Gadzooks Vol. 1 

Albumbeschreibung

No one who has seen Caleb Landry Jones' onscreen work—he starred as a squirrelly ad salesman in Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri and the wild-haired extra-creepy sibling in Get Out—will be surprised to learn that he makes music that as is off-center, unsettling and challenging as the characters he plays. Yes, it's typecasting. But if the Joker smile fits... "Never Wet" starts off with campy horror organ that quickly veers into '70s Vegas flash—like it's lifted from an old episode of Kojak—then takes an unexpected Cage the Elephant gallop. It is intriguing and appealing, as are the Marc Bolan vibes of the lush "Yesterday Will Come," with its cinematic retro strings from the Nona Quartet. Jones' work has sparked comparisons to Skip Spence, the patron saint of drug-fueled weirdness; spiritually, that's not so far off, but Gadzooks has a lot more in common with Syd Barrett's haunted uneasiness as well as the tuneful psychedelia of Electric Prunes. (There are moments of peculiarly tender beauty here, like the Bolan-esque grandeur of "California.") There are also easy lines to be drawn between these songs and the novelty that was actor Crispin Glover's musical career. But, unlike that towering eccentric, Jones sings rather than delivering a hammily spoken monologue. In fact, his voice is oddly mesmerizing. When you Google his name, one of the first questions to auto-fill is, "What nationality is Caleb Landry Jones?" Although born and raised in Texas, he sings with the kind of exaggerated nasal British affectation typically only heard in UK garage beat bands from the mid to late '60s—like he's a Davies brother. Closer "They Won't Come Back" is practically an album in itself: a 20-minute winding ride that travels from punch-drunk pop to "Pomp and Circumstance" majesty, Bryan Ferry archness and chamber pop preciousness. And that's just while Jones is singing. Once he drops out and the song is purely instrumental, it becomes a woozy Monty Python goof so cartoonish you expect Andy Capp to come stumbling around the corner any minute. Then it devolves into ambience—not the dreamy stuff of Brian Eno, but more like a nightmare featuring Pennywise from It. Itchy bug zappers fade into a pulsing sonar and fade into a sci-fi whine and ham-radio feedback. There's also a carnival interlude before, finally, the whole thing melts into a lovely little symphony. Truly, a trip. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz