Isotope 217 - Who Stole the I Walkman
(Thrill Jockey)
Reviewing the new Isotope 217 is a special occasion for fakejazz.com, for, if I remember correctly, it
was Isotope 217 that was first referred to by the progenitors of this webzine as being "fake jazz,"
back in the days of their first album The Unstable Molecule. (Ed: Or did it start circa Millions Now Living...?)
It was back when the kids
didn't really know what to call the music they were listening to: rock and roll didn't really apply
anymore, post-rock just sounded like so much pretentious bullshit, and everywhere you turned, all
your favorite punk rockers and noise makers were in ever-multiplying bands and offshoots
featuring vibes, dub, and the smooth, smooth tones of jazz. Isotope 217, with their tentacled
connections to the Chicago post-rock infestation and Rob Mazurek's pure jazz cornet, seeming to
epitomize the final death of rock and roll. Yet it was not pop, nor was it jazz. It was something in
between. It was fake jazz.
Isotope 217 has emerged from being Tortoise's opening band into a force of their own. They are
more daring and creative than most of their Illinois peers, more willing to explode the boundaries of
genre. Their newest record, Who Stole the I Walkman, is both their most challenging and
best record to date. It is much more schizophrenic and bizarre than previous releases (though each
one has been increasingly more so), and relies much more heavily on keyboard, electronics, and
studio trickery than either their first record or Utonian Automatic (all available on Thrill
Jockey records).
"Harm-O-Lodge" starts of the album with a straight, cool, jazzy organ riff that quickly, within
seconds, gives way to deep bass and plinky keyboards. The song is almost entirely drums, bass,
and keys, shifting from a lurching, awkward rhythm to a drum machine-propelled jam, and sprinkled,
in parts, with a noisy guitar and Mazurek's lively cornet. Likewise, "Moonlex" begins as more of a
traditional jazz song, built on Mazurek's plaintive cornet wail. However, the cornet quickly comes
to mimic and blend with the droning electronics, becoming a futuristic robot lament. It is nothing new
for Isotope 217 to switch gears mid-song, but the shifts seem much more pronounced than on
previous records. Even the edits seem to be intentionally obvious, more like a jarring cut-up than a
tempo or mood change.
Some things on this record are just unexplainable. "Space Krikts" is exactly that: spooky bass
sprinkled with alien transmission warbles. Three of the eleven songs do not have proper titles, but
instead are marked with the symbols found on tape players for "Pause," "Rewind," and
"Fast-forward." The "Pause" track begins with an electronic bass pulse, whose melody is picked
up by a funky live bass and drums combo, then shifts rapidly into an archaic homemade house music
version of the song. "Sint-D" features a Pole-like series of crackles and pops over droning
keyboards and heavily reverbed-organ, and evolves into the straightest jazz portion of the album,
only to evolve right back out of it again.
The high point of the album, however, is the "Rewind" track, excerpted from a live performance,
where the audience is accused of not being ready to get their party on. Mazurek leads the audience
in a chant "I'm here to get my party on, that's what I'm talking 'bout!" over a bumpin' bass boom.
To be honest, I don't know quite what to make of it, but it's a whole lot of fun. Which, really, sums
up Who Stole the I Walkman pretty well.
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