Multiplied by the Oso

         I had to learn how to wade through the river of musical feces. Recommendations come from so many places and all you have is a half-charred oar with which to slog your way through. When you meet someone and you find any sort of musical connection, suggestions start flying and the paddling begins. You learn to whittle down how serious you take these ideas over time. Some people are absolute money when it comes to picking bands for you. Others, you just learn to placate. With this in mind, in the summer of 2006, in a small British seaside town, I had the typical "you gotta hear these guys" thrown my way while in the midst of being stabbed by a gangly chap with a large, inky needle in his mits.  I said "absolutely"(because, honestly, what else do you say in that situation?) and a fortnight later, flew back across the big pond to my homeland.
        Freshly scabbed with my first tattoo, I jumped online and searched "Minus the Bear" in hopes of not disappointing the only man to ever puncture me sweetly, yet forcefully. The name intrigued me and they had some oddly familiar and altogether hilarious song titles. Their site was advertising a new album out called Menos El Oso. Thanks to my six years of Spanish, I knew this meant "purchase the CD without listening", so I did. Why spend all those nights studying another language only to not follow directions when I finally have the chance?

Plus the shipping.

       A week later, a box arrived. Having not known any of their music, it took a very long time (read: two weeks) to become massively obsessed.  Often described as "math-rock", for me this wasn't a sound that conjured any equations, formulas or theorems. Au contraire. With sneakily sexual lyrics, killer drum beats catapulting the songs into another stratosphere of catchiness and obscure guitar parts, I had found a new type of band with which to become enthralled; a technically proficient one that had feeling.

       Now perhaps it's unfair to say that without knowing the true musical inner-workings of the other bands in my rotation. More often than not they were very accomplished musicians making tunes of which I couldn't comprehend the difficulty. But these guys seemed different. It's clear from the start these guys have chops; guitars slice in and out of your ears and drums belt out odd time signatures that remain stuck in your mind for weeks at a time. Everyone contributes to a full sound that can tip-toe along on cracked ice ("The Game Needed Me" or "El Torrente") just as easily as it can pulverize your concept of what you can dance to ("The Fix" or "Pachuca Sunrise"). Game on. 

        Even writing this now, after immersing myself in their sound for the 537th time, I have a hard time quantifying just what it is Menos does that makes me want to keep coming back. But this is one of those albums that surreptitiously slips into your car and three weeks pass before you realize it's all you've been listening to. Going to my first show after the initial immersion, it became clear that I was fixated on the drums. Erin Tate laid down funky, proggy, sexy-ass drum beats that I feel are the mortar to their uniquely cobbled together wall of sound. There is nary a song that just has a simple drum part plodding along. I challenge you to take an aural vacation on "The Game Needed Me" or "The Pig War" and try to count the number of changes in his parts. They are constantly shifting, advancing and creating, dragging the songs into another realm. The drums had captured my senses to the point that I wanted nothing more than to attempt to keep up.

        As made clear though from previous reviews, I'm clearly a man who enjoys his gee-tar. But, outside of a brief foray on "The Fix" and a few seconds on "Hooray", there really isn't even a guitar solo to speak of on the album. Instead, there are swaths of musical innovation where the band is working as one to bridge musical ideas. Menos El Oso helped to bring me to a place where I could listen to and subsequently appreciate guitar in a different way. It wasn't always about waiting for the monster riff or the big payoff solo. The snaking interplay between Jake Snider and Dave Knudson is masterful. Check out the ping-pong intro on "The Fix" or the metronomic dance that is the verse of "Michio's Death Drive". They alternate between laying down a drum-like rhythm and barrelling between each other with riffage, often within the same song. Doing so helps deliver a wonderful dynamic that makes these songs as unique as they are enjoyable. 

Minus the loincloth.

      It comforts me to know that you can appreciate music for different reasons. When talking about these songs, rarely do I find myself appreciating the same aspects as my friends. Everyone has their own part, instrument or innovation that they attach themselves to. Once I hurdled the idea that music didn't have to strictly be about emotion, a new world opened up, filled with technicality. While these songs certainly do have their fair share of heartbreak and insecurity buried within if you delve deeper into them, it was not these things that attracted me. Instead this was a band that allowed me to realize it was OK to love a unique sound that's jam-packed with talent, a sentiment Rush fans have been trying to convince me of for years. 

Final Score: .95 You're Living All Over Me's