by Zach Zollo (@zach_zollo)
Julia Child’s Mastering The Art of French Cooking is one of the quintessential texts of the culinary world...and then there’s Peg Bracken’s The I Hate To Cook Book. As Anna Hezel wrote in Bon Appetit, “the book was for women who were cynical about homemaking — women who wanted to get their requisite chores done as quickly as possible so that they could move onto the good stuff.” Bracken aimed, rather admirably, to dismantle the dread of the daily routine, the hatred towards one of the preeminent gender roles for women in the American household. As a result, the spiteful satire contained within the recipes explicitly portrays a very real, very raw sentiment: not wanting patriarchy and societal expectation to hold dominion over one’s place as a woman.
There’s a spiritual connection between this book and Head of the Household, the second LP from Brooklyn band Birthday Ass. Both works hold a mocking irreverence towards the prototypical structure of the American nuclear family. Both have a unique fascination with food. Both keep the audience engaged with punctuated moments of humorous, poetic brilliance. Above all, they both are driven fully by their mastermind, each respective voice captivating through their command of craft and commitment to themself.
For Birthday Ass, that voice is Priya Carlberg, whose Vonnegut-esque lyrics and ricocheting vocals undulate as frequently as they baffle or hypnotize. Carlberg composed all the album’s songs, crafting them to appear formless while challenging our preconceived notions of song-form. This isn’t to say their style is entirely original: the music is a jazzy, art rock blend that draws heavily from the traditions of free improvisation, no wave and experimental rock. Essential Logic, Bush Tetras and This Heat are all groups this band is worthy to fall into the lineage of. However, there’s more than enough instrumental proficiency, rebellious spirit and traces of Carlberg’s identity to go around for this record to be a modern anomaly of song and sound.
The level of musicianship Head of the Household displays is ostensibly owed to the New England Conservatory, where each member befriended one another. The trumpet of Alex Quinn and alto saxophone of Raef Sengupta are the instruments with the strongest presence on the record, domineering with searing tonality and a certain kind of rambunctiousness. Their interplay and breath control is masterful. Andres Abenante’s guitar leads shine at just the right moments, with the same going for Dan Raney’s bass licks and grooves. Pummeling the kit in whatever time signature you can think of is Jonathan Starks, whose absence is particularly felt when the compositions call for his silence - a contrast in tone as much as rhythm.
As technically proficient as the players of this record are, Carlberg’s compositions tend to have a veneer of silliness attached to them. This is exactly what makes these otherwise esoteric tracks all the more endearing. Just take the opener “Blah,” which uses excessive onomatopoeia and punchy horns to loosen the listener up to this supposedly “serious” music. She delivers the lyrics “Everyday I don’t know how/but my feet don’t ever leave the ground/I’m stuck as glue/What to do?” in a pinballing meter, creating a melody that’s simply irresistible. One will feel the same way about “Jello,” a song decrying the texture of Utah’s favorite foodstuff, and about “Plubbage Bubbage,” which you’re politely asked to not take a peek at.
Whether it’s proclaiming cooking in the kitchen to be underrated (sorry, Peg), or stating the sun is too hot to breath in one’s skin, Carlberg’s lyricism occupies its own realm, one between the personal and the trivial. Each song serves a purpose, but dwelling deeper on their themes feels intentionally crafted to be a fool’s errand. It’s as if Carlberg bypasses the need to dismantle patriarchal and societal expectation altogether. With her self-possessed dominion, she brings to fruition a work of art so certain of itself and its presentation, that not even a ridiculously trollish name like “Birthday Ass” could hinder what it accomplishes.
Head of the Household ultimately feels like a feast of free jazz horns, no wave spunk and stylish semantics. Much like a Michelin-starred chef, Carlberg leads a brigade of highly skilled artists down their superbly sequenced path to perfection. The resulting product, one both challenging and flavorful, feels just as indebted to tradition as it is to Carlberg’s vision. It’s that sentiment shared with Bracken that propels this album to its echelon: that whatever your place may be, make it your home.