When making music that sounds like a record collection in a blender, does it really matter who is pushing the pur?e button? The answer, of course, is an unequivocal, “No,” because records, especially records that fit that description, hardly ever “matter” in any consequence-laden kind of way. But if it mattered?if, say, you found yourself inside that very blender?you would probably want to have Otto von Schirach manning that button as much as anyone else.
Mr. von Schirach, a disgustingly self-described “pickle-eating, toe-sniffing, lap-topless playboy” has produced Escalo Frio, an album of barely-listenable experimental noise which, courtesy of Schematic Records, has been eliciting complaints since its release last week. “Hey,” you might remark. “That sounds a lot like that record on Matador with the minimal drum lines and extended audio samples from disgusting surgeries.” And you would be correct. Escalo Frio does indeed resemble Matmos’ paradoxically minimal-yet-liposuction-garnished A Chance To Cut Is A Chance To Cure in its electro-focused sound collage approach. Conveniently, Matmos helped produce Escalo’s “Mr. Egyptian Hologram.” However, the similarities between the two projects ultimately have more to do with the fact that you would probably find these records in the same bin at the store. Expose people to two different yet equally ugly aliens, and they would probably spend little time differentiating between the two as they ran away. Reactions to Escalo and its stylistic brethren are similar.
Escalo Frio is maximalist. The record uses a full range of stylistic approaches and methods, jumping from spastic thousand-piece drum kit aerobics to whooshing expanses of white noise to incredibly annoying circus music ditties. Comparisons to San Diego’s Kid606 are more apt, if only because both seem to make records to have seizures to, but ultimately Escalo is pretty damn unique.
The disk’s opener, “Grandfather Clock,” squelches static computer drums and soundtrack eeriness through a trash compactor, yet retains the funk. This method is used rather frequently on Escalo?forcing the listener through a never-ending parade of disparate noises jammed into a recognizable pattern. It returns again and again, from “Sasquatch” to “A Knock At The Door.” The sounds do get stranger as the minutes tick by, but rhythmically, the record never quite enters the time signature-less expanse of Rasheed Ali’s work or some 606 productions. However, Escalo is soaked in a heavy dose of the latter’s abrasiveness?see “Midget Halitosis” for a prime example.
Of course, mediocre MCs have to have their say in anything remotely “avant-garde” these days. For rapping so poor even huge filtering can’t save it, check “Educating The Sound Barrier 2” and “Capital Letter Expansion.” The lyricists, Mr. Soundwave and Mr. Egyptian Hologram, (anyone? anyone?) both seem to have assumed that even they couldn’t screw up a few stream-of-consciousness style verses, the rap equivalent of finger painting. They were wrong.
Beyond some incredibly disposable tracks such as “Commercial ID + Ad,” Escalo makes for a solid listen. Its greatest quality, however, may be its unabashed self-deprecation. The album’s hideous Master P-meets-Cocoon-meets-Tim Burton cover artwork and generally goofy feel could do much do dispel the “intelligent dance music” label, used by many an idiot critic to separate “artistic” electronic records such as Escalo Frio from those intended for club play. Escalo is not only as un-danceable as any IDM record; it goes out of its way to deny any pretense to intelligence. If only the critics would learn.
