I woke up to the dubstep-esque percussion and whirly-gig keyboard intro of The Fatty Acids' "Creature" playing on my ipod alarm clock this morning. I'd been at the Riverwest Public House (again, I'll say it - a damn fine venue right next to Linneman's) over a month ago on a night they were slated to play there, but due to an obligation, could not stay to catch their set. I stopped by the merch table, however, and purchased a copy of their newest album, Leftover Monsterface just before leaving.  The guy manning the table saw me looking over their albums for a moment, indecisively trying to choose which among their four available was going to give me the best first impression.  He handed me Monsterface: "This one is awesome. They locked themselves in a basement when they recorded it." Huh. Intriguing. And sold.  

The CD sat in the passenger seat of my car for about two days.  On the third day it fell between the narrow slit between the back support and the seat itself. Two days later, while vacuuming out my car, I found it.  It actually startled me a little. Having fallen with the back facing up, I saw the photograph of a passed out (or drowned?) young man in a bathtub outside.  Leftover Monsterface in arial bold caps, song titles beneath. Huh. Intriguing.  I'd then owned the album for five full days, still having not even removed the cellophane wrapping. I snatched it up from the floor of my car, drove home and imported it into my itunes library.  I'd get to it eventually.  Days turned to weeks, and it remained unlistened to.  Didn't even come up when I had the entire library on shuffle during a barbecue I had last week.  I was holding pure gold and didn't even take the time to weigh it.  Bite down on it. Test its mettle.

This morning it happened. This morning I woke up to "Creature".  How surreal to have the first words you hear in the morning be the tonal elongated vocals of: "This is the creature we made, and then dressed in the winter.  Laughing at looks we would get with true even tempers..." Still, at the moment I was listening to it, I did not credit it to the artist. I had no idea whose music I was hearing, how this got on my ipod... or how I was ever going to get this song out of my head.  Looking at the screen, everything came together: The Fatty Acids. That's the CD I bought... when did I buy that? Huh. Intriguing. 

In case you aren't familiar, here's a few things I learned about The Fatty Acids. They produce abundant amounts of metabolic energy.  The heart and skeleton attach to them readily, but the brain has no use for them.  Yes, I'm still talking about the band.  While their lyrics come off as non-sensical surrealism, the structure, pace and energy of their music is what really makes them significant.  Once I was done digesting "Creature" (which took awhile, and was delicious), I took in Leftover Monsterface in its entirety. "Oven Mitts" was the next slice of pure musical nutrition I consumed.  Its a horn laden marching band tribute to, well - oven mitts, I suppose.  Apparently they hold some kind of importance to the ponderings of the permanence of what we manufacture in this world, and where our inspiration derives itself from.  Brain tried it, and couldn't make heads or tails - foot and fist felt it, though. And why wouldn't they? It's a marvel of guitar scale synchronicity and percussion deliberacy.  It's the half time performance at the high school football game, from the outer reaches of Paradigm Land.  Where the crowd shouts along and the bleachers tremble to the repeated refrains: "Oven mitts! Oven mitts!"  What the fuck. I don't know, it just feels right and good. 

Even the lyricless "Year of Dairy Products From The American Heartlands", a hammer fall drum and tinkling piano interlude, by title alone sets a mood and makes a mess of the space between making sense and making a statement.  And you have to give The Fatty Acids credit for that, if nothing else.  There doesn't need to be logic behind all that which is profound.  Sometimes you just don't know why it impacts you, but it does. It's like looking at a chair sitting alone in a room completely devoid of all else.  It says something.  It says everything.  Not only about itself, but about everything that has come and gone around it.  It says everything it has to say just by being there.  The Fatty Acids are the same way.  Their music does not need to be comprehended, it just needs to be perceived.  And make no mistake, they aren't just fucking around making noise.  The musicianship is rehearsed, accomplished and inspired.  There are stops and starts, changes in tempo and drastic shifts in structure - teeth and bones and heart that can only be wrought from free-thinking... non-thinking(?). 

 "Argentinian Mistress" speaks to this in volumes.  The track opens with a bouncy little keyboard intro completely polar opposite to anything else already established in the seven songs prior.  "If we were creative, we'd find a way to work this out," they offer, "Semantics and social norms - they leave my mouth with the taste of chemicals..."  Right on, brother. Still doesn't say much about this Argentinian Mistress you spoke of, but that's cool.  Let's just go with this.

All said, Leftover Monsterface is a shot in the arm booster for what can be accomplished with impeccable talent and unconcerned expression.  The Fatty Acids put no stock in the same kind of standards most artists adhere to.  They can establish a moment without forcing it on their listener.  Every track on Monsterface offers you little more than a moment of deliberation to make the decision of whether or not you are cool with this, and positively no room to decide why.  That's not really what they're about. What they're about is not really what it's about.

I'll admit, it took a little digesting to get that.

click the album cover to get your fix