Quicksand/Cradlesnakes
Califone
Published by Chicago Blacklist

Chicago’s a remarkable city for music. There’s a lot of it, for one. Furthermore, you get a sense that tune-savvy Windy Citizens pride themselves for not happily hosting every flyer-pushing careerist with a gig bag on his back. And “band” tends to mean a main somebody and a collection of folks he/she has brushed up against in the previous three months or so. As a result, you’ve got a slew of multi-instrumentalists and gadget heads. You know, like, if that drummer over there hits like a clock, you damn well better bang on skull bells or some shit. And unless it’s a side-project, your roots music better be packin’ some tape loops (reckon Chicago’s kinda close to that Middle America place).

No problem there. In the mid-’90s, when grungies were whacking their hair farms and sophisti-beats were gentrifying everything from shock rock to torch songs, Chicago realized it had much to pat itself on the back for. Red Red Meat, for one, were exiling themselves on Main Street and doing a fine job of it. And Califone -- today’s remnants of that band plus revolving cast -- are a sight better than most at mining the blues with a sense of purpose.

Quicksand/Cradlesnakes is mostly a bizarre Americana record -- without all those American traditions involving comprehensibility and clear references to chicks. “Braid your sins into its mane / And kick it to the county line” is Main Meat Tim Rutili’s salvo on “Horoscopic.Amputation.Honey,” which announces the disc’s cryptic-rustic proceedings with gorgeous dabs of piano and pockets of tuned noise. “Your Golden Ass” is hyper steel blues and drugged-up crime drama, while “When Leon Spinx Moved Into Town” is a buzzing front-porch guitar duel with poetry breaks (let’s be clear that this guy writes very cool lyrics). Mountain music appears in various damaged guises, and pop crops up with “Vampiring Again,” a tune recalling Kurt Cobain in more ways than one.

Why is it that enigmatic songwriters are increasingly spreading their stock chords over a bed of sound collage? Is it cinema? A sign of the times? Whatever; in capable hands like Califone’s it invites thought and discovery. It’s not purist to say, but folk sometimes needs a facelift. Quicksand makes it look good.

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