Getting out of bed got you down? Sick and tired of battering your already anxiety-ridden headspace with twisted sounds? Why let noisemakers like D/P/I and Pharmakon call you to parse out the boundaries of the body and the canonization of the uncanny when you could let Logo My Ego take your mind off things? From the makers of Black Dice, these 30 minutes of music promise to be your favorite album, whether you’re couch-dancing, surfing the World Wide Web, or just looking for some aconceptual fun. And wait, if you act now, you’ll get Ms Pretzel — a groovy EP of almost equal length — at no additional emotional cost!
Don’t ask why; don’t reply! But you don’t have to take my word for it, hear it from the artist himself: “I enjoy finding the things that I like and having enthusiasm at the end of the day — liking it without knowing why. … I want people to be psyched with Logo My Ego. I want it to be their favorite record.”
For some of us, it is. Considered one of the best albums of the year by several members of the Animal Collective forum I frequent, the latest full-length from Eric Copeland is a squirming collage of tempo-sliding, pitch-changing loops that morph and ooze into actually groovy grooves. It all works to evoke a pleasant sort of nothing-reaction, while still filling you up: auditory munchies.
Still, this is the same music-maker responsible for “Alien In A Garbage Dump,” where you have to wade through six minutes of fucked-up shit to stumble upon a blissful jam that’s out-of-this-world and then over before you know it. The album is chock full of crunchy, unearthly noises from the dregs of who knows what VHS hell. But, in keeping with his brand, Logo My Ego never feels difficult. It’s stoned at heart and weird on top, but always enjoyable.
The album mostly forgoes the head-rattling bass of his live shows and past work for airy, sort of faded jams that are decorated with the noise-concrete flirtation of Strange Days. “Trophy Nuts” sounds like a 90s workout video soundtrack phased out and smeared beyond recognition into a steel backbone for woozy vocal snippets and shaky percussion. Copeland’s sample-work has been honed into an instantly recognizable voice, but the album shouldn’t be written off as merely more-of-the-same, because with his freewheeling pastiche-composition comes bizarre sounds worth hearing. “Uncle Sam’s Blues” is one of his most ear-catching songs in years, a haunted house party track whose warped loop gets buried alive by a bounding, pounding bass synth, swirls of cut-up voices, and drowsy chords. Although it’s not a particularly exciting album, it is exciting to hear him so rough-edged and unfettered — pulp not from concentrate — easy to chug. His intuitive ear for rhythm and sounds is very much intact.
Logo My Ego is a fun and often engaging listen. The songs come together like the album’s cover to resemble something friendly, strange, and with assembly required. If you’ve been on board The Black Dice Express this long, you’ll likely find plenty to love here. By the time the sauntering chug of “Workin” abbreviates itself into a triumphant loop and squeals out a finale, the message is clear: Unwind.