 Y'know,
some things just naturally attract attention. Calling your band "Ogre
You Asshole" ensures you're going to at least get SOME attention, even
if it's just the snickering kind that's usually reserved for such go
nowhere acts as…uh…the Butthole Surfers.
Well, anyway, legend has it that the name came from a drunken encounter
with a member of Modest Mouse, which is not difficult to believe for
anyone who hears their music. Heavy on the cleanly picked guitars and
earnest, indie friendly laid back vocals, not to mention a taste for
vague song titles ("Stage," "Raincoat," etc,) you can't really blame
them for the name: everything else about the band is so unassuming,
they're in danger of fading into the background. This relative
facelessness can work against OYA as much as for them, and the group's
newest album, Foglamp, requires a bit of patience for its (eventually)
striking merits.
Indie rock debts aside, the first comparison that came to mind upon the
first few bars of "Stage" was, of all people, Gentle Giant. Jaunty,
almost Irish filigrees of guitar jig their way through the otherwise
reserved, positive tune, the band's strong musicianship content to
support the lazily winding vocals of Manabu Deto. It's this dichotomy
that keeps thing interesting: closing eight and a half minute epic
"Wiper" manages the difficult feat of being simultaneously ecstatic and
relaxed, finding bliss inside the gauzy ping of the twin guitars of
Deto and Kei Mabuchi.
That's only after time and repeated plays have worked their magic, as
initial plays of Foglamp come across as monotonous, simply because the
execution is so unflashy. Opening track "Cracker" is quirky modesty
incarnate, its mildly tongue in cheek rhythm so unobtrusive that it
takes a couple of plays to realize it's almost tropical. The cowpoke
strut of "Headlight" isn't as bouncy as it first appears, as the
shuffle gives way to a surprisingly mournful chorus. When the song
kicks up a storm at the three minute mark, it's more laid out shoegaze
than thunder.
If the subtlety masks some exceptional playing, the indie rock
signifiers mask some very proggy tendencies. "K" acts as an interlude
into "Raincoat," which sounds like a cross between Sigur Rós'
"Svefn-G-Englar" and Genesis' "Silent Sorrow In Empty Boats," it's
tasteful echo invoking the same dark, warm space. While the band
probably won't be sharing stage space with Porcupine Tree anytime soon,
the compositional dynamics aren't as different as a cursory listen
might imply.
When asked why his band was so successful, Deto reportedly said "I'm
not sure. I guess it is because of our name." That modesty is typical
of the band's approach, but it may contain a grain of truth in that the
four piece doesn't try to grab you so much as quietly wait for the
listener to enter: without the hook a fairly ridiculous name can
suggest, the average person may not invest the time. The time is worth
taking, and it's worth taking as a piece (the songs function best as a
sustained mood, losing power in the continuity butchering iPod
shuffle.) Fans of the band may feel I'm being dismissive of (or, worse,
condescending to) the group, but that's far from the case. Subtle
pleasures like Foglamp are increasingly rare.
---
Available through CD Japan
|
