by Chris Coplan (@CCoplan)
Maybe it ain’t exactly the most novel observation, but instrumental albums are all about purveying openness. There’s no pesky lyrical observations or heartfelt singing to distract you from forming your own narratives across these projects. That’s certainly true for Big Mess — but in a way that’s heaps more satisfying.
The Lowell, Massachusetts-based trio use the eight tracks of Heroic Captains of Industry in a few important ways, and each one feels like both a commentary on, a continuation of, and even a condemnation regarding how listeners and creators alike engage with instrumental music. It’s a really powerful examination of what is fully possible, or what’s inherently denied, by this decidedly rich but also quite specific segment of music.
The first part is what I call the "Razzle Dazzle;" it’s where Big Mess show off their intricate, decidedly epic approach to perpetually crunchy hard rock. The first four tracks — "Rong (Vancouver)," "God Phones Moondog," "Moondog Phones God," and "Hair Today" — operate more like a proper suite. It’s this parade of guitar virtuosity and dramatic rhythms that blur the line between a bonkers reimagining of the Heavy Metal soundtrack and the best basement DIY show ever. It's shrill and enchanting, sludgy and shimmery, and as grand in its scope as it is firmly intimate — the kind of open-ended experience that stems from proper musicianship.
Like any other proper slice of theatricality and showmanship, this suite has you leaning left when it’s clearly moving right. All of that robust, surging energy across these four tracks may invite heaps of "audience participation," but Big Mess are clearly building toward something. That sense informs the songs’ structures and their overall approach — it’s as if there’s not a story being told in a traditional way but rather in the spaces between sounds and the way points interact (or disengage) from one another. It’s a really involved experience, and one that demands both endless creativity and sustained commitment as you engage with material intended to excite the ears as much as it moves you toward a larger end goal.
So, just what is said end goal? Well, I think it’s the album’s "second suite," which acts as a kind of counter to the first half both sonically and thematically. Gone is the Sleep-ian mega rock; it’s replaced by an actual bleeding heart folk ballad ("Wainscott Blues"); a diluted beast of a jam ("Hello Paradise"); actual singing on an uber atmospheric jam ("Caoutchouteuse"); and some down-home ditty that'll have you walking contemplatively down a country road ("Misery Blues"). Are Big Mess just messing with us here? Maybe — it certainly would have me ROFLcopter-ing if I went in expecting the intense force of suite one exclusively and ended up with a heaping helping of suite two’s wholly nuanced offering.
But it’s more than expert trolling (even as I think we can’t forget what sort of genuine value that act might offer). Rather, I think this second half is meant to be the true core of this record — if we’re drawn in by the badassery of the first half, then we’re forced to grapple with its more complicated follow-up. It’s not that sonically different, but this latter half o’ tracks still clearly makes decisions that aren’t about immediate engagement and satisfaction — they demand more of you in a rather specific manner. It’s here where the band’s movement becomes clear, and their machinations are apparent — it’s the inevitable flipside to the free-roaming tendencies of instrumental music. Or, what happens when all of that freedom comes crashing into a specific configuration and the listener is left trying to tie it all together.
Admittedly, that kind of approach is probably a good bit of fun if you’re a musician, but also a really novel way to get people to come back to this record again and again with renewed interest. There may be folks who only stick with that first half, and the kind of unassuming accessibility it offers. At the same time, there may be folks who love the "trick" or "turn," and want to be confronted with this kind of sonic sleight of hand (that’s really more like running on a trail that suddenly becomes Jell-O). Or, maybe your own experience is markedly different; either way, it’s hard not to feel as if this record is actively grappling with you over time, and trying to question your ideas/notions about musical storytelling, a band’s authorial abilities, the listeners’ own agency, the ways music is both passive and active (at how that translates), and even how relationships with music are continually reforged. It feels sort of like a concept album, even if it’s not at all the case.
All of that’s my way of yielding that, sure, this is only ever one man’s interpretation (an interpretation built on a life of being alone and engaging in self-play with action figures, Yu-Gi-Oh cards, rock albums, etc.), but then that’s the point — true openness happens when a listener arrives with their own, very personal baggage and are totally free to feel as if the album is speaking to them specifically (when it clearly couldn’t, right?) In that way, Big Mess have taken their "genre" to its most meaningful extreme, and given us a record that balances their rather specific creative intentions and arc with a deluge of moments to fill with your own energies and emotions. Now, jump in and see whatever you find for yourself.