We all know that music is subjective and that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but in some cases it has the power to uproot its origins and delve deep into our subconscious, leaving a lasting impression. When you think of concrete foundations of rhythm and blues, soul and jazz, you think of quality, influence and longevity. It’s music from a golden age, that over the decades has branched out, creating an array of music genres and sub-genres. It’s been the blueprint for rock n roll, that has paved the way for the multifarious of guitar-laden music. So when you come across a duality of talent, that resurrects the spectral soul of Southern blues, that is reincarnated through the psyche of post-punk, you know it’s a winning formula.
Sometimes life is full of surprises, whether you believe in fate or not, some encounters seem to be written in the stars. Like attracts like, so when Inca Babies singer/guitarist Harry Stafford met Virtuoso guitarist Marco Butcher, you can’t help feeling that it was predestined, or a catalytic composition, conjured up through an alchemistic process. Although both Stafford and Butcher have never met in person, it is through their passion for music and melancholic musings that the pair have managed to collaborate and produce their album “Bone Architecture”.
An absolute spellbinding album, “Bone Architecture” is an outburst of energy, a powerhouse of blues, soul, neo-jazz, baroque pop, rockabilly, psychobilly, gothabilly, garage, swing, new wave and goth-rock. It’s an album that projects a cinematic commentary amongst the stripped down acoustics and fuzzy reverberation. It’s an echo-chamber of goth sensibilities that resides in the arcane ambience of dark wave and neo-classical rock.
It’s an album which brings good old-fashioned creative expression to music, that revisits the razzmatazz of New Orleans jazz, where Ragtime, Skiffle and Swing entertained the crowds in a spontaneous combustion of energy. It’s an album that excavates the Bebop brilliance of all the greats, whilst exorcising the ghosts of the past. Where jazz has freestyled and evolved over the decades, “Bone Architecture” cuts to the core and resurrects some of the magic from a golden age. Likewise, it’s through it’s Blues blue-print that “Bone Architecture” premieres the high calibre of musicianship, that worships the guitar-gods and sacrifices its soul. It’s through the guitar grandiose that “Bone Architecture” illuminates and rekindles the flames of the Deep South and rattles at the crossroads of Delta-blues.
To describe the album as “goth” wouldn’t really give the album justice as it cuts deeper than the ethereal glories of Post-punk. Instead, “Bone Architecture” is majestic melodrama, that alternates between punk personas that cross-over into an array of genres and sub-genres of alternative rock. It’s music that keeps the spirit of youth culture alive and resurrects the concept of the “rock-star”, creating music with a mystique and with an alluring appeal. In an age of instant gratification, “Bone Architecture” is an album that has been meticulously crafted and immaculately produced, where each song has a story to tell and comes alive through its theatrical aesthetics. It’s quality in the bucket loads, the Real McCoy that shines above and beyond its peers.
“Bone Architecture” is the opening track of the self-titled album. It’s a perfect introduction, a neo-jazz, post-punk, shock-rock, blues, darkwave track that swings from the vintage grooves of Cab Calloway, Screamin’ Jay” Hawkins, Tennessee Ernie Ford and Dizzy Gillespie, interspersed with dark goth romanticism likened to Nick Cave and P J Harvey. It’s a mesmerising track, whose tepid taps and rumbling beats wakes up the rickety bones from its turbid tomb. Through the vocal delivery of Stafford, “Bone Architecture” adopts a theatrical showmanship that bewitches, beguiles and sends shivers down your spine. A virtuoso vocalist, Stafford is an idiosyncratic crooner, whose baritone tones, shape and mutate between a series of sub-personas. Like a true master of his craft, Stafford entertains, with an unpredictable range of vocal styles that amplify, multiply and vaporise like an aural apparition. He’s a real talent, who brings a touch of class, sophistication and debonair charm, to his already established Steampunk-goth, noise-rock, gothabilly and garage-punk origins.
Along with the exemplary musicianship of Butcher, “Bone Architecture” sets the bar high and showcases his uber talent as a bluesman, guitar-god and cosmic-cowboy. “Bone Architecture” is an impressive opener, a bone-fide mix of rock n roll, a track that opens up the floodgates for the cultural origins and places them in a modern context. It’s music that has stood the test of time, and reworked with a gloss of goth sensibility and injected with a jittery, skittish energy. Through the rolling beats, brooding bass, slamming piano and inebriated trumpets, “Bone Architecture”, creates a rumbustious, rowdy, abstract, eerie, free-styling, melodramatic mix of polyphonic improvisation.
“Look Behind You Look Again” is a ramshackle of lo-fi, neo-hip-hop, alt-country, blues and art-rock whose descending vocals synchronise with collapsing cacophony of geeeeeeetars. Like a sonic spaghetti-western, “Look Behind You Look Again” dodges its beat-box-esque bullets, shielded by the bendy guitars and zooming zig-zags. It’s a quirky number, whose fantastic lyrics of “She’s moving in with Zac on Friday” creates a comical commentary, a kitchen-sink, pop-art, noir narrative that animates, intrigues and adds another dimension to what is musically already a cinematic wonder. Think David Lynch, meets Clint Eastwood and Baz Luhrmann, with a bit of Beck thrown in for good measure, then you get an idea of what to expect.
“There’s Someone Tryin To Get In” is a hauntingly beautiful track, whose tapping beat tiptoes towards the piano tinkles, trailing like a supernatural entity. Through the crooning vocals of Stafford, “There’s Someone Tryin’ To Get In” crosses over to a more jazz/swing realm, whilst shimmering from the shadows of ethereal rock. Through the intriguing lyrics, “There’s Someone Tryin’ To Get In”, evokes a sense of melodrama, underplayed by the succinct repetition, creating an entrancing and descending delivery. Along with the Delta-Blues riffs of Butcher, “There’s Someone Tryin’ To Get In” is an infectious stomper that shakes, rattles and rolls, sending shivers down the spine.
“Juniper Sunday” is a cool cat collective of neo-jazz, neo-psychedelia and post-punk. Through the prowling bass and rattle-snake clatters, “Juniper Sunday” broods and builds tension, whilst lurking down the back-streets of industrial rock. It’s quintessential 60’s lounge jazz, whose cocktail of xylophonic droplets and sultry horns are shaken but not stirred, in the midst of the night. Along with the farista-infused riffs and rumbling beats, “Juniper Sunday” time-travels to the space-rock cosmos of Syd Barret, whilst taking a trip to the acid-pop origins of experimental and classic rock. It’s a hypnotic track, which once again sees both Stafford and Butcher revive and meticulously mix music that is influentially reaching out to a span of generations.
Through the illuminant piano and thunderous beats, “The Sun and the Sky” wallows in darkness, whilst shading from the light. A fusion of goth-rock, baroque and art-rock, “The Sun and the Sky” is a pensive plunge into a void of new wave nihilism. Like the Prince of Darkness, Stafford croons with a soporific sheen, whilst finding solace in solitude. He’s a raconteur of melodrama, a protagonist of parables, flirting with alter-egos in an eerie theatre of dreams. Through the torpid tingles and oblique riffs, “The Sun and the Sky” is drenched in melancholy, sliding down wonky wormholes in some parallel universe. It’s a captivating track, waltzing with stardust, whilst meandering towards the moon.
“Termite City” is a superb predecessor from “There’s Someone Tryin To Get In” and does what it says on the tin, and more. It’s a track that slithers and crawls down the back alleys of neo-acid jazz, hip-hop, rock-rap, shoegazing, neo-psychedelic, electronica, experimental and goth rock, creating an urban junkyard of subliminal sonification.
A mesmerising track, “Termite City” is a turbid trance, a riotous roam that hijacks your mind and leaves you in a confused state. Through the crooning, sprechgesang delivery of Stafford, “Termite City” takes centre-stage, projecting a phantom-esque presence, wallowing in all its goth-glory. A charismatic and theatrical artist, Stafford is a natural performer, whose rich, smooth tones, mutate and manifest through an array of guises. Like a nocturnal thespian, Stafford commentates half villain/half gent. He’s an intriguing act, whose brooding intensity is amplified by the intervals of ghostly chants.
Along with the spiked soundscape, “Termite City” prowls through an underground of wonky hammond-esque synths, that trail with trepidation aside the tormenting tramples. Through the unhinged horns/sax, “Termite City” intoxicates the senses, whilst quietly self-destructing in a hedonistic heap.
It’s thanks to Stafford’s musical partnership with Butcher that “Termite City” transforms itself into a cinematic, free-styling rush of expertise. A gifted musician in his own right, Butcher is a visceral and intuitive performer who has an intangible talent of allowing his vision and instinct to guide his creative input. A multi-instrumentalist, Butcher abstractly makes music which paints a picture and provides the atmospheric backdrop for those compelling sounds. Like an urban-cowboy, Butcher majestically creates extended metaphors that feeds into the consciousness and motif of his music, which is testament to his talent and spontaneous bursts of creativity.
Like a short, surreal film, shot in one take, “Termite City” is a track that thrills, chills and hangs you by the tenterhooks. It’s a track that stretches the boundaries of post-punk, whilst interspersing the power of music and film. It’s an art-house of magic, that sneaks into your subconscious, and peers into the darkest depths of your soul.
“Worst In Me” brings out the best in post-punk blues, neo-jazz garage-rock and places it on an art-rock, spooky-spoken-word platform. It’s a riotous burst of poetic musings, musical mayhem, an outlandish oeuvre, reminiscent of PJ Harvey and Captain Beefheart. It’s a track that throbs from the same blood supply of The Cramps and comes at you with a formidable force. Through head spinning beats and ferocious rifts, “Worst In Me” uproots, unsettles and sends you to a delirious place of spiked swing, unhinged blues and uncompromising gothabilly. It’s a superb track, whose intervals of drums pulsate like Buddy Rich on speed, neck to neck with the pile-up of crashing riffs. Like a phantasmal punk, Stafford yet again puts on a show-stopping performance, whose wispy tones, echoes the magic of Lux, Cave and the rest of Horror-Goth-Royalty.
“Savannah of Havana” is a raucous blend of neo-jazz, swing, blues, neo-psychedelia that oscillates and rattles from the darkest depths of its salacious soul. It’s a Cuban catharsis, a hypnotic haze, that swings its punk pendulate of pleasure and pain. Through the swaying bass, neon-pianos and tumultuous trumpets, “Savannah of Havana” creates a fanfare of chaos, that roams disjointedly through the farfisa fuzz. What could be set in an underground beatnik club, “Savannah of Havana” indulges from its well stocked bar, drowning its sorrows with plenty of shots of margaritas and rum.
“Hide the Knives” quivers and drones in the wings of glam rock, whilst shaking its feathered boa under dark, murky lights. It’s a rickety assemble of dirty blues-rock, that suspends its heavy-load through the preening bass. It’s a badass track, whose unhinged vocals echo and spin like a gangland tribe. Through the angular scrapes and jazzy-farfisa fog , “Hide the Knives” revives the aesthetics of neo-psychedelia, whilst edging towards third wave post-punk. Like a love-child of The Cramps, T-Rex and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, “Hide the Knives” pulls out at all the stops trading its talent as an unconcealed weapon.
Through the fuzzy revving riffs, “FTS” broods, sizzles and smoulders in an underworld of dark wave psychobilly and screaming swing. It’s a mesmerising track, whose vocal delivery thrills, chills and descends into character, whilst casting its phantomized shadow-puppets. Along with the slamming beats and wailing synths, “FTS” prowls like a blood-thirsty beast in the early hours of the night. A nocturnal narrative, “FTS” creates a sequel of surreal stills flashing on screen through a drive thru escape of horror-rock hedonism.
“Horror Film House” side-saddles across rickety roads of gothabilly and shock-rock towards its ghost town of translucent tumbleweeds and swinging saloon doors. It’s a fantastic track, whose eerie bass prowls like a poltergeist predator, levitating above the spectral synths. Through the ghoulish guitars, “Horror Film House” rattles its bones, making your legs turn to jelly in a chaotic collapse. Along with the striking vocals, “Horror Film House” does what it says on the trailer, delivering a corpse-bride marriage of music and film, that seduces the senses, giving you goosebumps galore.
“Arnold Layne”, as a reworked version of Pink Floyds masterpiece, is testament to Stafford’s and Butcher’s talent of revitalising music and giving it a garage-gloss make-over. It’s a brilliant cover, whose collision of razor riffs cut through the madcap mayhem of yesteryear, whilst backtracking in a vortex of classic psychedelia.
“Bone Architecture”, by Harry Stafford (Inca Babies) and Marco Butcher (Blues extraordinaire/producer), is released on September 3rd 2021 and can be purchased from Black Lagoon Records, both digitally and on CD, via Bandcamp.
Bandcamp https://harrystafford.bandcamp.com/album/bone-architecture
Credits
Harry Stafford – vocals, piano, guitar
Marco Butcher – drums, percussion, bass, sax, guitars, vibraphone
Kevin Davy – horns
Written by Harry Stafford and Marco Butcher
Produced and Mastered by Marco Butcher at Boombox Studio
Catalogue no. BLRCD0055