Verdure - The Telescope Dream-Patterns
(Camera Obscura)
Loner, stoner rock from the SF suburb of Concord, CA, Verdure is the one-man project of Donovan Quinn, the son of bassist Dave Carter (of '60s psych act Country Weather fame). "Into the Blacktrees" uses bells and whistles (literally) to introduce us to the inner workings of Quinn's illustrious gray matter. As its title suggests, "The Coffin Splits in Two" is a slightly deranged spoken-word piece that reminds me of Father Yod and his cult of hippie stoners, YaHoWa 13. And speaking of laidback recordings, Quinn is so out of it on "The Greentrees," I'm surprised he had the strength to lift the microphone to recount his tale. It would make a perfect theme song for a drug czar's campaign to quash Quaalude intoxication. In fact, as you get deeper into the album, you'll find your heartbeat slowing down, your mouth getting dryer, your eyelids getting heavier, and on more than a few occasions, your head jerking itself back into semi-consciousness.
The sloppy, intentionally lo-fi, disjointed instrumental "Seeing the Telescope Dreampatterns" is probably the make-or-break point where you'll either close your eyes, lay back, and enjoy the rest of the album - or hit the eject button and Frisbee this beer coaster through the nearest window. Those who exit early will miss Quinn's efforts at recreating Dementia 13's Mirror Mind album, particularly through the strained, intriguingly incompetent vocals, percussive backbeats, and meandering guitar scrapings of "Softly, the Embers"—which curiously becomes a completely different song halfway through, as tambourines, echoed vocals, and vibrato-ed wah-wah guitar enter the fray. You will also miss the straight-out-of-left-field Gregorian chant that is "Fluttering Pastures" and the quirky, Sonny Bono-meets-Ray Davies "The Sea Funeral," complete with faux British accent. With its catchy melody and full-band feel (well, at least there's another like-minded soul, Derek Monypeny, helping out on lead guitar), it's the album's highlight and not that far removed from the wonderfully insane efforts of Anton Newcombe and his Brian Jonestown Massacre, though that mondo-distorto guitar skronk of an ending will probably keep it off most CMJ-controlled indie college-radio station playlists.
So if you're not ready to discard this as the incompetent ramblings of a madman, and are willing to embrace it as the homebrewed lo-fi DIY exploration of a deranged and paranoid-schizophrenic mind with too much time (and too many drugs) on its hands, and your record collection is full of artists bearing the number 13 (as in Dementia 13, YaHoWa 13, 13th Floor Elevators, etc), then make plans to peer through the telescope for a bird's-eye view of Verdure's Dream-Patterns.
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