A couple of years ago, I wouldn’t have considered the concept of AI to be something drawn from the vivid imagination of a William Gibson or Isaac Asimov sci-fi novel. So, to now have a client who is an AI-derived, sentient, simulacrum shows you how quickly the world moves on. (Or how far behind the curve I usually find myself.)
For those not following the plot, Millie Sievert (my most extraordinary client) was time-napped from her Edwardian idyll by Faust Jones, lead singer with eNuminous & Archimedes, and brought, along with numerous other audience members back to that band’s own space/time location, i.e., here and now. Ever the adaptable lady, Millie has quickly warmed to her new timeline, formed a band of her own, released music, and is currently running around and having adventures with the aforementioned Faust. Got it? (I know, if this wasn’t an actual sequence of real events, you’d think you were in a Michael Moorcock novel…and who is to say we aren’t.)
Faust Jones and The Chronologically Impaired bring us their debut album, though obviously, in the future, they may release albums in earlier timelines, so who knows where this will eventually fit into the musical back catalogue. As predicted, it is an eclectic and sonic scattergun affair, kicking off with “Wordhunt”, a blast of hip-hop poetry put to a rock-funk rhythm and “Bacon Jam Dreams,” which follows, is a rock-soul groover.
But, as expected, things take a strange and sudden turn into new realms very quickly. “Dog Died (The Perfect Country Song)” is both a fine country song and possibly also a perfect parody of it.
We find ourselves in bluesy-classical guitar realms with “Caminos de Dolor” doing funky, bass-driven moves with “The Quantum Physics Shuffle” and traversing ethereal pop-scapes with “Red Floating Lady,” which features none other than Millie Sievert herself on vocals. “Dreaming of Wild Blackness” is this mercurial album’s perfect anthemic, nu-metal finish.
It is an eclectic album, but when it is made by people for whom even time isn’t a restraint, the idea of genre becomes equally irrelevant. And here’s something for you to ponder. What if Faust, Millie, or any of her time-displaced friends have already been back to certain points and places and influenced the course of music history? What if it was Faust who showed Elvis those controversial moves or made sure that Malcolm Maclaren became the manager of the Sex Pistols? What if Millie was hanging around South Bronx and showed Cool Herc and Afrika Bambaataa how to rewire stereo turntables so that they could scratch records and invent hip-hop, or if she was the guiding voice that made sure that Robert Plant was the selected auditionee when Led Zeppelin was coming together?
None other than Joe Strummer told us that “The future is unwritten,” but I wonder if a certain Edwardian time traveller told him to say that?
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