When one encounters any project that bears David Yow’s name, one can only expect the most outlandish of eccentricities, at the very least. I mean the very least. Of course even before I remove the disc I am confounded by the Yow and his two compadres, looking like rednecks coming off of an angel dust-driven bender as they stand over a the corpse of a naked, pale hot chick—her state, presumably, brought on by encountering them in any casual level of banality. Perverted? Yes. Misogynistic? I wouldn’t rule it out. Standard Yow wackiness? More or less.
The direction that Yow’s musical interests have taken is, I’ll admit, striking. Whereas The Jesus Lizard was very much as putrid, thick and infected as the human discharges they named their songs after, Qui’s sonic attack isn’t so blatantly confrontational, at least not in the aggressive approach of his previous acts. This is perhaps due to the fact that he only recently joined the band, or that perhaps he’s calmed down in recent years. Whatever the case, the first track bulges with a fuzzed out guitar and kicks into a jagged groove from which rises the voice of Yow. In this new form he croons with a shortness of breath clarity. Music throughout the album is sparse and minimalistic. As a three-piece, Qui lacks a bassist, which is interesting since Yow started out as a bassist in Scratch Acid.
Qui’s alt-rock roots are not simply rooted in Yow’s sloppy charisma. To wit, there are hints of Tool’s stiff pre-Undertow melodies as well as Shellac’s acidic minimalism and oddly humorous lyricism. Yow’s words range from the simplistic to the mockingly bitter deviant narratives. The album comes to an odd close with a cover of Pink Floyd’s “Echoes,” considering that Pink Floyd’s sound was much fuller than Qui’s is. And Yow is not much of melodic master compared to Roger Waters, let alone David Gilmour. It’s not the best cover song I’ve ever heard and it’s a few notches above filler as every note and progression of the song is treated with the respect Pink Floyd fanatics would demand of such pissants—their words, not mine.
It’s not for me to declare noise rock dead. Nay, noise rock is making what can loosely be considered a comeback what with Lizard disciples Pissed Jeans as well as the return of Unsane and so forth, but this is probably not a part of it. Love’s Miracle has all the brilliant lack of professionalism and wealth of profanity that one can expect from such an act, with or without the current frontman, and it’s certainly a fun outing, at least to me. However it’s hard to say if this will be taken as rabidly as passed pig fuckers or as a casual display of erratic fuzz with funny/occasionally gross lyrics.
Shellac – At Action Park
Cows – Sexy Pee Story
Karp – Suplex