Music reviews. CD reviews. Critically hip!

Ghostland Observatory is comprised of two men:  Aaron Behrens (the singer/dancing shaman) and Thomas Ross Turner (the guy with the cape behind the synthesizer).  Their live shows are legend and their output of recorded material is quickly nearing prolific magnitude.

There is pensive quality to the concoction of sounds that Ghostland regularly provides;   usually, a steady stream of sharp beats riding a wave of ambience emanating from Turner’s electronic bat lair.  If this stream were a candy road cobbled with gumdrops, it would find Behrens unleashing a rain dance as he strode down the shimmering path, beating back the boogedy banshees with vocal chords made of iron… or “mercury” for that matter.  It’s an interesting vision to behold, and one that came to mind while perusing the Ghostland Observatory catalogue.

As far as Robotique Majestique goes, it’s like shiny moss growing upon the sturdy roots that are their previous efforts.  It’s darker, more hollow, and disjointed.  However, it compliments the bubble of creativity that has been growing since their initial release, PAPARAZZI LIGHTNING.  When I say it’s darker I refer to the occasional forays into Trent Reznor territory that are displayed here in songs such as No Place For Me and HFM.  The beats and digital fuzz are foreboding and furry (like a black bear, not a koala).  When I say it’s hollow, I mean that the sound is more of a mechanized and less organic wallop that insists on movement of the feet and an increasing flurry of heart beats per second.  Putting you heart behind it is optional, but strangely enough… required.

Now, when I say that this album is disjointed I mean that these songs could’ve slid into the mesentery of the previous two albums and congealed better than they have here in the present track line-up of Robotique Majestique.  The individual songs are unmistakable as talented pop anthems.  Unfortunately, each song’s theme and mood has a finite start and finish that doesn’t lend well to an album structure.  The array of assorted vibes and jagwalks certainly make this feel like more of a “best hits” album.  All “best hits” albums are disjointed by nature, but damnit, doesn’t it take a really good band and a really fruitful career to even amass a “best hits” album?  These guys haven’t even been around longer than four years.  That’s all I’m saying about that.

To get a taste of what this band has to offer live let me refer you to their previous albums PAPARAZZI LIGHTNING and DELETE DELETE I EAT MEAT or, for that matter, their live DVD set from Austin, Texas.  This album is the icing on the previous two albums and, unless you like only eating the icing off the cake, you should certainly delve in to the other albums as a compliment to Ghostland Observatory’s vision apparent here on Robotique Majestique.

Give Dancin’ On My Grave, The Band Marches On, and Club Soda some deserved attention.  The Band Marches On is the one song on the album that nullifies my “hollow” statement with impassioned lyricism.  Club Soda could pop, lock, and drop it with anything coming out of Ed Banger and is a fitting end to a strong collection of tunes. 

Ghostland Observatory is one of the best new things in music right now and I couldn’t support a band any more than these guys.  Listen to them and then book some tickets to a show.  You’ll understand.