a constant struggle to prove one’s mettle, on the schoolyard, in the boardroom, in the bedroom, or “on the internet, RIGHT NOW!” The only difference between any of these competitive arenas is the skew of the “passive-aggressive” ratio; it’s all the same combat to satisfy primal urges for sex and the upper hand. It's best expressed on non-album track “MSBT & Wait”, a scorched earth screed on platonic relationships where Callinan doesn't want to hear he's just a friend: "I feel used... He would fuck you/ He masturbates/ And you share my secrets with him."
Callinan particularly relishes playing the wounded alpha male, and whether it’s a nasty breakup or death, loss hangs over Embracism. It’s always rendered in tactile ways and between the erratic shrapnel of percussion, jagged guitar, and Callinan’s serrated vocals, you’re going to feel Embracism. “Chardonnay Sean” plays out more like a graveside confession than a song, as Callinan expresses guilt at what appears to be a fatal drunk driving incident, picking through the shards of a windshield and wine glass. Conversely, “Scraps” deals with a much different kind of automotive disaster, a remorseless revenge fantasy where the offending party rests “compacted with the scraps of my Nissan."
So clearly, Callinan’s got issues to sort out, as does Embracism. That whole Hampton bit in Kanye West's “New Slaves” proved that the obvious double entendre promised by “Come on USA” can still be virile, but the phallic shock and awe here lies limp when you can't discern whether lines like “the land of the free/ Is not what it claims to be" and "I cry when I listen to Springsteen" are commenting on cliche or just cliche themselves. And while “Scraps” and “Chardonnay Sean” are intriguing narratives, they're stuck in ponderous musical arrangements; the effect of sequencing them consecutively puts Embracism in a serious mid-album lull.
But you get the sense of an artist whose songwriting potential hasn’t been maximized, as Callinan’s got the vocal chops to keep Embracism interesting throughout. The industrial grind of “Halo” introduces Callinan as some instinct-driven, proto-human being, skulking out of primordial ooze, and “Landslide” casts him every bit as effective as a balladeer when he works within a tight structure. Thanks to the production and mixing of Kim Moyes (the Presets) and Grizzly Bear’s Chris Taylor, Embracism remains fidgety and unbalanced in service of its narrator-- even the imperial pomp-rock of “Victoria M” can’t play it quite straight.
It’s one of the instances that suggest Callinan isn’t a cynic so much as a disillusioned romantic. You can hear aerobic electro rock workouts “Stretch It Out” and “Way II War” as self-help mantras, where you can physically work your way into right thinking. And on the closing “Love Delay”, you understand why Bruce Springsteen gets Callinan all teary-eyed. He lasciviously stares down a disrobed lover and communes with fire over nothing more than severely pitch-shifted guitars, a naked performance that renders the title literal. And then, no more delay-- Embracism hurtles towards a finish in a manner that’s more shocking than what preceded it, largely because it’s such a conventional crowd-pleasing rush of distorted bass, rafter-reaching yells, and the first appearance of a traditional drum kit. If Callinan continues on this tack, he just may end up singing it in arenas, but for the time being, “Love Delay” is an apt closer for his initial phase. After all, “Love Delay” underlines what the title track suggests as an answer to every misunderstanding in our overly talkative society: let’s hug it out.
