| Essentially, the triad of Doseone, why?, and odd nosdam, along with their manifested-gut-wretch-poetry slide show, sprouted their straight-jacketed wings in Cincinnati, Ohio, before abandoning the alien Midwest for the choking skyline of Oakland, California. Completing their debut album within the corridors of Middle America in 1999 and 2000, the cLOUDDEAD lagoon had begun to bubble into the murky depths of a prehistoric swamp; complete with stomach-in-tongue free verse, and backed by nosdam's wondrous journeys through mind and space. Similar incarnations erupt from their second attempt, like riding Space Mountain with gas masks on, snorting rainbow pixie dust. As Ten marks the group a few years older with more acquired musical knowledge, the brandishing love for experimentation is still present, though stepping forth from the nucleus of the first release. Although a different feel and more musical in many regards Ten still gives that classic cLOUDDEAD vibe of cafeteria chatter amongst preschool children and those few seconds of thought before drowning on a sunny Sunday at the beach. Honesty and the idea of living successfully on the fringe of feeling are the basis for solidarity amongst many great musical compositions. Beginning Ten with "Pop Song" most definitely evokes those types of emotion; a mutual feeling in the backs of human's throats. A certain fluidity between Dose and why? with lines like "Sickly Mickey Mouse, Skinny Minnie Mouse" and "I've got my own blood and a descent depression line" set them apart, as writers, from anyone else working with words at this point in time. The impetus walk of their voices on your half-eaten spinal cord is revealed within the first track. This structure also shows the density of track layering from the depths of odd nosdam, the Grim Reaper of the shitty drum kit world, with his musty head nod snap. These artists' strong visions of self are creepily intertwined in "The Teen Keen Skip" addressing youngsters in this mischievous world. Later denouncing molecular structures with the question of giving God a tour of our lonely planet; a most dripple-drapple of words backed by off-kilter drum loops, an outer space dentist buzz, and blenders set on liquefy. "Rhymer's Only Room" with its slow, delayed chant, crawls its potency into your bones, leaving a deep, cold layer in the darkest regions of your body cavities. Ten steps into the midsection of the album with the colorful "The Velvet Ant" a singsong hippity hop exploration of America's farmyards, complete with keen-eye observation and sympathy for our "caged in" friends. Meanwhile, throughout this portion of the album, they touch on other subjects, such as gun control among riflemen and children. The sultry "Rifle Eyes" is a nomadic stroll across the states in a rented minivan, crucially telling stories with a much-respected sense of individualism. Honest observations are written well in neurosis-free verse, all summed up in the classic cLOUDDEAD drone. nosdam laces the track with his primitive-complex drum conglomerates, fake gunshots, and quivering lack of gravity's thickness. In the midst of all this, "Dead Dogs Two" is the resurrected portal of that certain urge to die in a car crash, all to the tune of some good organ play and flailing keyboard-ism. A good grotesque feeling, captured on a journey of East Oakland with deceased Canidae in front of the most beautifully blanketed blue sky. Rounding out Ten, is "3 Twenty" an ambient ride through haunted mansions only to find why?'s lyrical jousting, jabbing the anticipation of the up-and-coming black space. With highly relatable lines like, "Sometimes I feel like I'm a spoof of what I used to be," it's all coherently well written, even in the shortest of stanzas. Finally "Our Name," the concluding track, with its crunchy drum effects and coming to terms with the idea of their guilty pleasures. This song, sad and heavily dark, resembles more of a seance at 3AM in the most remote cemetery garden, with partakers wearing Dracula fangs, prancing in Blair Witch spasms. cLOUDDEAD has made a name for themselves with their 8-bit-attention, sci-fi jaunts through parts of the brain other artists don't even know exist. Solitude, self-loathing, along with uncut honesty shows the progressive nature these three contain as "artists." More of us need to explore the naked optical lens they view the world through, spawning a new birth of the child genius in all of us. Hopefully this isn't the last endeavor by these three because it seems to just keep getting better. - 30 Music |
1XLP/Out Of Print