The avantgarde isn’t such a tough playing field because of the high quality associated with the term, but because any expression that is opposed to familiar or popular form can veer so easily into the grotesque and become a mockery of honesty and subtlety. This is where you will find satire denounce it as mere neurosis, as indicator of self-obsession. But then, this is also an easy way to dismiss any art that actually takes risks, that is intimately personal and a unique reflection of the creator, without any desire to please imaginary spectators.
Thus it came to be that Sprain’s second album The Lamb As Effigy ruffled a lot of feathers. With a runtime of 96 minutes, an incredibly long sub-title and a complexly interwoven symbolism that included the titular lamb, Christian anxiety, self-hatred and nightmarish scenes of artistic panic – all presented in a tight fitting corsage of noises, post-rock and neo-classical – was either the greatest thing to happen that year, or the very worst, depending on who you ask.
I personally did appreciate the record quite a bit, even if I thought that its occasional dip into grotesque humour was strange, and the overall choices were a little too indicative of the artists’ influences. Still, it was a promising and occasionally truly riveting album that’s unlike what you find nowadays. Still, my review might or might have not resulted in frontman Alex Kent reaching out via instagram and letting his dislike be known. If such an interaction took place, by modern standards of the internet, would make us old buddies at this point. The tension on Kent after The Lamb‘s release must have been monumental – only days later, Sprain had broken up, with various narratives as to why making the rounds. The, to my knowledge, only live performance of the material can be found on YouTube.
Returning with guitarist Sylvie Summons and a new band, Shearling are the logical consequence of Kent moving forward. On the illustriously titled Motherfucker, I Am Both: “Amen” and “Hallelujah”…, the music Kent and his new band present is even more bold, stranger, more complex and cryptic than its predecessor. If my small story is meant to indicate something, then it is that Kent is, first and foremost, a very passionate and thoroughly obsessed artist, who lives vicariously through his music. On The Lamb, I read this as intentional dark humour, as when the protagonist at one point refers to the small size of his genitals – possibly I was wrong. But then, “Amen” and “Hallelujah” presents the rear view of a horse’s anus on the front cover. The confrontational nature of this work – or Kent’s social media presence as a whole (he posts the same goofy ass bird over and over) – becomes interconnected with its expression of pain, sorrow, anger and frustration, a middle finger towards the very culture it exists in, wherein the critics and audience become (un)willing participators. To what degree is Kent performing the task of wildling?
If the album can provide a clear picture of this, then Kent has cleverly hidden it: “Amen” and “Hallelujah” comes as one 62-minute long track. Breathless and cataclysmic, the piece still has clear breaks where songs transition into each other – so: a demand of attention and commitment! Don’t enter if you have no desire to be forced.
Within, the lyrics abound, and run all over the place. There’s a return to Kent’s religious topicality, with him narrating bizarre scenes of the Garden of Eden, “Adam and Steve”, an all powerful horse (god? Judy?), fairly larger dicks than last time (via the horse, I presume) performing sex, and Kent entering himself into the narrative as he seemingly transforms into the horse, requesting to not be buried in Idaho. I forgot about two dozen other recurring images and topics – references to the pale emperor, who is also a naked emperor, seem hinted at, but too elusive to cut clear. Kent has, in a way, evolved his obsessions where they have blossomed into a cosmology so vast and sprawling, that they have borne themselves into pure metaphor. Kent, in a way, takes the position of Adam and Eve, now conscious of his nudity, and ashamed, but with this shame also comes a powerful urge to consume and dominate.
This struggle seems central to the story of the album, marking a, possibly, dysfunctional form of self-critique, which, in turn, works itself into Kent’s expression, as he sings: “This is my masterpiece / This is my magnum opus / This is my crowning jewel / This is my northern star sapphire / This my “Raft of the Medusa” / This is my Sistine Chapel ceiling / May a hail of arrows / Pierce the hearts of any would-be doubting Thomases / And dissolve the doubts of any would-be skeptics”. A line where he refers to slaughtering his Lamb even includes the possibility that the album chronicles the death of the author, where all ego attributed to an artwork dissolves within its sheer form.
And speaking of: the music of “Amen” and “Hallelujah” is nothing but mind blowing. Over the 62 minutes, Kent and his group create a densely woven tapestry that is more nuanced, more dynamic, more urgent and creative than any of the previous works Kent has lent his touch to. It’s hard to attribute individual movements, so an overview must suffice.
The noise-rock segments feel more composed, with harder edges and a clearer use of feedback as instrument – where on The Lamb, it seemed to suggest language of the titular creature (symbolising the literal feedback of an all-knowing audience), here it’s more colourfully dynamic, especially when they suddenly come crashing down in a wall of noise after the 36 minute mark.
Quieter passages, employing a vast variety of instruments recall Xiu Xiu’s dense early work, with Kent’s sinister whisper promising threats lovingly. There is a beautiful use of saxophones at one point, and multiple where rhythmic music associated with Brazil and Africa intrudes, presenting a strange, ritualistic carnival of souls. There are choruses, backwards masked drum parts that lend edges. At one point, all reduces to the minimalist chords of a banjo, accompanied with bells and a stern bass, as Kent ruminates on the sign of bisons thrust from cliffs.
Multiple tape segments introduce musique concrète elements that lend an intimate sense of physicality and oneiric otherworldliness – a visionary connection with “Strawberry Fields Forever”. It takes no absurd overthinking to amuse the notion this is the music John Lennon could make if he would still be with us today: challenging, very self-referential, operatic, bold, connecting with archaic images of psycho-analytical, but also grotesque, cosmology.
If there could be any doubt: this album is a brilliant, difficult and elusive work of art, which finally allows Kent to thoroughly connect with his inner demons and obsessions and also form his musical ideas in an embodiment of wholly unique vision. A review can only fail to fully subsume the sheer madness and artistic vigour within, as the magnitude of twists and turns, of strange and wonderful ideas is so constant and explosive. And while there certainly might be some moments where certain climaxes explode for two minutes longer than feels necessary, and the lyrical cosmology is hard to fully grasp within its dense web, these are just minor qualms in a greater, more dynamic statement. “Amen” and “Hallelujah” at no point seems to overstay its welcome, or lean too deep into the urge to over-exert its qualities. Where The Lamb left me hopeful that Sprain would go on to make more cohesive works, Shearling present a work that could grow to be one of the great cult albums of alternative music.
