It seems like Robert Pollard has forever been the cuddly middle-aged man in a t-shirt, beer can in hand, and with an uncanny ear for the hidden hook. Prolific and chaotic, he has quietly achieved legendary status and commands endless attention no matter what atrocities he commits to wax (not that Pollard records “atrocities;” occasional missteps, maybe, but never out-and-out atrocities). Sgt. Disco is the latest album by Circus Devils, a project he plays in with Todd Tobias, and, with a couple of exceptions, Todd’s brother Tim. As the provider of all the music on Sgt. Disco, Tobias can claim as much ownership on Circus Devils as Pollard, but when the latter is the lyricist, vocalist, and cover artist, you cannot avoid ceding the spotlight to him.
From the prog organ grind of opener “Zig Zag” to the carnival monkey shines of closer “Summer is Set,” Sgt. Disco is, first and foremost, a self-indulgent, meeting-of-the-mind-warped record. There are a lot of minute-plus sketched ideas that are abandoned rather than finessed into full pictures. It often sounds like a soundtrack for a movie Tobias and Pollard thought about making one night but forgot about after the first case of whiskey was consumed. The record is full of dirty chords and sick riffs, keyboard madness and wonky noise confusion, voice put-ons and lyrical fuzz. And despite its 32 songs, Sgt. Disco is the most cohesive Circus Devils album to date.
Yes, 32. With so many songs, one would think that most of Sgt. Disco is throwaway, sub-B-side GbV fodder, or oodles of Stormtroopers of Death/S.O.D.-styled master classes in speed shouting, but, strangely, this is not the case. While there is certainly a fair share of short and sweet blasts of nonsense on Sgt. Disco (e.g.: “Puke It Up,” “Caravan,” “Hot Lettuce,” “Do This”), there are a lot more actual pop songs than you might expect. It is weird. Initially it seems that if this album were to work, it would be precisely because of the brevity and immediacy of the many sounds thrown at you, whether good or bad. I find the opposite to be true: Sgt. Disco sounds better every time I hear it, when it has been given the time to age a bit and replay its many compelling parts in my mind.
“The Pit Fighter” is Tobias indulging his inner Zappa. “Bogus Reactions” has Pollard in silly form on top of Tobias’ hurdy-gurdy flow. There are bona fide pop songs throughout the thing (“Pattern Girl,” “Love Hate Relationship With the Human Race”), and “War Horsies” sounds like a twisted children’s tune with its ending refrain of “hamburger hills and hot dog trees.” The two-part “Brick Soul Mascots” and “French Horn Legislation” are closer to your standard rock fare, whatever that means on an album like this. There are plenty of smiles to be had with the lyrics as well (e.g., “I’ve landed a job on the high-ass seas/ You betcha Bob and yessiree/ King of the wind -- that happens to be me” [“Nicky Highpockets”]). A Joe Meek-like vision of the outer limits is addressed in parts, most notably on “Happy Zones,” although I cannot recall Meek describing any sort of space place “where we can be observed scratching our asses in perfect harmony.” I could go on and on, but it will not provide any substantial comprehension of what the hell is going on most of the time.
Sgt. Disco is an unconventional album, for sure, but not one without its charms. It often sounds nowhere near coherent, but that should be reason enough to check it out, at least once. There are a lot of gems, but they happen to be brief and hard to locate. If you do not have the patience, there is always Pollard for entertainment value. Whether channeling Peter Gabriel-era Genesis (here and there), chunneling Eddie Vedder (“Outlasting Garafalo”), or funneling Bill Murray’s “Carl Spackler” character from Caddyshack (“George Took a Shovel”), his chameleonic voice, singing his peculiar words, is always going to be a main attraction. He is always “on.” Fortunately, Tobias is more than up for the role of spirit guide. Listening to Sgt. Disco is often like turning your radio’s dial with random curiosity. But even fast-tuning stations and catching and repeating brilliant bits in between the static can be a lot more fun than it sounds.
More about: Circus Devils
