What do you do after taking part in one of the most influential bands of the past 15 years, after helping to create a whole new subspecies of rock? Obviously: you start a funk and dance band inspired by the early work of the B-52's. Hey, why not? That's what Ethan Buckler did. After Tweez sent kids to dust off their metronomes in '89, Buckler split with math-rock progenitors Slint to search for a simpler groove. And when he found it, he stayed with it.
It's been ten years since King Kong's debut album, Old Man on the Bridge, and frankly, things haven't changed much, if at all, for the band. Of course, by now, it seems that if things were to change much at all, it would undermine the whole point of this group, which is to overcome you with basic beats, even basic-er basslines (we're talking three notes max), borderline moronic lyrics, a voice that sounds like David Berman's straight man, and above all, repetition, repetition, repetition. Hell, changing the formula now would just dilute it. And the thing is, it sometimes really works.
Sometimes. The biggest problem facing this band is Buckler's ridiculous storylines, which have a tendency to wind on long after the initial novelty of his silliness wears thin. And after that, you're still left with half an album to get through. He seems like one of those people who gets an idea and carries it to its absurd end, no matter how ridiculous it may appear to outsiders. Thus: 1995's caveman-inspired Me Hungry and 1994's rural-life concept piece, Funny Farm.
The theme this time is space, sorta. You see, The Big Bang is about a man who gets fed up with the human race, decides to leave Earth via rocketship, and then happens to stumble upon a paradise planet (the planet of Kong) which declares him King (geddit?). It ends in a natal flashback sequence ("Life") just like in Kubrick's 2001, wherein we learn that the whole album is a big allegory for-- you guessed it-- life itself. Awesome.
With the setting being space and all, you'd expect to hear plenty of "Zaxxon"-sounding effects here, and the Kong (with the help of producer Neil Michael Hagerty, seemingly Drag City's answer to Thrill Jockey's John McEntire of late) does not disappoint on that account: lasers, tazers and long-fading phasers. Yet there's also a breezy, tropical feel to the album, in a Haircut 100 sort of way, with wooden vibes and congas, and guitar riffs so rigid they're mecha-funky.
It's with the nine-minute album "Deep Blue Sky" (incidentally the best song on the album) that we learn of the protagonist's beef with people: "It's the humanity/ Crawling all over the place/ It's the humanity/ Taking up so much space/ Kissing each other's asses/ You've got such bad taste/ I piss on you/ And the whole human race." Don't take this too seriously, though. It's meant to be goofy and unsophisticated. But not. Think of it like a Ween record: a children's album for adults.
The rest of The Big Bang is decent but forgettable, which puts it on par with King Kong's other releases. All of them have one, maybe two standout moments where the matter-of-fact absurdisms mesh with the remedial funk-rock to create something so primordial that it becomes temporarily compelling. Still, nobody needs two King Kongs records, and though this is no better or worse than the others, it's not worth picking up if you've already met the requirements.
