Wiggly Air, by Kurt Gottschalk

ON DECK

The Unstoppable Sweetness of Being. Progressive rock isn’t known for being particularly fun-loving. It’s more often than not overly complicated, egg-headed eccentricism aimed at impressing disenchanted beard-strokers. Prog-punk pilgrim Tatsuya Yoshida has been banging his head against that wall of pomposity since the 1980’s, primarily with his mad duo Ruins (and its many offshoots). A wave of cartoonishly complex bands have followed in his stead, many quite fun, but few outside Japan have taken up the cause of letting the hot air out of the progressive rock balloon. London’s Cardiacs and various projects by Brooklyn’s Ron Anderson deserve mention here, but a notable exception is the Liverpudlian outfit Unstoppable Sweeties Show, whose songs would be inordinately catchy if they weren’t too busy to even hear and whose third album, Analogy to an Allergy, all but relegates this carefully crafted paragraph to the ashcan.

As crazed as their previous three albums were, one could learn what to expect: interlocking parts moving at a considerable pace and sometimes shattering into pieces with the swooping yelps of singer Yashashwi Sharma bouncing across the top. But on Allergy, it all comes extra unhinged. Prolonged improvisations, studio duplicity, counting and screaming (not screaming lyrics, really just screaming), and sections that I take to be an a cappella comic opera about a doggie shelter make the latest Sweeties an exhilarating and exhausting surprise.

The album came out in June and buying the download will get you a 30-page PDF with the lyrics and sheet music, a long, bonus tale [that reminds me of Rebecca Curtis’s short stories in something like the same way the Sweeties remind me of early Genesis (which is to say, uh, sorta?) or maybe Gentle Giant, whom they actually cover on the new album], detailed spoilers on all the songs, a crossword, an improv game, photos, fan art, a recipe and some unsolicited advice. It’s worth it. Since the album’s release, the Sweeties have posted a remix of their track “How a Train Sounds” from their musical Bring Kath Her Breamcatcher. It’s titled, with all requisite integrity, “Choo Choo,” and is well worth a listen, as is the rest of their discography, all streaming in full on Bandcamp. You’ll be glad you did, if only for the calm induced once the record is over.

Killing Popes and other social transgressions. On paper, I guess the Killing Popes are a jazz band. Their second record came out in June on the Portuguese label Shhpuma, an imprint of the decidedly jazz label Clean Feed. But if they are a jazz band (and I’m not convinced they are), they’re one of a decidedly transgressive variety involving instruments with cables, quickly shifting time signatures and well pounded drums, the latter courtesy group leader Oli Steidle.

On paper, they’re also a duo, with Steidle joined by Dan Nicholls (keyboards, bass, sampler), down from the trio of their debut but buttressed on the new album by a guest guitarist, bassist, saxophonist and three singers, including the frighteningly focused Serbian vocalist Jelena Kuljić, who fronts another German jazz band that doesn’t play jazz, the fantastic Z-Country Paradise. She’s heard on three tracks on Ego Kills, the slinky despair of “My Life Is Not Your Game,” the punk-chaotic “King of Soap” and, on “Human Nature,” reading Emma Goldman through a vocoder.

Elsewhere, the tracks are busy, layered and loud. There’s a lot of prog and a little humor, but the players don’t get hung up on showmanship, instead tying quick, tidy and artful knots, one after another.

Ego Kills is available on CD and download and is streaming in full on Bandcamp

Eggs with a side of Iggy. A pair of eggs who aren’t egotistical, egg-headed progs, or at least don’t seem to be, is the Lancaster, UK, duo the Lovely Eggs. I wrote about their last album, I Am Moron, in these pages last year, when I called it “a perfect 40 minutes of tension and release” that “leaps from the speakers in layers.” I thought I’d have said something more quotable but there you go. They’ve since dispensed with the titular verb in a kind of a Claudius trip and enlisted the demigodic Iggy Pop to intone one word over and over for their incessantly catchy new single “I, Moron.” The 7” sold out in seconds but there’s a lovely claymation video on their website.

ON STAGE

As venues begin to reopen and the second pandemic summer turns to another pandemic fall—it’s not over yet and the honor system “where a mask unless you’ve been vaxxed” policy profoundly befuddles me—musicians are in the curious position of starting to do shows to support albums they may have put out months ago. This blip in the time-hype continuum is what led me to accept the fearless Star-Revue publisher George Fiala’s longstanding offer for me to do a column. I want to promote shows by bands I consider worthy of promotion, but what to do if I already reviewed their new record? Get a fancy header, write in the first person, and refer back to what I wrote is the answer. So let’s talk a moment about the Residents and the Delta can just go to hell.

Metal, Meat and Meta. After two aborted attempts at touring to support their 2020 album Metal, Meat and Bone, the Residents are aiming to be at (le) Poisson Rouge on Sept. 2, playing both the recent album and the 1978 EP Duck Stab in toto. Metal, Meat and Bone isn’t the band’s finest flower (I wrote about that album here last summer) but a performance of the full concert for the launch of the Night Flight streaming service showed the songs are finding their energy. The real appeal, though, is the older portion of the show. Duck Stab in packed with fan favorites. Lead-off track “Constantinople” has been a concert staple but “Sinister Exaggerator,” “Laughing Song” and “Bach is Dead” have rarely if ever made it to the stage. Last time the band played in town, at the Murmrr Theatre in Brooklyn in 2018, they were shut down after noise complaints. LPR’s basement theater should be deep enough to buffer the noise from NYUlandia above.

Sadly, it was announced after press deadline that the Residents have (again) had to cancel their tour.