#like I am genuinely perplexed by some of them. and the pattern of similar characters is… strange

[empress-hancock]

If you only knew my blorbos…

[renaroo]

Sweet Home (3/4)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence, PTSD and past trauma, Mentions of wartime Rating: T Synopsis: [Modern AU] In the aftermath of war, Wash is left with little direction in his own life. On his own, he takes up an ad for a roommate and suddenly finds himself wrapped up in the perplexing life of Doctor Emily Grey.

A/N: Long time, little see, and I’m truly sorry about that <3 For those who don’t know, as of January this year I have taken on quite a few more jobs than what we had before. I am a graduate student but on top of that I began teaching classes for the university on my own and I have been working very hard on my research project which is picking up steam now that the mating season for wolf spiders has begun! So busy busy here though I do hope everyone has had a good few months themselves and that this story is still worth the wait for those who come back to it <3 I appreciate you all more than you know

A special shout out to @secretlystephaniebrown, @splendiferousblog, @freelancerfeels, @ziggyzagzag, Yin, om3g4, and Zed Said from AO3, ffn, and tumblr for the feedback and support! You guys really help to make this experience that much more rewarding!

Drawing Lines

It has been a very long week and, despite knowing that the town is less than a few miles wide at best, Washington hasn’t brought himself to do much more than accompany Emily Grey to the store and back in order to carry groceries.

As he lays in his bed that still doesn’t feel very much like his, it really and truly hits him how small the world seems after the war. He left for it with this idea that the universe is large and vast, that he is truly fighting for things to be better and for home to be stronger and more taken care of than it ever had been before.

But the world is small and knowing it intimately only proves to show Washington the worst of its cracks and pitfalls.

He fought for this town, he fought for a place like Sweet Home to live up to its name. But the streets are cracked, the roads have holes, and most of the properties have grass reaching for higher standards than the owners.

Sometimes, laying in his bed outside of his supposedly only two hours of consistent sleep, Washington finds himself staring at the proverbial and literal wall, holding his breath and counting to ten.

He’s waiting for an answer. He’s waiting to be told what it is that he sacrificed everything that once made him human for.

He’s waiting for things to make sense again. But without reveille or shouts or marching orders, it just doesn’t.

And the world just gets even smaller around him.

For every morning that Wash woke up to a full course meal and a half naked housemate, there is a morning where he wakes up to absolute silence and solitude.

Asking questions, even if normal and social, feels invasive and uncomfortable, even in concept, for Wash so he opts instead to rely on powers of observations and checking for patterns. The most easily noticed of these being the way the stacks of books all over the house change by the day, and especially how much they change — or how much they grow — on the days that Emily is absent in the mornings and not back until the late nights.

It is then that Wash puts together that his housemate, the already-doctor, is actually still a student. That is why so many younger college age people are coming in and out of Sweet Home.

It’s as questionable as the anomaly that is Emily Grey herself, but again, the anxiety of actually phrasing a proper question that isn’t intrusive, rude, bigoted, sexist, out of touch, judgmental, arrogant, condescending, or just plain vague is too much and Washington fumbles it even in theory.

So he sticks to counting book stacks and making himself cereal on lonely mornings.

Not lonely. Solitary.

Lonely implies that Washington doesn’t prefer it and, well, he doesn’t. But he doesn’t unprefer it either.

And that’s the rub of it.

For all the draining exhaustion that proximity to Emily’s rotation of guests brought him, Washington finds himself not doing much with his solitary time either. Just checking the news, getting the mail, and digging through his own thoughts with all the caution and malaise afforded to a gravedigger.

He’s in the middle of just that one particularly solitary morning, a cereal bowl still in his grasps, when the back door next to the stove opens up with a loud BANG. It’s as if a tornado was trying to rip the door from its hinges, and Washington can’t even process it before the solitary space he has masked himself in becomes occupied by a bounding creature with fur and teeth and an odor similar to tarmac.

There’s a moment, after the sharp paws are buried into Wash’s chest but before the back of his chair is going to find itself addressing the floor, that Washington thinks a bomb has gone off — one that bends reality and warps the quiet he strangles himself with optionally is transported back to scorching heat and screams and the worst that people can do to one another.

It’s a hysterical notion, one that would possibly rival the sort of genuine psychosis that seems to get his housemate all riled up about his sleeping habits, but it’s the only thing Washington can think before he’s dazed on the ground with a literal dog standing on his pajama covered chest, rotating around like it’s looking for the next challenger in a game of King of the Hill.

“Freckles!”

Washington takes in the moment once again. He’s not dying. He’s not shot. There’s not a war in the kitchen, only whatever intrusion Emily Grey has brought upon his life again. And he doesn’t even get in a count to three for his anger exercises before the fury erupts from him like a volcano.

“What the hell is going on!?” he gets out, only to have the dog’s attention whip right back to him.

The dog is a sharp looking, large chested doberman. Chocolate colored where Wash’s senses tell him it should be black, tan where it should be brown on its nose and wrapped around its feet like socks. The eyes are yellow, intimidating, and it has ears pinned high from cropping. Washington hadn’t even realized it was a practice with animals anymore, but he supposes on reflection that inhumanity isn’t restrained to what people do to each other.

What is just as shocking is the man who the voice belongs to.

He comes around the kitchen island with a curious, wide eyed look on his face, lips drawn together in a surprised oh as he examines the situation he brought upon Sweet Home.

The man is large and bulking. Wash’s instincts are to think it’s fitting of his extremely large dog but, somehow, the man is even too large and thick even for that to be a complete fit. He’s not chiseled so much as he’s built large, and his head is weighed down by a mess of spiky, unkempt hair that stands end on end in a way that tells Washington the man’s less familiar with a brush than even Wash is. His skin is tanned hide but not wrinkled or old, just worn and not as well taken care of as he could use.

He’s wearing a blue hoodie and khaki pants that have not a single wrinkle, and those are the strangest things in Wash’s mind because the man is also wearing with them standard issue military boots.

“Hello!” the man says loudly.

“Is this your dog!?” Washington demands just as loudly. There’s a low stage of panic beginning to set in as the dog looks less happy to have Washington talking and Washington’s chest is feeling less happy to have a dog standing on it.

For a moment, the man seems more surprised than Wash, and he glances toward the dog as if there is some other dog that Washington would be addressing. And a big, goofy smile crosses his face as he looks back down to Wash.

“Oh! Yes. This is Freckles. He is a very good boy. Aren’t you, Freckles? Aren’t you a very good boy?” the man coos toward the dog.

Taking his gaze off of Wash, the dog turns around and looks at the man, nub of a tail wagging so hard his entire butt is moving with it. The dog’s front paws pick up and ram down many times excitedly on Wash’s chest. Then it barks loud and keening.

“Get him off of me!” Wash demands in a hiss between gasps of breath.

Blinking again, the man glances down at Washington, then looks around the house in confusion. “Oh, no. I don’t know you. I thought this is the Sugar House. Oh no. This is very bad. I do not want trouble again. I only want the nice lady doctor in the Sugar House—“

The man sounds panicked, and the more he panics, the more the dog reacts. First with a whining bark, then with finally leaping from Wash’s chest toward the man. It prances around its human before pressing the flat of its head into the palm of the man’s hand.

And, suddenly, Wash begins making sense of things. The solitary doesn’t come back, but he’s not gone into chaos anymore.

Not any more than usual, by any means.

“Do you mean Sweet Home?” Wash asks as he raises up to a sitting position, holding onto his no doubt bruised ribs.

“Yes!” the man calls out excitedly. “Oh! Oh! Do you know where it is? I am very lost. Which is strange. Because Sheila told me where to go and I did not believe I was lost so now it is me being confused where I thought I was not. You see?”

Washington feels himself slipping into the chaotic one more time but he fights it, instead clearing his throat and repositioning himself into a more confident stance. “I don’t know who Sheila is, but yes. You are at Sweet Home. You aren’t confused. Well. You’re not anymore confused right now than I am. Uh. I live here now. With Doctor Grey. Emily. Doctor…lady. Am I making sense? I don’t think I am.”

However, the confused posturing seemed to be speaking to the man’s language because his grin only grows and grows the further the conversation goes down the rabbit hole.

“I am at the Sugar House?” he asks. “And you’re the new friend at Sugar House?”

“I’m… what?” Wash asks, the chaos threatening to swirl out of control.

Without clarifying, the man pulls out a large smartphone from his pocket and holds it flat close to his chin. It looks a little awkward from Washington’s angle, like the finer motor movements are lacking refinement.

“Sheila!” the man shouts across the surface of the phone, causing the screen to light up with a familiar app — the service assistant. “Thank you! I’m here!”

“I am happy for you, Private!” the smartphone cheerfully responds.

And, again, Wash pieces it all together.

After all, the service assistant had been offered to him, just like every other veteran from the War. The high tech phone app was a personal assistant for recovering servicemen and women. It was a bit of an insult to be offered one, even though almost no human soldier left the terrain without it being beneficial to have one.

The stigma had been enough to keep Washington away from accepting the service assistant at the time, and as a result he unwittingly had refuted future medical and mental health claims he could take from his service. It seems that pride was a good way to keep those who gave almost everything to their country from actually receiving anything in return.

While judgments flared up in Washington’s mind, driven into his instincts from basic, he also wondered if the man before him is actually a secret genius.

“What branch did you serve in?” Washington finds himself asking.

The main blinks at him, stroking the dog’s head as he fumbles his phone back into his pockets.

“I was marines,” Washington offers again.

“Yeah, I was with Church and Tucker,” the man says happily. “Did you know them?”

Wash feels his brows knit together in concern. “I… no?”

“Oh, okay. They were with me. I never remember being in a tree,” he states with a shrug of his large shoulders.

“Okay,” Wash says. “Well, my name is Washington.”

“That’s a funny name,” the man says with no tact. “I am Michael J. Caboose.”

“That’s a funny name,” Wash says sardonically before he can even catch himself.

Almost as if he understands, the dog pins his ears back against his head and lets out a low string of growls in Washington’s direction. He doesn’t seem to appreciate Wash’s sarcasm. But his master doesn’t seem to mind.

“It is funny. We both have funny names. I’ve never met a General Washington. I bet you’ve never met a Caboose. Or maybe you did. Have you met any of my sisters? I have many of them. It wouldn’t surprise me,” Caboose says breathlessly.

“Who knows in this town,” Wash says with a soft laugh of his own. “And believe me, I’m no general. Kind of glad I’m not… except for the retirement benefits.” He tries to laugh again but sees only blankness in return from Caboose. Wash coughs to clear the air and then tries to move things along in a way that may not hint to the other man that Washington has absolutely no idea how to handle social situations. At all. “I’m sorry I wasn’t expecting you. Emily didn’t mention anything about someone coming in today. Not… that she ever mentions it… But she’s never gone for too long if you want to sit in and wait.”

“Oh, no, thank you, no. I cannot stay. I cannot stay because I have to go. Sheila has told me many times already that I have to go. She has been reminding me everyday that today is the day that I have to go.” Caboose explains without any semblance of explanation. He then looks like an idea has just crossed his mind and he fumbles in his pockets again to repeat the move with his phone. “Sheila!”

“Yes, Caboose?” the service assistant says, lighting up.

“Tell Mister Washington how I have to go!” he says with the excitement of a kid at Christmas.

“Private Michael J. Caboose must be at the platform in forty-five minutes in order to depart on the 343 train to—“

“See, I told you,” Caboose interrupts, shoving his phone back without even bothering to tell the app to turn off. Wash can’t help but stare at the way it glows through the man’s khaki pants in the worst way imaginable. “I cannot stay for the doctor. I have to leave. I have a train.”

“Oh, okay,” Wash says. “I’ll…uh… tell Emily you came by then. I’m sure she’ll be sorry that she missed you.”

Caboose’s smile is brilliant, but sort of in a way that Wash isn’t sure what he’s smiling about. “Oh, she’ll know.” He then turns to face his dog and gets down on one knee to be level with him. The dog, almost knowingly, begins whining like a puppy. “Be a good boy! Be a good boy! I’ll be home soon, yes be a good boy!”

Processing the moment takes Washington a second longer than he should and, as suddenly as his morning was interrupted by Caboose, it is being uninterrupted by the man stepping out the door.

“Wait what,” Washington finally manages to utter just before Caboose grabs the handle of the back door.

The large man waves emphatically. “Thank you, General! I will see you and the good doctor lady soon! But I have to get to my train!”

“Private Michael J. Caboose’s train is departing in forty-two minutes—“

“Wait! I don’t know—“ Washington tries to shout but the door is slammed shut with tremendous force, enough to make one of Emily’s piles of books nearby tip over and go scattering across the floor.

Washington and Freckles both stare at the books for a few disquieting seconds.

Then Washington gives the dog a wary look. “I can’t escape the nonsense can I?”

The dog snarls in return before huffing. It then walks — with confidence and ownership of the house that Washington dreams of building up to at some point before his fifties — through the short hall from the  kitchen and into the living room where it promptly takes the seat that Washington has been using for the last week.

“God damn it Emily,” Wash curses at the air, nose curling.

When Grey returns home it is with the flourish that Washington has com to expect.

It’s almost like nothing in the world and changed and everything is good and there’s nothing but perfect innocence exuding from Emily’s every pour. And that doesn’t change even slightly as she trounces on through the door and looks down to meet Wash’s gaze.

For his part, Washington’s sitting on the floor with his back against three stacks of books. The one in his hand has been occupying the space he had been staring at prior to Emily’s entrance.

A funny expression came over Emily’s perpetually peasant face as she locks eyes with Wash and she puts her hands on her hips, flouncy skirt bobbing in a wave. “Why, Washington! What are you doing on the floor, silly?”

There’s some sort of crack in Wash’s forced smile like his teeth are too sharp to be contained. “I’ll give you three guesses,” he offers.

Then, there’s a ferocious bark from the living room that draws Emily’s eyes away from him.

“The first two guesses don’t count,” Wash declares as the dog’s head pokes out from around the corner.

“Freckles!” Emily calls out in utter delight.

With a complete change in character, Freckles loosens up the ramrod straightness of his body and begins bounding through the hall, heftily landing two paws on Wash’s lap without warning. By the time the dog is at Emily, he’s nothing but an overgrown puppy with a wagging tail and playful keening barks.

She happily catches the dog’s front paws and meets his nose.

It would be an adorable image if Washington wasn’t already sick to death of everything surrounding it.

“That all we got to say?” he demands soothingly.

Emily looks up from the dog, a curious smile, but a smile all the same, looking back on him. “What now?” she acts coyly.

“This has to stop!” Wash snaps, finally getting to his feet, slamming the book in his hands onto the top of one of piles of books as he does so.

Of course, the world never wants things to work out simply for Washington and in mere moments after his tantrum, the line of books begins to topple as a result. And soon, like dominos, the books around the house begin to fall, one into another, all around them.

Freckles is unhappy at the development and bravely gets between Wash and Emily, growling with his haunches raised.

Emily Grey is looking around in complete shock.

Washington feels like an asshole. “Goddammit! I mean. I’m sorry. Here,” he mutters, beginning to get on one knee to pick up the stray books. But he stops himself, after only grabbing two, he gets back to his feet and shakes his head. “No. No! Okay. Goddammit. I have to… I have to say something before it makes me explode!”

“Like defacing hundreds of dollars of property belonging to a roommate?” Grey offers.

“Fucking— yes,” Washington grits his teeth angrily. “This is not going to work if I don’t say anything, and you know what? I actually want this to work. I want to live here. I want to be… I don’t know. I want to be here with you. In this house. Stupid. Confectionary. Sugared-ice-tea house.”

“Sweet Home,” Emily answers, like it’s vital to the conversation. “Why do you want to be here, Mister Washington?”

Wash stares at her, beginning to wonder if she’s listened to anything he’s ever said but, suddenly, looking into her eyes, he realizes for the first time that she is being frightfully serious.

She wants to know. Which, is to say, she doesn’t understand.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Wash answers pathetically.

“Neither do I,” she agrees.

“Yes, but it’s still your house at the end of the day,” Wash says. “I can leave, even if there’s nowhere to go. Because this house isn’t mine. Because there are no parts of it — no lines in it — that are mine and only mine. I need. I need…”

“Boundaries?” she tries to guess again.

Wash scowls at her. “Respect,” he corrects her. “And I’m…. I’m just not going to receive it as long as you continue to be inconsiderate of our differences.”

It isn’t quite knocking down every book in a maze of a house, it isn’t quite a fiery explosion, but it’s every bit of Washington’s guts and brains spewed out all the same. Words he hasn’t even put together fully formed in his own mind yet are suddenly there, bared open for them both.

For the first time since they met, Emily Grey is speechless.

Until she isn’t.

“So you are a cat person?”

Washington takes off up the stairs, fuming all over again and not sure when he’s going to blow.

[willandandy]

Igorrr - Savage Sinusoid by Will Ft. LoneJuggernaut

Igorrr – Savage Sinusoid:

Hello my name is Will Stubbs and I love music. I feel that music is the best medium for creativity. People can explore new ideas and emotions with the help of music. I am here to talk about music that interests me and maybe start a great conversation. Thanks for reading and remember to love music forever.

“Words make you think a thought. Music makes you feel a feeling. A song makes you feel a thought.” - E. Y. Harburg

           Igorrr is a music project revolved around the French musician/composer/producer Gautier Serre. Igorrr is gaining a ton of traction for its weird eclectic blend of metal, Avant Garde, trip hop, operatic vocals, and many others. Gautier has stated that he wants to be known for his music to be “form of total musical freedom”. I found Igorrr through his side project Corpo Mente, which is sort of a spin off project of this band. I thought I would go back to the source and I wasn’t disappointed at all.

For this album I had some help from a friend. I think that this album is very meaty and has a lot of substance to talk about so I thought I would get another opinion. He goes by the name LoneJuggernaut. He has done a Piece for the blog before and he did a superb job.

The link to that: http://willandandy.tumblr.com/post/155147448419/my-most-important-tracks-of-2016-by

His WordPress: https://lonejuggernaut.wordpress.com/

His Twitter link: https://twitter.com/LoneJuggernaut

I want to say before I get too deep into this review, I do not speak French. I have read around and tried to find the best translations and definitions for the track titles and lyrics. So if I don’t get it completely right, please correct me and I will amend. I am going to say the track titles in French, and the put parenthesis which hold the rough translation.

This record has a quality that is not uncommon within my listening routine. I was perplexed because I wasn’t sure if I liked it at first, but I didn’t hate it either. Avant Garde, by its definition, is difficult to understand. I listened to this a few times and couldn’t put my finger on why I came back. While I found this record to be abrasive and strange at first, I thought it was refreshing and fantastic.

I don’t usually start a review with a negative aspect of an album, but this record doesn’t deserve a generic review so I will be honest. I thought the first track was terrible.  I think “Viande (Meat)” was a bad way to start. It’s overly abrasive, uninteresting, and not noteworthy in its production. I wish the following track was the first track. Now that I got that out of the way we can review this genuinely.

I love the second track on this album, “ieuD (odg)”. I could see this being in my songs of the year list.  Let’s look at the name itself to start. If you move the letters around in ieuD to Dieu, it translates to God. I’m not going to pretend to know the significance of that, but I thought the way it was written fits with the song well. The song starts off with this twangy keys and then these Nick Cave style vocal inflection. The way that the singer sings is very emotional and thick. I love the way that the screaming can fit in with the keys so well, but then transitions into this break core drum pattern. This album is very theatrical and loud. The drums are extremely punchy and the guitar is drowned out to an extent, but the way it’s done is very unique and creative. After the breakdown we get to this woman singing very beautifully to the same piano. The way that this song melts down all the influences is smooth and fluid. Nothing feels out of place and it always keeps you guessing what’s going to happen next. Even the lyrics are very strange. They are very spatial, ethereal, and worthy of thought. What a fantastic track to start off this album.

What I love about this album is that every track feels completely different, but always seems to fit.  I think that all of the tracks seem to revolve around an influence and that’s the foundation. The track “Houmous (Hummus)” starts off with an organ playing in this punchy off beat pattern, and when the guitar and drums come in they sort of are a feature not the main focus. The screaming is hilarious and manic. Not that I would expect any less. There are many Middle Eastern sounding instruments within the track and it sets up the tone for most of the track. Towards the end you hear an accordion with many break core beats to give them some life. The choral chants at the end are so intense and gorgeous, but then are followed by this weird 8 bit version of the track. What a great song.

The following track “Opus Brain” is another fantastic track. I would highly check out the music video for this song. Yet again the track title is fantastic. If we take the definition of opus “a separate composition or set of compositions by a particular composer”, it gives the title of this track much more meaning. I think that Gautier took time to name these tracks instead of having vague pretentious words that mean nothing. The track starts with a break core drum rhythm. It becomes intense very quickly. The screams paired with the beautiful operatic vocals are very angelic, almost holy. It seems to flip on the concept of hell, then to heaven. The first half of the track is very loud, abrasive, and harsh. But then at about halfway we get a woman singing very passionately behind the guitar and choral backing chants. Then towards the end, you get these very guttural and exaggerated vocals and it becomes very chaotic and heavy. I love this track

The next track “Problème d'émotion (Emotion problem)” starts off with a much needed break. The track is very quiet and thick. The production is insanely good. It’s like I’m listening to the score of an Italian noire movie. I know I am reading into the titles a bit, but I think they are very significant to the songs themselves. This song is very emotional and has a lot of character.

The next track “Spaghetti Forever” starts with guitar showcase that has nothing to do with the rest of the track. I think it was more of a transitionary period between the two songs. Afterwards it has many of the influences that we have come to expect. It goes back to the punchy break core, metal, and dramatic vocal contrasts. The Track ends off with the same guitar showcase and I think it was the best part of the track.

I love the way that the next track “Cheval (Horse)” starts with the accordion that resembles a French café, but then comes in a funky bass that keeps the rhythm. Then comes in the guttural screaming and metal influence. This track does a great job of keeping the accordion along with the metal influence and doesn’t lose sight of where it started. Yet again, I am impressed that this track could stay cohesive with so many seemingly conflicting influences.

The next track title is hilarious to me. From what I could find, the track “Apopathodiaphulatophobie (Apopathodiaphulatophobia)” means that you are afraid of being constipated. Maybe I am too crass, but I took this to mean that you are afraid of being full of shit. It immediately caught my eye as being interesting and made me laugh. The track doesn’t mess around either. The general foundation, and influence of this track is metal. This song seems to blend the break core and metal almost seamlessly. As far as the album goes, I think this album seems more stripped of its overall influence and just cuts the shit in a matter of speaking.

The following track, “Va te foutre (Go fuck yourself)”, fits well with the previous one. It starts with this weird abrasive bass that reminds me of a videogame boss level and plays more like an interlude.

The next song “Robert” is very much a break core song. In the beginning, he uses many elements of this album. It’s very choppy and weird. I think it’s an amalgamation of all the elements that make this record. He is stripping them down into small samples and then making this conglomerate of soundscapes. I take this track as a summary of the whole record right before the ending.

Now the last track “Au Revoir (Goodbye)” is a great way to end the record. First you start with the piano accompanied with the elegant vocals with many layers and harmonies. Then comes in the chugging guitars and blast beats. They blend very well like on the self-titled Corpo Mente record. The production is very radiant and precise. I think that this track was the perfect way to finish of this record. The rest of the record is very complex, sporadic, and intense, but this track feels like a dessert. It’s simple, sweet, and leaves you satisfied.

I loved this record as you can tell. What a great way to get into a band. What’s even better is that I think this is the best record I have heard by them. I don’t think I could listen to this album every day, but it’s fantastic.

Top Tracks: ieuD

Opus Brain

Problème d'émotion

Au Revior

Rating: 9/10

Now For LoneJuggernaut’s review

Gautier Serre is afraid of monogamy. He has many loves and is unable to or unwilling to commit fully to any one of them. His affinity for metal, classical, folk, electronic, and hip-hop are obvious, and try as he might to coin new genre-terms (e.g., Baroquecore) for his main project Igorrr’s musical style, it is unlikely that he will ever fit into one genre, even an integrative one like breakcore. And nor should he, for he manages to represent his influences fully and loyally. While any good musician draws from many and varied sources, few do it as explicitly or as well as Igorrr. While similar artists like drumcorps and Bong-Ra use samples to compose their broad-reaching audio-collages, all of the sounds in an Igorrr piece are original, and on his most recent album, Savage Sinusoid, his ability to amalgamate is more effective than ever before.

Though it is safe to assume most musicians pursue writing songs with a broad stable of influences behind them, record labels and performance venues resist “eclectic” artists as they are difficult to market and/or add to a bill. Thus, artists generally start with an ambitious list of “sounds like” or “FFO,” and this list is pared down as they “refine” their sound, fitting more solidly into their assigned genre and, consequently, growing less distinct. Igorrr, however, stays true to his name, continuing to play Dr. Frankenstein with any category of music that strikes his fancy.

Artists who continue to draw from many styles are rare, and those who do it well are even fewer. A band who does about as much to equally represent metal and electronic music is Mindless Self Indulgence, but the band who most closely relates to Igorrr’s eclecticism is Mr. Bungle. Though they sound dissimilar, the wine-tasting approach is common to both artists. In fact, the track “Cheval” (featuring Travis Ryan from Cattle Decapitation, himself a true audio-chameleon) draws pretty clear sonic comparisons to the Mike Patton group, while track “ieuD” sounds like Nick Cave exploring some J. S. Bach piece that was lost when it was used to wrap fish at the local market. Serre even dips his toes into chiptune on the track “Houmous,” and it manages to inspire eyebrow raises rather than eye rolls.

Igorrr’s easy moving from genre to genre means that listeners are kept on their toes, made to attend to each shift and each unpredictable style combination. This discouragement of complacency means that Serre is accomplishing a near impossible task: holding his audience’s attention in an age of smart phones and multi-tabbed browsers. When the black metal song you’re listening breaks into Ennio Morricone-style Spaghetti Western guitar riffing for two measures before shifting to a trip-hop beat, you don’t have a chance to get distracted.

This variety show of an album succeeds in the complex goal of uniting these disparate elements into something cohesive without losing the charms of any individual ingredient. One envisions Serre as an eccentric chef, throwing a dash of Balkan gypsy in to a stew of power metal and old school house music. His greatest strength is in all likelihood his greatest limitation, at least in terms of his long term “household name”-level success. It would be difficult to recommend his music to a metal fan, or to a fan of electronic music, as any enthusiast of one of these genres might not find it represented completely enough in Savage Sinusoid or any other Igorrr release. Rather, the likeliest fan of Igorrr is a person like Serre himself: a genuine fan of music in all its shapes and flavors, someone who is constantly looking for something that expands genre boundaries, redefines style descriptions, or—as is the case with Igorrr—demolishes the lines between musical ideas.

Rating: 8/10.

Top Tracks: Viande

Houmous

Opus Brain

Cheval