Review Summary: It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.
Before you immediately shut this review down for being another undeserved 5, I strongly suggest listening to what I, the reviewer, am about to say. Yes, this album is nearly unknown in every part of the world. Yes, this album has been unknown for about twelve years. Yes, this album is considered instrumental Jazz (although the genre is not relatively applicable to all areas of this piece of art). That being said, does this album deserve a 5? Is it even possible to call an album “classic” when it is virtually unknown? Many people will condemn this review for being another easy 5 giveaway on Sputnik. I am simply giving this album a 5 because of a simple reason: this album is perfect…
And sad. And beautiful. And innovative. And interesting. And confusing. And challenging. And incredibly well constructed. Every track on “Plays Music” is different; however, every track feels similar. It is as if each singular song is a specific house in suburbia (architecturally designed by Buckminister Fuller); however, every house on the block is haunted by the same ghost.
The album begins with a subtle guitar riff, gently painted across the blank canvas of “Power Failure At The U.N.” Suddenly, the ground falls beneath the floor boards, the bass begins to rumble, and the cello sweeps across the minor sky. It is beautiful, although it is only an introduction. “Power Failure…” develops into a driving bass line under a brass section. For a second, you might even consider the music to be “jazz.”
When “Three” begins, however, the word “jazz” is no longer mentioned. The beauty of the track’s cello blended with the solemn guitar can only be reminiscent of classical instrumentation. It is on the border of post-rock. It is on the border of math-rock. Then again, what is a genre? Genres are simply failed attempts to categorize art.
“The Odds.” Wow. That horn section. It is haunting. Everything is perfectly organize; when one carefully examines the structure of the song, it nearly seems hectic; it never feels hectic while listening to it.
I could write an entire review on every song on the album, but that would be rather monotonous and boring. I will point out that “An Open Letter To Buckminister Fuller” has the most gorgeous guitar riff I have ever heard. I will point out that “Joanne Will” has one of the best grooves in the history of post-rock. “Oval Cast As Circle” ends like a trip to heaven. “Super Eight” includes riveting drums that shake the African air as the frantic instrumentation gives the feeling of being chased by the devil before ending in a lush haze of depression. “Playing Safe, Ducking Kisses, and Getting Position” feels like an adventure into the intellectual mind of Georges Seurat.
And then, there is “An Evening In Park Slope.” The drone of the ocean. The foggy day of an 8 year old. The late drive home. So many images come into my mind, but only the word “beautiful” can properly describe the albums beautiful curtain call. The song includes nothing fancy; in fact, after the first listen, one might even call it “boring.” It is not boring. It is heartbreaking. It is the feeling of emptiness. And then the album ends.
I am not saying that this album will change your life. I am not telling you how to feel about it, or what to feel about it. I am simply informing you that this album is perfect. Whenever I listen to it, I am taken back by the unique world 33.3 has created. It is unbelievably honest, and yet I have no idea what it is honest about. It is incredibly sad, and yet it makes me smile. It is ingeniously creative, and yet it feels familiar, as if it has always existed.
I could try to give you reasons for why this album is a 5 in my mind. I could talk of the album’s specific, impressive musicianship; however, that would give the impression that the album lacks emotion. I could talk of the album’s genre-busting nature, combining the feel of Jazz with the production of Post-Rock, the Rhythms of Math-Rock, and the emotion of Indie; however, that would simply make the album sound pretentious. I could talk about the albums near minimalism; however, it is simply not minimalism at all.
If anything important can be said, it is that 33.3 has created a piece of art that can beautifully describe life better than words can. It is an achievement in communication and emotion rarely seen in music. It is poetic without speaking a single word.
I give this album a 5 because I can give it nothing less without feeling like I have been dishonest. I promise you an experience like no other when you pick up this mysterious saucer full of secrets. Lay in bed on a rainy day and let “Plays Music” succeed.
“What is the meaning of life? That was all- a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years, the great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.”
- Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse
