Charles Atlas - Worsted Weight
(Ochre)
I needed some peace. Actually, quite a bit of it. See, I've had to get ready to move this month, and while the boxes are all being packed well enough, my exact destination is still in question, and I admit to being a little tired and frustrated. Hopefully a clearer answer will be in the offing shortly, but right now I just needed a bit of reflective peace while waiting to see what could happen.
And thank heavens that Charles Atlas provided it. They've been around for a few years, this group, slowly but surely mutating into an intriguing outfit even while individual members pursue other projects like Casino Versus Japan. Together, though, the duo of Charles Wyatt and Matt Greenberg—now recently expanded with Sacha Galvagna as a third member—could yet be the closest America has had to the spirit of both Disco Inferno and Piano Magic: elegant, spare, inventive, and often captivatingly beautiful arrangements to the fore.
Worsted Weight is the group's newest, appearing on an inspired enough spiritual home in the person of Ochre Records. The cover is enough of a curiously haunting image—a sprig of plant in black and white—but the music is the true mystery. This is a band not afraid to wrap itself in haunting beauty that's as fascinating as it is potentially soul-crushing. A song like "One Foot Under," with its slowly relentless bass/synth crunch and sweeping but ultimately harrowing strings, all while a soft guitar filigree plays amidst mechanistic hissing that slams to an abrupt conclusion, is not in place to put a cheery smile on anyone's face. But then the psych mantras of "Italian Air," as much rhythmic to and fro chime that seems to come from all over the world as it is soaring guitar exploration, show that not all need be so dark to conjure up a sense of mystery.
There's gentle flow that wouldn't surprise Eno fans on "Elysium," though the increasingly scraggly guitar solo might cause some raised eyebrows. The piano on "Factotum" soothes and unsettles, a quiet drama that plays around the other keyboards and guitars like a persistent voice in the ear. There's even a crap pun with the title "Port, Noise Complaint," but hey, when there's an air of lost, almost aching sadness that feels like staring up at cold, hard bright stars after a day of bitter loss, a mood that suddenly shifts to a warm, enveloping dawn the day after, then all is readily forgiven.
Some might say that the only 'human' touch on the album is the sudden burst of laughter that starts off "Factotum." But that would be to ignore the depths and heights of something emotionally involving on many different levels. Worsted Weight took me away when I needed it, and I hope that, wherever I do end up, I will be able to enjoy just as well when times are far less busy.
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