Most of what I said about Damon McMahon's last album as Amen Dunes, 2009's DIA, can be said about his newest, Through Donkey Jaw. He's still making muffled, eerie pop akin to the private visions of Syd Barrett and Skip Spence and the homemade pop of New Zealand artisans Alastair Galbraith and Graeme Jefferies. His voice is still central, filled with downbeat subtlety, and his songs still mix classic melody and fuzzy obscurity in a way that's both focused and loosely inspired.
There's something different about Through Donkey Jaw, though. Its 14 songs are sharper and fuller, with quicker access to your brain's pleasure center. The simple explanation would be that McMahon formed a band upon moving back to America from China after the release of DIA, which would iikely make his songs sound bigger. But my guess is his improvement comes from something even simpler-- just by keeping at it, McMahon naturally got better at what he already did well.
Whatever the reason, Through Donkey Jaw's forward steps are apparent immediately on hypnotic opener "Baba Yaga". Over a trembling guitar line and primitive drumming, McMahon moves gradually from a solemn moan to a possessed croon. "You know that I, I lie," he howls, as if he's not so much admitting this to someone as figuring it out himself. Similar introspection recurs throughout the record. "I don't knock on no doors/ I'm quietly shared/ I'm for people who know," he chants on "Christopher", over a wash of beat and reverb that's like a tangent to the Beatles' "Tomorrow Never Knows".
A classic group that Through Donkey Jaw evokes even more often is the Velvet Underground. (The album ends with a 10-minute song actually called "Tomorrow Never Knows", but its wordless noise is more like a VU jam than the Beatles' original). There are a few specific instances to point to-- "Gem Head" sounds like a bedroom-recorded version of "Run Run Run"-- but where McMahon most connects with the VU is in using repetitive rhythms and raw edges to turn hooks into mantras. Take "Jill", a shimmering jam that's somehow catchy, even when he closes with the desperate chant, "I don't want to give in." Again, introspection is key; McMahon catches your brain by inspecting his own. Think of Through Donkey Jaw as an out sound from deep within.
