Though they have loose ties to the Elephant 6 scene (drummer and leader Jeremy Barnes is a member of Neutral Milk Hotel), nobody's going to compare Bablicon to the Olivia Tremor Control or the Apples in Stereo. They're primarily an instrumental outfit that thrives on energetic improvisation, so more apt '60s comparisons would be Frank Zappa or Captain Beefheart's Magic Band. Even the Beefheart resemblance, which evokes an image of wide-ranging experimentation, is probably too limiting as Bablicon dabble in thoroughly modern ambient music and noise textures as well, working their way through a huge library of musical toys with both joy and skill. This kid-in-a-candy-store approach to raw sound is a huge part of this record's appeal, as the obvious pleasure Bablicon derive from making music together carries over to the listener.
But if enjoying this record is easy enough, describing it is a bit tough. The elements that the trio deploys in the studio are many-- bass, piano, drums, xylophone, organ, electronics, saxophones, melodica, and surprisingly, no guitars-- and they use them all in unconventional ways. Drums sound beaten with hammers, piano strings are plucked by hand, keyboards are run through distortion pedals, and the arrangements are all screwy. The amazing thing, though, is that while this sounds like a formula for chaotic noise, it actually coalesces into highly listenable music with catchy melodies, deep, jazzy drumming and wide dynamics.
"Anne on an Infibulus" is a good example of the band's range. It begins with a random mish-mash of sound, then steers subtly toward a three-note bass pattern that propels the song into driving trance rock territory. Finally, it fades into some kind of dreamy thumb piano coda. "An Orange Moon" swings almost as hard, working through squelching electronics over a fuzzy bass riff and forceful drumming, arriving at a dark, brooding organ pattern vaguely reminiscent of Booker T. and the MGs.
Variety is the order of the day throughout The Orange Tapered Moon, from the Carl Stalling horn figures of "210(2)" to the gorgeous prepared piano on "The Well Tempered Alligator." And, like true showmen, the band saves the best for last. The latter half of "An Orange Pumpkin Glowing Music Ensemble," the album closer, is a glorious saxophone symphony that gazes skyward like spiritual free-jazz icon Albert Ayler. It's a moving finish to an excellent record.
