Karl Blau
Zebra
Rating: 8.5/10.0
Recommended Tracks: 1, 3, 6, 9, 10, 11, 12
RIYL: Low, Bark Psychosis, Durutti Column, Jeremy Jay, The Microphones
From among the most idyllic corners of the lo-fi indie underground, distinctly and ironically ensconced in the heart of the Great American Northwest, arrives the understated crepuscular sojourn of Zebra, performed by Karl Blau. At first listen, the music appears to explore an estranged minimalism that is quite familiar to the more stereotypical elements of the home-recording contingent of the indie rock scene. Upon closer inspection however, it becomes delightfully clear that Zebra is its own animal. Through the use of sparse and familiar instrumentation (bass, piano, vocals) along with a tasteful interlarding of idiosyncratic sound effects and a masterful sense of weaving disparate musical elements into the equivalent of an exquisite Persian carpet, a sophisticated artistic vision painstakingly crafted with maternal care emerges to transport the listener to a world of aimless, antidepressant-addled nocturnal strolls around the most mysterious and potentially dangerous corners of a mid-size town with small-town roots. Only ephemeral moments of whimsical distraction serve to lighten the overall mood, but despite their surprising staying power, the uncompromising darkness of a recent life-shattering incident and the associated futile attempts to repress it via a psychogenic fugue remain prominent and penetrating.
Tracks like “Waiting for the Wind” and “All Over the Town” express the aforementioned sentiment most clearly. “Waiting for the Wind” serves to introduce the listener to the meandering journey accompanied by the inclusion of random extrinsic atmospheric elements such as a wind chime on the porch of a nearby house working its simple sonic charm, and intrinsic elements such as childhood memories of the good ol’ days playing the Atari 2600 in the cool and musty basement for hours while remaining guileless as to its overwhelming recreational limitations. “All Over the Town” is perhaps the most intensely desolate and hopeless cut on the album, as the song is awash in the sounds of intense self-pity and pathos in a corner of town given to boxcar dreams and dark tunnels. The fact that such a cold, fearful sensation can be induced in the listener by bargain basement instrumentation playing softly is a testament to the resourcefulness and pithy artistry of Zebra — every sound on this album serves a vital purpose in advancing Blau’s vision.
On the other hand, every real-life sojourn is inured with inescapable randomness that completely belies the mood of the journeyman. “Crucial Contact” evinces an updated “Easy-Rider” feel that almost dares us to ask in a darkly playful way if our journeyman’s travels mirror that of the counterculture bikers. Concomitant with this is an implicit justification for the existence of this song, which is the realistic possibility of a motorcycle either whizzing by with maximum attitude or revving its
engine — with maximum attitude — in the distance. “Goodbye Little Song” brings to the listener’s attention reflections upon an inviolable oasis of happiness and security from the distant past. At an
abstract level, the sounds of this cut suggest the possibility that perhaps these memories were induced by a sudden, soothing breeze enveloping the sojourner’s face. “Ole Moon Smile” and its diminutive counterpart, “We Leave Empty-Handed” combine to highlight the mysterious and primordial power that the Moon exhibits on even the most despondent of travelers, whether it is through the dependable comfort of its faint light or the genial lunacy of its mere presence.
“Nothing New” and “Shovel Song” serve as an ambiguous denouement for the sojourner’s undefined emotional turmoil. “Nothing New” vacillates between a much-needed direct engagement of the personal issues terrorizing our sojourner and irresponsible flights of fancy serving to provide immediate but deceptive relief, while the effete “Shovel Song” is a painful depiction of the sojourn’s end, with its real purpose as an unsuccessful escape revealed, and the subsequent measured slog back to the apartment to face reality, starting with a 6AM wake up call in preparation for another turn as a cog within a cog in workaday America.
In conclusion, while Zebra is probably the worst possible album to listen to after a silent breakup and is quite likely to make any given listener indulge in morphine as quickly as possible, it is an artistic triumph of the first order. Why? Because in the least pretentious way possible, it conveys poignant emotional and visual imagery that is at once accessible enough for your grandmother from the boondocks to understand while enticing dreamers, coffeehouse aristocrats and other bohemians to
explore its more abstruse dimensions. This is highly recommended, especially for those who enjoy an oversized helping of wonderment and authenticity.
Related:
Karl Blau: Nature’s Got Away