John Maus: We Must Become The Pitiless Censors Of Ourselves

John Maus
We Must Become The Pitiless Censors Of Ourselves
Rating: Tragicistani

Pretentious, juvenile, hipster, grating, annoying, amateurish, poorly produced, weak song writing; these are some of the words that come to mind when listening to John Maus' opus of horrendousness, We Must Become The Pitiless Censors of Ourselves, which by the title alone attempts to announce itself as high art. Wikipedia's entry on him is equally pretentious, noting he is working on a PHD in political philosophy, was expelled by the university for "malfeasance," and that his interests in music switched from experimental music and performance art to "Pop Music" (capitalization from the original) after working with Ariel Pink as a keyboardist. From the first mention of Ariel Pink, I should have known I was going to have issue with this record. Ariel, however, while mostly a train wreck, knows how to put together a great pop song. Maus, on the other hand, has far too many ideas and no clue how to put them together coherently. Somewhere in this mess of an album are some sparks of ideas that are screaming for a producer with a heavy editing hand, unfortunately, Maus never gives them any life whatsoever.

"Streetlight" begins with bargain basement synths and canned drum beats under moaning, distorted vocals, sounding like Peter Murphy/Ian Curtis drunkenly slurring through a megaphone at the bottom of the ocean.



And it just gets more painful there. "Quantum Leap" matches Maus' carnival freakshow vocals with screaming guitars, chunky bass, and casio keyboards. When it finally locks into sort of a groove, Maus kills it with a painful, screeching guitar solo.



Possibly the worst song of the year is the torturous ear worm that is "Matter of Fact," cribbing Munsters-style organ and keyboards over a clompy beat, and sing-songy vocals that are impossible to get out of your head due to the infantile nature of lyrics such as "pussy is not a matter of fact."



The album sounds like it was recorded in a wind tunnel, with the instrumentation mashed together like oatmeal, impenetrable and uninviting. "And The Rain" is all one tone, like cats banging on instruments.



"Keep Pushing On" feels like leftover chillwave mixed with the sound the killer makes in Friday the 13th.



"Head For The Country" takes early 80s funky synths and tinny drum machines with Maus' portentous vocals, then apparently hits the presets on his analog keyboard to use every single sound he can.



There is almost little to like on this record. The only small glimmers of hope are on the cover/remake of Molly Nilsson's "Hey Moon." Sung with Nilsson, the low-key instrumentation suits the lovely ballad, and for once, working with Nilsson's beautiful voice, Maus' voice is bearable.



"The Crucifix" has an Speak And Spell-era Depeche Mode charm to it, though Maus finds a way to ruin it with ridiculous vocals and lyrics.



And "Believer" actually has a good mix of driving bass and chiming synths that anchor the song instead of letting it fly all over the place. It is one of the few songs that actually feels like a song.



I guess I just don't "get" this record. Looking at the nauseatingly obtuse PR release from the record label, this is what I am supposed to understand:

"Unlike the last two albums, 'Pitiless Censors' looks towards the future in all its absurdity. It's a record where promise takes the lead for the first time, providing a counterpoint to John's default existential calling....
The everyday realm where our lives seem both familiar and equally strange is where John Maus resides. His surreal touch is disarming, opening our eyes to the reality outside the four walls. Perhaps we're all like "the human being who finds himself in the locker" in "Head For The Country" in that, if we surprise ourselves and open the door, we can let the light in despite the storm."

The release gets the absurd part of the record correct, that is for sure. And poor production and mixing is not a "surreal touch," and is certainly not what is the only disarming thing about this album. I like experimental music, however, it has to be done with some sense of purpose. This record has absolutely no purpose whatsoever.

Rating Guide

Chilfos: masterpiece; coolest thing I've heard in ages.

Woof Daddy: excellent; just a hair away from being a masterpiece.

Grrrr: very good; will definitely be considered for my top releases of the year.

Yeah Daddy Make Me Want It: good; definitely invites further listens and peaks one's interest for more material.

Meh: not horrible, but certainly not great; could have either been polished, trimmed, or re-thought.

Jeez Lady: what the hell happened? Just plain bad. They should hang their heads in shame and be forced to listen to Lady Gaga ad nauseam as penance.

Tragicistani: so bad, armed villagers with pitchforks and torches should run the artist out of the country for inflicting this abomination on the human race.