by Selina Yang (@y_aniles)
Take your glasses off in order to best see Big Hotel’s horizon in mysterious sweeps of shape and color. Winged Wheel have expanded to a six piece ensemble involving Cory Plump (Spray Paint, Rider/Horse), Fred Thomas (Tyvek, Idle Ray), Whitney Johnson (Matchess, Damiana), Matthew J Rolin (Powers/Rolin Duo, solo). and in addition to the first album’s lineup, Big Hotel enlists Lonnie Slack (Water Damage) and Steve Shelley (Sonic Youth). In an orchestra where each person is a conductor, these experimental imaginations melt into one conversation.
The first Winged Wheel album was recorded in syncopated time across the country, putting the symbiosis of the instrumentalists to the test. During the pandemic, they created their debut through spontaneous Instagram DMs. For Big Hotel, the group met in person to record over a three day stint in Kingston, New York, producing hours of improvisational sonic drift. Big Hotel is the result of these hours of flow. The excess was trimmed away, leaving only these fleeting moments of focus where the rest was seared away by time. Winged Wheel pioneers a seamless multi-instrumental odyssey. Big Hotel’s imagination expands into a scale grander than its literal soundscape, flowing into every crevice of the imagination. A big promise, sure.
Seeing an angel on earth will fill you with terror. Big Hotel opens with “Demonstrably False,” where the heart is a whirring pulse that quickens into an anxiety strike. The only respite is when it engulfs you with its motorik hymn. This is the birth of Venus: arising from fuzzy ocean mist, dusting off seafoam, being ripped from primordial peace into the trauma of gaining consciousness. By riding the wave into “Sleeptraining,” the godless awakens. The bass-driven beat creates a sinister undercurrent, nipping at your heels. Overhead, whipping drums and metallic guitar bursts pelt the earth in a meteor shower. The warm pulse of “Clean Blue Shelf” melts the record into a trip-hop buzz. Tinny drums combined with warbling guitars explode into surround sound, so that the hum of fluorescent light bulbs worms its way into your thoughts. In deep hypnotism, you want to give in and let it overtake you.
The second half of the album comes as a relief, letting you catch your breath from the imposing romanticism of the opening. If nature is the site of overwhelming excitement, then serenity is found in the urban jungle. “Smudged Textile” encapsulates a highway drive, speeding with windows down to feel like you’re floating. The wash of cymbals back the legato phrasing of Whitney Johnson (vocals), melting into the glimmering union of “Short Acting”. The plodding bass sketches out a spaghetti western where heat apparitions swelter in the sun. This oasis seems too good to be true. The ghostly croon of a theremin, a 1920s synthesizer, weaves in and out of the melody, warping time into an anachronistic fabric.
The closer you lean into the magnifying glass, getting lost in the album’s detail, the more it feels like you’re staring into the sun. The ground Big Hotel is built on is the skeleton of Kraftwerk’s minimalistic synthesizer staccatos. Retrofitting 70s sci-fi futurism with new muscles of motorik krautrock, Winged Wheel exemplifies how it takes a million moving parts to make breath life.