Cult Maze
35, 36
© 2007 Cult Maze (842841069514) (format: CD-R)
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Anthemic guitar licks and post-punk/math-rock undertones
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From tinymixtapes.com:
It’s no small feat finding a balance between the nonchalant looseness that at least partially defines indie rock as a genre and the cohesiveness generally necessary to draw in listeners. Many bands careen off in either direction, resulting in something more avant with little chance of building an audience, or something far too banal for hipsters to rock out to; but, judging by their second release, 35, 36, Cult Maze appear to have no trouble avoiding these pitfalls.
The mastermind here is singer/guitarist Jay Lobley, who sounds eerily similar to Tom Verlaine with both his chosen instruments. Still, Lobley comes off as no copycat. His style is more forthright, confident, and — dare I say? — ballsy. This especially comes through in his guitar playing, when Cult Maze seamlessly move from delicate and layered to aggressive and dense. To the unsuspecting, "Slow Vein" will likely provide a swift kick to the ass with its dynamic shifting from quirky, lean synth pop to muscle-flexing riff rock. Of course, the core of the sound is more the former than the latter, but the way these bursts of uncharacteristic ferocity serve to contextualize the more subdued moments is elegant, and bespeaks the maturity of this young band.
Although Lobley’s voice has that "on the verge of cracking" timbre to it, it’s kept anchored by the solid foundation of supporting musicians. Andrew Barron’s drumming is controlled and versatile, ready to build to a fury or disintegrate to a whisper whenever appropriate, and Joshua Loring’s bass and guitar allow for some nicely textured interplay. Perhaps the most underutilized element is Peet Chamberlain’s keyboard wizardry; in the songs where it shines ("My Head," "Slow Vein," "Sticky Limo," "Wethouse," and "Never Lever"), it really makes an impact, and I can’t help but pine for it when it’s absent. Still, that’s a minor mark against an album that pleases from start to finish and seems destined to be a breakthrough for a deserving band.
From the Portland Phoenix:
There’s talk that Cult Maze are the best rock band in Portland right now. No longer young up and comers, songwriter and guitarist Jay Lobley, bassist/keyboardist Peet Chamberlain, drummer Andrew Barron, and bassist/guitarist Joshua Loring have paid their dues with more than two solid years of gigging and an ambitious-if-uneven debut album in 2006’s Ice Arena. They now find themselves with a consistent draw and a sophomore album in 35, 36 that sparkles with 10 songs full of intelligent indie-pop songwriting, biting melodies, and inventive arrangements. I’d call them mature if I didn’t think they’d be offended by it.
Cult Maze have taken what was a blurry picture of a band captured by Ice Arena and brought it into sharp focus. Transitions have been tightened, the sound is more thoroughly their own, and frontman Lobley has gained confidence in his vocals, which probably wouldn’t win anybody over on American Idol, but are now distinctively attractive and enough to stamp his imprimatur on the album as a whole without that being a problem. He’s something like the Shins’ James Mercer with his plaintive wail, mixed with the grittier and sneering Morrissey — and his guitar style apes Johnny Marr to boot.
Even better, you can now understand Lobley’s lyrics, which may bend toward the absurd sometimes, but often are poetic enough to say something universal in a way no one’s thought to say it before. The excellent “Treble Treble” opens with a spacey guitar line, joined quickly by the bass in a complementary melody line, then quickly fills out with a second guitar and drums and isn’t far from a Coldplay tune, though dirtier and a different manner of love-struck: “I want to tell you about my wife, and her dementia,” Lobley pipes up, “She’s made a point of making sense, in front of the dentist/Everybody likes to play it off like everything’s okay/but I’ll stay with her, you stay away/I’ll stay with her, you stay away.” The emphasis of the repetition weighs palpably, protective and self-pitying at the same time, and great to sing along with. At 4:03, it manages to feel too short when the lilting guitar line comes to an abrupt end. I want more of these wife-inspired turns of phrase: “Guess you’re rich so it’s okay, to spend so much on her birthday ... I guess I waited much too long/To dance to your song/Cuz the most important thing to do/Is to shake what god gave you.”
There something so world aware about the song, like it’s referencing all of pop songwriting in one fell swoop (and I like the handclaps, too, which I’m told were definitely not producer Jon Wyman’s idea — not that he’s against their use).
Later, “Reggie Lewis” sprawls out page eight minutes, the equivalent to “On a Branch” from Ice Arena, another epic surrounded by largely standard-length pop tunes. A Boston Celtic great felled by heart problems in his prime, Reggie Lewis’s 1993 death was traumatic enough for me that I know exactly where I was when I found out about it: peering over a guy’s shoulder as he barred me from his doorway in the middle of canvassing a Brighton neighborhood for a non-profit in favor idea of universal health-care (that wacky idea that’s infested the soft minds of every industrialized nation but ours). Here, Lewis serves as a touchpoint for a brother and sister. Is the life they live so temporary? When, at the 1:30 mark, everything falls away but the guitar and drums, seemingly being played across a vacant basketball court, it’s like the breath being knocked right out of you, before a rapid heartbeat of a keyboard steps in to introduce the first verse: “So she missed practice/well I need practice too/Every time she drops it, I laugh so hard/Every time the basketball bounces into the boulevard.” Before the second verse, the song reduces to the barest of scritched guitar and solitary keyboard line, from which Lobley escapes with this: “She wants me to see, the progress of her passing/When she throws the ball to me, I’m Reggie Lewis, she’s Reggie Lewis, too.”
Like Reggie Lewis before them, Cult Maze are homegrown stars in the making, maybe held back a bit by staying too much in their musical comfort zone. They’ve now done the equivalent of graduating Northeastern and tearing up a weak basketball conference. Next up? How about something along the lines of being the only Celtic player to record 100 or more rebounds, assists, blocks, and steals in a season? That’d be something.