Every day is another heart attack. Good Flying Birds mix tears with sarcasm on a daydream debut.
In the summer of 1896, a Parisian neo-impressionist painter, Paul Signac, arrived at the end of his three-day hike. He reached Noli, a picturesque town in the Savona province in western Italy. The harbour buzzed with noises, the sun melting everybody’s toes into the street.
Two years later, this scene became known to the world as Capo di Noli and Signac as the revolutionary painter behind a new idealistic style, pointillism. “I wanted to obtain extreme polychromy. I do not want one single centimetre of matt colour to remain, and I want to transform every bit of the painting into something extreme. If it gets a little garish, it can always be toned down.” Signan wrote in his diary while working on the painting.
The finished piece is a harmonious juxtaposition of brushstrokes, symbolic of an artist free of prejudice. The colours of the painting are vivid and rough and spill into each other. Almost 130 years later, Good Flying Birds’ first studio album balances on the edge of extreme, which Signac wrote about. “My favourite colour is gold.”
Mumbles a familiar Liverpudlian voice in the first few seconds of “down on me”, the frantic opener of Talulah’s tape, a debut record from the gentle Midwest rebels. Their sound is marked by the same colourful roughness as Signac’s painting.
Harsh strums, pounding drum beats, hyperactive bass, tambourine and vocals smudged by it all. These individual “dots” create a calculated and sharp sound that pulls you from one song to another with hectic energy.
The band’s lead vocalist and prime songwriter, Kellen Baker, described the process behind their first record in one interview: “It was very therapeutic and cathartic. Developing some ideas on the guitar that feel pretty unique to me, and finding myself as a musician – I didn’t really know it was possible. I stopped trying to do something and just let out what was rattling around inside. It was something I was releasing as a song and releasing emotionally.” Baker (who has been part of the independent Indianapolis music scene from the age of twelve) first met Luke Cornette at a New Year’s party three years earlier in Cincinnati. The two played a show together and later that year formed Talulah’s god with Ari Bales, Suzie Slaughter and Richard Edge.
First came a video for the second track on the album, gfb, on their YouTube channel. The visuals are saturated and blurred. It intercuts footage of birds feasting on oranges and nectar with moving children’s toys. After some time, Baker moved from Fort Wayne to Slaughter’s basement in Indianapolis.
It was there, between the cat boxes, where the first Good Flying Birds songs took shape. The whole album has a rough charm to it, and the meme noises only enhance it. It feels like you accidentally walked in on the band procrastinating during a rehearsal.
As relentless as the pace of Talulah’s Tape is, it’s filled with tender details. Whether it is the spilling stars sound effects on “fall away“, the soothing hum in “every day is another“ or the introspective lyrics of “glass“. Baker’s shouty vocals are supported by Slaughter’s firm, self-conscious voice on most of the tracks, one sometimes overpowering the other.
The last song on the album is also the longest. In the five overwhelming minutes, Baker begs you not to waste his time as his trumpet-like papaya Danelectro picks up pace, hurrying the song to its eventual feedback end.
Talulah’s Tape is like a dream you fully remember. No haziness, no uncanny fog, no annoyed looks from your friends as you try to recount the improbable plot. Just intentional chaos and a dotted sunset.
Musik Magazine
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Article by Inka Andera
