He was once one the American noise underground's more damaging and underrated members, working in static and distortion so thick that one disc came with a caveat that the buyer alone was responsible for any damage done to their speakers by the music's savage force. Lonesome Drifter, though, finds Mammal (Gary Beauvais to his mother) in a new realm, less concerned with sonic extremity than a grim brand of introspective heaviness. A line jotted on the album's back cover reads "This is both the end and the beginning," signifying that the disc likely marks a sustained shift in the Mammal sound.
Hearing Beauvais, who's career has featured a great deal of wild sonic abandon, plying rather stripped down duets of drum machine and distorted guitar can be disconcerting, and while there are a few forays into abstract terrain, Lonesome Drifter is far more imbued with a concerted restraint than anything in the Mammal oeuvre. Beauvais within this context is like a wild cat in captivity, with the potential for an unexpected outburst but any real threat of menace seemingly constrained. Still, it's not a wholly unbecoming Mammalian mode, and the darkness that usually tints Beauvais' music is certainly still casting a shadow over his music, this time in a more concentrated form. Beauvais' reliance for simple repetition on much of the album proves an unexpected boon for one often reliant on the power of the unexpected; the stripped-down doom aesthetic of much of the more rock-based material, especially, inspires easily an almost automatic head nod or foot tap. Even when Lonesome Drifter enters noiser waters, Beauvais continues with the uncharacteristic restraint, with only "Incinerator Ballad" letting loose like the Mammal of old, though, in form with the rest of the album, in heavy, repetitive rhythm.
It's certainly a surprise that Lonesome Drifter's best track might be "Fatherlands," which begins with spare, simple guitar and hushed vocals. Even as the song drifts into a distorted postlude, the melody remains an undercurrent, and, in lyrical terms, it's Beauvais' starkest work, a farewell to parents repeating "It's time for me to go" with more than a twinge of ominous finality. These moments of pathos represent a watershed moment for Mammal, an inward turn that could serve as a catalyst for a new chapter for Beauvais. And while it'd be a shame for him to lose his wild side completely, at least on this most recent effort, Beauvais' bare bones approach fits far better when he's showing his sensitive side.
