Transfusion M, helmed by maestro, Michael Ferentino, knows how to fix a tasty dish, but also how to serve the nips and tucks that give such a plate a twofold, artistic spin, as in the new, Dada Drumming release, The Sunshine Removal Syndicate.
There's sugary material included, but it isn't really sugary per se, as much as it's swirled with a layer of cynical syrup, cherry-topped by appetizing realization.
For instance, "Gingerbread Sweet" may sound like delectable pudding (the funky, rifting sort), but its popping, praise-the-Lord thread (its absorbing, lamenting refrain) is crusty along the edges, forging a sardonic substance that one probably shouldn't nibble, but does anyway.
"Popsicles and Lemon Drops" fortifies the theme (along with another sticky, jammin' vibe), but the flavoring is more promise-filled for the second try. The composition speaks of marriage, having a baby ... possessing a cottage and garden (all those quaint ideas people feel inclined to gain), but just because the mawkish dream is dangled doesn't mean it'll come true.
And even if the dream did reach fruition, how would it resonate over time? Perhaps it might smack of "Blackberry Bramble/Royal Tang," a regal rhyme that inspires one to gamble with life's choices, but once it goes down, there's that inviolable aftertaste.
And through that aftertaste, there are several, potent tracks that break free of the frosting.
For example, the titular "The Sunshine Removal Syndicate" creates a synthetic, hired-gunned scour, sucking away the remnants of sweet filling, leaving a whirling, symbolic sourness that turns light into dark.
Within the dim residue, one skids to "Dullsville," a mounting, 1980s-primed, Carpenter-bent tune that establishes a rotational bout. Here one waits by the phone, but no matter how patient one is, the damn thing never rings.
The infuriating letdown epitomizes "The Middle Way," a peculiar pitstop on the corner of ambivalence, where the world's weight crushes one down to the knees. One hungers and thirsts at this niche, with each clang and bang recalling the morsels ("the flowers, trees and honey bees") that never came due to fear and doubt.
All the while, one searches for scraps, and maybe "The Book of Nonsense" will reveal their locations, but the invocation waddles like a drunken duck, sometimes defiant through its squiggles and piano pings, but always secretly sad, its harmonious stream designed for only one thing: induced glee over calamity.
In a way, the album's tendency to juxtapose rests right in its thriving opening, "Amore Fate," which dictates how one might love life through killing time. It holds a Patrick McGoohan twist, where the answer was upfront all along, so that even if one listened to this track first, one must listen again. In other words, the first dish is the last, and the last is the first, and no matter the misdirecting plea, fate can only be digested (and welcomed) at face value and nothing more.
Ah, what a clever, full-circle concept, and as far as concept albums go, The Sunshine Removal Syndicate can be served either warm or cold, as it runs the palatable spectrum of where one's going and where one needn't be.
Enjoy Transfusion M's succulent tutorial at
http://michaelferentino.bandcamp.com/album/transfusion-m-the-sunshine-removal-syndicate
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