by Dan Goldin (@post_trash_)
Beyond the warped layers, the atmospheric fog, and the pulsating abrasions, the core of Grim Iconic…(Sadistic Mantra) seems to reside in a place of spiritual unity, an embrace of the communal efforts that provide a sense of home to Justin R. Cruz Gallego. While the shapes of his output as J.R.C.G. seem to be ever shifting, the roots are firmly embedded, a split between punk (at its most forward thinking) and the Latin music that was a constant of his childhood. The results however often feel a million miles away, and that’s the gift of J.R.C.G.’s vision, the pieces are familiar but the construction is alien, unsettling music for unsettling times. With a focus on oceanic melodic dissonance and grooves both boisterous and minimalist, the structure’s pull is magnetic, pushing and contorting, sweeping the listener along in all directions. If Ajo Sunshine introduced the framework - motorik psych, hypnotic punk, polyrhythmic bliss, atmospheric excursions - Grim Iconic weaves the disparate moments together, a construction of chaotic clarity imbued with gluey pop-damaged hooks.
Manipulated and reconfigured until nothing is what it seems, J.R.C.G. composes and distorts, working from a whole before fracturing at will. Consider it electronic music for the art punk set, or acid melted disco for the krautrock enthusiast, whatever lens you view Grim Iconic through, it should ultimately result in a sordid sense of beauty found in the mangled sonic density and the impossible current of pop charm. The magic at hand lies in Gallego’s ability to make music that’s full of memorable melodies, pop at the furthest edges while working in a landscape that’s inherently challenging, primal yet futuristic, and graciously experimental. Lines are blurred, all that’s left is one, the new ideal. While generally indecipherable, “Grim Iconic” opens with the lyrics, “What can we do? We’re all just a people alone here. There’s no love in money,” a glimpse of both togetherness and isolation, the record’s beating consciousness.
From there the album comes to life amid a swarm of transfixed and dazzling rhythms, pounding but concise, leading the kaleidoscopic voyage from the kinetic buzz of “34” to the cosmic groove of “Dogear” and the detached clamor of “Drummy”. Like a prizefighter with money on the first round, Gallego doesn’t waste time on the album’s radiant first half, swinging for the fences as he pairs the hypnotic onslaught of the drums with throbbing synths, bleeding post-punk skronk, and most importantly, inescapable hooks. Carved between swells of inspired subterranean noise, the hooks provide an extra layer of depth. Beyond the immediacy of the astounding design, there’s a focus on deceptively earnest songwriting.
Just as the record would seem to suggest its settled into place, Gallego is quick to eschew even the vaguest sense of stagnation, and in slinks “Liv,” a song that glides on a crackling loop that would make RZA proud, sinewy bass, and a relaxed space-age lounge tempo. Pushing until the wheels fall off, they ride this one into cosmic disarray, bouncing from no wave inclinations to tape warbling punk as the Latin inspired beat moves into double time. Its a wild ride that encapsulates the project well, a flittering path from disorientation to warp speed expanse. Any sense of the natural world has dissolved and we’re left with the extraterrestrial “Party People” and the synthetic punk sprawl of the amorphous “Junk Corrido,” a song content to let the dust settle, a mental reset after a welcome brain scrambling.
The tranquility is fleeting, but the hypnotic allure that oozes everything together tightens its grip as Grim Iconic comes spiraling toward its finale. On a record that never lacks metamorphosis, “Cholla Beat” and “World i” use astonishing dynamics to arrive at the void, the two-headed conclusion with brilliantly fragmented resolve. Digging into a motorik boogie and a rattling jangle, “Cholla Beat” presents one of the record’s most accessible melodies before colliding headfirst into a wall of caterwauling art-punk synths, and eventually wandering itself into a slow-dripped psychedelic pop drift. Then there’s “World i,” the song built around an impeccable Brazilian-indebted drum beat (with what appears to be a second drummer), locked-in with aplomb as everything else comes unglued. The sky opens up before swallowing everything whole in a deluge of nuanced carnage. As the walls crumble, we’re left alone, together. United in the beating of Gallego’s rhythmic pulse.