When the last Secret Mommy full-length was plopped into my crowded lap, I thought, “Holy Shawshank, it’s like that Pringles commercial where all those happy-looking dingoes are playing the chip containers like bongos and you hear all sorts of mouth-based popping sounds and ... man, that’s just cool!” I looked around of course and realized I was talking to myself. That’s what it’s like to being a reviewer though; you state your opinions to a black hole and every once in a while you get feedback, mostly bad.
Anyway, while Very Rec was akin to placing daily life on a microscope slide and viewing it with your ears, it was mainly fascination with form that got my beak a-flappin’. The use of tennis-ball swats, mouth-thumbing, squash contests, and whatever else signified yet another journey into an unknown realm; but the concept of it all was much more rewarding than the actual music. As a result I find myself revisiting the album rarely.
Plays doesn’t play with itself, and thus takes steps toward remedying this problem. This isn’t the work of a tech-savvy wunderkind randomly splicing a vague conglomeration of rhythms/melodies together. Using a wider array of pre-recorded bits and implementing new, more cohesive stretches of sound, Secret Mommy are looking to hold, rather than vie for, your attention.
They succeed in taking a big stride forward while also backpedaling into novelty at inopportune times. Whenever they’re poised to hook your mouth and YANK you from the water, they tarry and lose an important catch, only to re-hook and go through the same process again. The new sense of purpose found on lovely future-forward techxplorations such as “A Bear at Hotel Cuba,” “To Burry a Tent,” and “String Lake” are lovely enough to cause a series of double-takes, but the obnoxious vocal scratches added to “Kool Aid River” and the tail-chasing of “Up on Mt. Okay” are worth only a glance, if that.
It’s confusing because Secret Mommy are capable of presenting great vocal snippets when they deliver them caringly enough. “I Can’t Get Down” features an Adam Mills (aka A. Skillz) rap that takes a voice-manipulation cue from a specific Madvillain track, and while the rest of the album doesn’t consistently flaunt a vocal presence, several random strips of singing blend delicately with the soft textures flowing and spooling around them.
Although it’s far from a landslide victory, in the end, substance wins out over style, an important trait for experimental artists to embody at the moment. While Plays doesn’t carry with it the seamless, attention-grabbing flow of, say, The Lemon of Pink, it’s a major evolution that will hopefully carry Secret Mommy to greater heights where composing is concerned. Until that time we must be content to enjoy their admittedly enjoyable — and yes, oft-maddening — quirks and yearn for that one, pure, perfect, yet-to-be-realized moment.
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