A four-to-the-floor disco beat is not the typical Shriekback sonic garb but this was a case of the band making the best ironic dancefloor anthem since Pulp were administering CPR to Handbag. “Idiot Dancing” [hint: a clue] started out simmering like an ambient “I Feel Love.” Once the Partridge sisters joined in, that organ chord drone appeared as the tastefully overstated drum machine fills pummeled us downhill to disco capitulation. The lyric was primarily a ceaseless litany of increasingly unlikely Dance Step Names [Death of Lenin, Sink The Bismarck, etc.] before ending the list with ringers in The Macarena and The YMCA. The mindlessly joyful organ solo in the coda only serving to endorse the song’s thesis.

Having just acquiesced to the pleasures of the dancefloor, the album then made a hard 180˚ to the antithesis of that mindset with the brilliant “I Am Not Designed For Pleasure.” This time with a heightened irony that only an extremely decadent Ibiza vibe could deliver to what was the ultimate in anhedonic lyrics! I’d have to go back all the way to “Deeply Lined Up” [a joint exercise with The Sound Marines] from the band’s seeming 1990 swansong, the not at all ironically named “Shriekback: The Dancing Years,” to find something equally ravetastic.

But conspicuous in the lyric was a phrase that jolted me as there was something obviously highly esoteric and intentional about the phrase “Drizzle Me Skinny!” Surely that was one of Andrews’ patented subtle/deep Humanities references? So I did a search on it. Not quite. Now the blogger with WeightWatchers™ recipes will wonder where this odd web traffic is coming from.

All of this was of course, deliberately undermined by the implacable Mr. Andrews as he hit the drop stone cold at the end of every chorus to proclaim “I am not designed for pleasure.” Always delivered as if through clenched teeth [if not sphincter as well]. And I loved the conceit of the raviest thing Shriekback ever committed to hard disk clocking in at well under three minutes as the Partridge Sisters repeated the song’s title in the track’s coda.

Following the back-to-back bangers, it was time for a pivot. The dark heart of the album was revealed with “Burn Book.” The song was the furthest thing from a dramatic statement, musically. An introverted loop eventually got some early 70s Fender Rhodes electric piano for a relaxed Ray Manzarek vibe. But the lyrics helpfully carried the cyanide capsule for us to bite down on.

The energy drifted through this one largely held on the sustained guitar drone from Andrews as he’s been adding guitar to his arsenal of sound. The instrumental middle eight contained tantalizing snatches of dialogue mixed at nearly subliminal levels that I didn’t even notice on my first dozen plays of the album. Alas, now I strain to no avail.

I also strain to dig into the “Night Of the Flowers” reference that closes out each chorus. [“It’s the Night of the Flowers and it goes on for hours”] The most that I can see is that it’s an Italian film from 1972 by Gian Vittorio Baldi about, wait for it, the consequences of unrestrained hedonism! But I can’t see anything in English beyond that brief, one sentence précis. As the song ends with the comforting thought of “we all roll over for the saprophytes” the lyric changed to “it’s the Life of the Flowers” to make its blunt point that we’re all just fodder for fungi.

We received more blunt things in the next song, “All My Crude Blunt Tools.” This one was immediately something different from the Shriekback toolkit. Yello-like rhythmic vocal percussion loops were sampled and manipulated for a techno-chant aesthetic. The synths keening like seagulls in the distance as the sub-bass rumbled ominously. Then the organ that seemed to be the leitmotif for the album added its dated warmth to the rather 90s vibe thus far. The vocal was warm, dry, and right up front from Mr. Andrews with nary an effect slathered on, save for his doubled falsetto. A classic Shriekback gambit.

Then the Fender Rhodes was back for the dead simple keyboard solo in the middle eight as it vied with the organ for an echo of the Doorsy vibe redolent in part two of the album. Pivoting to Soul-Jazz on the introverted verses but blossoming expansively on the exuberant chorus. Allowing Andrews’ guitar sustain to take it to the coda, until surprising, echo-laden synth horn stabs added heretofore unknown space-age Lounge feel to the song. Shocking.

Then the album proffered its title track for the very last cut. The intro groove was deceptively mild and the first verse didn’t rock the boat as Andrews indulged in ever more Grecian references at this cold-eyed look at one’s legacy. Citing Shelley’s “Ozymandias” for the ephemerality of it all. 

The muted verses fairly exploded into raucous life with the famed Shriekback massed chorus. Performed like only they can do. Andrews kicked the door down with a very Proggy solo in the middle eight that was perversely cut short just as we were expecting it to last for possibly 24 bars in a deliberate musical rug pull. Then we got the mordant climax delivered with “Ozymandias, I project, will just get colossally wrecked”  with the last two words of the song echoed on repeat so that they scanned like “colossal erect.” And then came a fiery synth solo that ended abruptly with a thoroughly random deadsplice to oblivion. Ending the album with neither a bang nor a whimper.

As with every Shriekback album, “Monument” has certain familiar artistic DNA strands that assure a thread of continuity throughout the oeuvre while picking up slightly different new tools to add to the mix. Due to the co-writes with Mike Tournier [Fluke] there’s a dance undercurrent used, ironically of course, on a few of the tracks. Perhaps as a consequence of his expanded responsibilities sans Barker and Marsh, Andrews played his keyboard hand close to the vest, with some organ patches and Fender Rhodes pointing back to his youth more than anything else. 

I noted certain themes were used throughout the album. There’s a “pleasure vs its opposite” thread snaking through the album, The sense of defiance that manifested on the preceding “Bowlahoola” has given way to a more nuanced position on the Kübler-Ross scale here. With the concluding title track a mordant blast of self-deprecation. Which must surely follow “acceptance” as the missing 6th step in the grief process that Elizabeth failed to duly note! 

Right now the DL has been sent to crowdsource pledgers but the rest of us will get a shot at the silver discs soon at Ye Olde Shriekback webstore. As with all Shriekback modern albums, if you want the physical goods you’d better beat the bushes over there. It’s not in the store yet so it’s probably still in production. So remember to hit that button a few days/weeks into the future. At least it’s not sold out, right? In the meantime, join us tomorrow when we will be discussing the album with Barry Andrews himself. 

Next: …Thrilling Insights With Barry Andrews!