We’ve reached the ten-year anniversary of Deerhoof’s The Magic. The album continues to be my favourite look for the San Francisco band; deceptively chirpy, piling on noisy fuzz at the clippity clop of a hoof, embroiled in mostly non-sinister arrangements that no longer feel representative of Deerhoof.
The band has become more fragmented and abstract, exploring nontraditional songwriting whilst getting, somehow, more and more political – 2017’s I Will Spite Survive, a protest against the shrill, corporate stronghold on American government, alongside the anxieties of the Trump age, was simply the blueprint.
Listen to The Magic and listen to Divine Schism and you may interpret a natural transition to the neo-progressive abstractions that Deerhoof’s new album takes on. Not only is the album progressive – in the spacey, structural, and avant-garde senses – but theatrical, more-or-less rock opera. It tells the story of the Earth’s imminent death from the point-of-view of its mother; the Sun, distraught to outlive its child.
The punishing clawed-grip such tragedy has on the heart of the Sun is cold despite its heat. Tragedy emanates as Deerhoof uses its ‘90s DIY ethos not just to continue withholding its music from AI weapons development-lauding Daniel Ek, but to explore a sea of musical possibilities far more emotionally crushing – not to mention complex – than the shit you’ll get on a curated Spotify playlist.
An abstract Deerhoof fused with a sense of theatre is pleasantly unusual. A Musical element that nurtures the rock opera side of proceedings is an irregular adaptation of orchestra, Kashmir-esque on Let Us Out, dictating the cinematic ending of Sun Like It Hot, closing in on Satomi Matsuzaki’s voice. Sun Like It Hot is a thirteen-minute space elephant; its best bit is when Satomi’s “I won’t cry / I will try” repetition suddenly folds into an ethereal fourth chord that lights up her voice with a delicate simplicity, like a reminder of death’s heaviness shooting down one’s neck in a moment that foils expectancy.
Other theatrical devices include Master Mademoiselle’s role as a confused, uncertain epilogue, an attempt to pick up some pieces following catastrophe; and Greg Saunier’s spoken-word passages that occur on A Billion Revolutions’ piano soliloquy, Q.E.D. Stylantis’s bloodiness, and HOTS’ black humour – “the parent had her own problems, such as being on fire” – which gets a regretful laugh out of me every time.
Goodbye Sunshine Goodbye doesn’t know how to operate under a theatrical premise. The cut-in, cut-out arrangement style is counterproductive to its flow, prohibiting any growth as a song. If its cut-in guitar parts were more like Double Bass Drums’ sentimental licks, it would’ve been a little easier to swallow. Double Bass Drums’ guitars are incredible, conducting atmospheric punk that has us feeling as though we’re crawling through space against our will, introducing the song with an explosion of noise in a moment akin to The Magic.
A bit more orchestra would’ve helped Divine Schism to appear even more singular than it does in Deerhoof’s discography, but theatrical devices are constant and varied, not to mention pivotal to the album’s story. Deerhoof’s world is wacky and distinct; its stage show is wacky and distinct, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Best track – Double Bass Drum.
Rating – 7 out of 10
