Must Hear Tracks: “Czech One” “Vidual” “Half Man Half Shark”
King Krule (Archy Marshall) is a remarkably transparent artist. He leaves his listeners all the clues they need to determine where exactly his bizarre blend of alt-rock, hip hop, soul, and jazz comes from. In his Amoeba Records “Whats in My Bag” episode, he selected records by The Damned (punk), Donny Hathaway (soul and blues), The Singers Unlimited (vocal jazz), and The Pixies (alt-rock). He makes his influences abundantly clear, and his own work comes across as a synthesis of the music he listens to. In that synthesis, he often ends up in uncharted territory. On his second album, The OOZ, this phenomenon is in full effect. This bipolar dream could only be executed by King Krule, and it demonstrates his maturity as an artist.
He even details the specific inspiration for the album in a Pitchfork interview, saying that it’s “all about the gunk” –the subconscious waste produced constantly by everyone. Think hair, skin, excrement, ejaculate, and even feelings of isolation. All the good stuff. I think that explains why the album is so varied: visceral at times (“Dum Surfer”), sweet and somber at others (“Czech One”). It goes from rowdy jazz-punk (“Half Man Half Shark”) to ethereal synth noise (‘The Cadet Leaps”) in a matter of minutes. On The OOZ, King Krule is trying to create a musical collage of everything that makes a human human. And although the tone is consistently dark, the album is largely successful at conjuring the condition of modernity: the angst, the loneliness, and the simple bliss.
The OOZ succeeds because it strikes a balance between cohesion and variation. Similar timbres pop up frequently. The same thin jazz guitar tone blends with crystalline keyboards on most of the tracks. Enveloping synths and rain sounds make repeat appearances as well. All of these thematic sounds serve to create a hazy vibe that permeates every track on The OOZ. The consistency provides a sense of comfort and makes the album sound distinct, like its own musical world.
The other side of the coin is important too. The frequent genre shifts on The OOZ keep it from becoming tiresome. “Emergency Blimp” is a guitar driven, aggressive track that slips into the quiet contemplation of “Czech One.” The same kind of mood manipulation comes when “Half Man Half Shark” ends and “The Cadet Leaps” begins. These juxtapositions not only showcase King Krule’s range as an artist, they cleanse the palette for the listener. Instead of getting 19 songs that are indistinguishable from one another, the experience has twists and turns. Indeed, The OOZ is a long and winding road: some tracks have a consistent genre (“Biscuit Town” is thoroughly hip-hop, “Emergency Blimp” is alt-rock), but most songs blend two or more genres seamlessly, which is one of the central strengths of the record.
If genre synthesis is central to The OOZ, the thematic heart of the album is the one-two punch of “Bermondsey Bosom (Right)” and “Half Man Half Shark.” The first track is a spoken word piece that takes place over atmospheric guitars and saxophones. Lyrically, no single song better captures the essence of The OOZ. The speaker (Archy Marshall’s father) talks of “slipping into filth” and calls the city a “parasite paradise.” Here, lyrics and music work together towards a singular theme: the beauty and grime that makes up “the gunk” that inspired the album in the first place.
Immediately following that interlude is the powerhouse “Half Man Half Shark.” It begins with maniacal, primal chanting before it drops into the deepest groove on the album. It sounds like it crawled out of the sewer. The swinging drums and driving bass lines invoke jazz and funk. The angsty, tortured vocals are vibrant. And the pulsating synth bass and piano chords at the bridge sound like a rave track with the drums taken out. The result is a striking, utterly original composition that’s hard to follow on the first listen, and hard to skip once it grows on you. If you choose one song to listen to off this album, I highly suggest this one.
On an album as cohesive as The OOZ, its easy to forget that it is made up of 19 individual tracks. Although timbres remain relatively consistent and tone doesn’t veer far away from “dark and dreary,” there are plenty of standouts that don’t require the context of the album to remain interesting. “Vidual,” for instance, is a devious and whimsical track with shimmering guitars, a massive bass line, and lyrics that shout about isolation and distrust. It might just be the catchiest track on the album. Then there’s the spacey “The Cadet Leaps,” which sounds like Archy Marshall trying to replicate the Blade Runner soundtrack. And “Logos,” a loungey number that could be heard as a slow-motion perversion of Esquivel. The real treat with The OOZ is that 19 tracks allow for people to delve into their own personal favorites.
Clocking in at an hour and six minutes, the more impatient listener may grow tired of the sleepy, jazz-influenced tunes. I’d be lying if I said the album doesn’t drag a little bit. And jazz seems to rub some people the wrong way. The OOZ is not a perfect album; it is certainly not a thrill ride. It takes time to fully absorb, and it requires the right surroundings to be fully experienced. It is gloomy music. It is the soundtrack to your rainy day, your hungover afternoon, your lonely late night drive. This is the soundtrack to darkness. But the soundtrack to darkness is surprisingly comforting. On The OOZ, the ugly and the beautiful are intertwined, waiting patiently for their time in the spotlight. It is the kind of album where traditional music is an abstraction, where the artist seems to be painting with splashes of certain styles, but never adhering to one in particular. The result feels natural to me, as if the music is an organic thing that ebbs and flows, taking on different forms effortlessly. Creating an album that sounds alive is no small feat, but King Krule accomplishes it with The OOZ.
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