Something about A List of the Burning Mountains makes me want to describe it as Oneida getting back to basics. The problem is I'm not sure exactly what "basics" would mean in the context of the Brooklyn band's vast sonic universe. Through a dozen albums in 15 years, they've covered a daunting amount of territory, darting between rock, noise, psych, drone, electronics, and minimalism. Their most recent project, the Thank Your Parents trilogy, was their most sprawling. It began with the kraut/Boredoms super-jam of 2008's Preteen Weaponry, swerved into the all-encompassing 2009 triple-LP Rated O (an even more accomplished statement than their 2002 masterpiece Each One Teach One), and ended last year with one of their most abstract releases, Absolute II.
So maybe there's no "basic" Oneida sound, and if so, that's part of what's made them such an interesting and unpredictable band. Their sonic shape-shifting continues on this vinyl-only offering, A List of the Burning Mountains. But compared to its conceptual predecessors, the album feels simple and frill-free. It consists of two side-long tracks, both sharing a name with the album. And it sounds uncalculated and uncontrived, as if Oneida's just playing whatever they feel like playing at the moment. The result is high-level improvised rock, infused with the assurance and proficiency that comes from 15 years of making so much varied music.
It's also infused with the expert drumming of Kid Millions, who this time out sounds like the band's unofficial leader. My guess is that every member had an equal, unspoken say in how this jam evolved, but Millions' busy beats are like wind blowing Oneida's clouds of noise and drone. When his playing is weighty and grounded, full of kick-drum drilling, his comrades dole out denser sounds; when his beats are more regular, the mix swerves toward rock riffs; and when he gets airier and more impulsive, the guitars lighten and the atmosphere expands. The band fuses these sections seamlessly; you don't really notice that they've made a shift until long after that shift actually began.
The peaks on A List of the Burning Mountains come when Oneida connects the dots so deftly that the differences between their individual contributions is nearly unnoticeable. My favorite instance comes about halfway through side two, when grinding feedback, swaths of electronic drone, and a churning low end all melt into one undulating ocean. Similar passages occur throughout-- take a dark section during side one that evokes Sunn O)))-style drone-metal, or the album's close, a free jazz sprint morphed into the echo of a symphony. But I have to admit I had to scan back through to remember those sections, because there's a unity to this album that's bigger and more indefinable than what individual moments can capture.
The impression I keep coming back to is how basic A List of the Burning Mountains is. As big and bold as it can sound, there's little here that's especially flashy or blatantly attention-seeking. The band never really gets into any obvious repetitions or motifs, content to run where they want to run and drift where they want to drift. Paradoxically, this understated approach means the album might be best appreciated by those most familiar with the band's specific internal language. But I can't imagine anyone checking out A List of the Burning Mountains and coming away unimpressed.
