The art, avant garde, parody band knows as Substance W isn't a group to be listened to so much as being one that should be experienced. In recognition of this, the following review isn't something that should merely be read, but is instead an article to be experienced. It might seem like this review is made up of random, collected thoughts from several different authors thrown together and baked into a casserole - and that's because, it is. Whatever you grasp or are unable to comprehend from this review - know that here at Potluck S we LOVE Substance W. Since "Spring Session W" is such an unconventional album, we wanted to write an unconventional "review." So here goes:
___________________________________________________________________
Substance W - Spring Session W
It's the dawn of spring, flowers are budding and blooming, and one hears a retro-synth extravaganza introducing you to the strange feeling that you're standing in a very twisted, children's playroom. In your mind, you're having visions of Chuck-E-Cheese on crack. Suddenly, you're transported outside, hearing obscure sounds and voices, then a song resembling the Beatles "Taxman" is echoing through the streets, but it makes you wonder if the Beatles' tour bus ran into Steely Dan's, with the pieces of the crash flying around and eventually landing in Pee Wee's playhouse - where along with this, there's an occasional cameo appearance made by George Gershwin. Since the Easter holiday is still quickly approaching, traffic gets stopped because of an Easter Parade, and Irving Berlin lyrics are being recited above some extremely warped jazz. After the parade, you attend the first baseball game of the season, and you're feeling good. You're feeling a little strange, but good. Some accomplished musicians are playing in the ballpark, including an excellent banjo player reflecting shades of Bela Fleck and the Fleck-tones fusion. Suddenly, here comes Peter Cotton-tail accompanied by an 80's-esque synth riff not unlike Men without Hats, with a lead vocal that's subtle, yet sounds remarkably similar to Neil Diamond. While noticing some truly excellent guitar playing, you're thinking - this is truly eclectic. It's even eclect-icity. In fact, this is pure eclect-asy. But still, your bizarre adventure has only really just started, because then you think you hear the most warped version of a song playing you thought you'd never hear again after leaving your 4th grade flute-o-phone music appreciation class. Can it be? No, surely it's not. Yes, it is. It's "Hot... Cross... Buns." At this juncture, you enter a residential, commercial album area and you're confronted by an Easter Woman covered in western apparel. She frightens you. You try desperately to regain the good feelings you had in that ball-park again but this time you're hearing a strange child chant in your head the words "let's go Dodgers" - so you run from the voice and stagger into a beach-side club where there's a cool, surf-rock band playing that's not unlike Dick Dale or the Safaris. The band rocks your brain with jammin', heavily reverberated guitar, sax, and naked organ bites. You thoroughly enjoy it, until you realize... they won't stop. You think they've stopped, but they haven't. Ok, now they'll stop. But, no. So... you go get the ax, and while you're using it a random thought suddenly enters your brain:
A boy's best friend is his mother.
Then, after briefly remembering the joy you experienced back at the ballpark lounge, thoughts of your own mother appear in your head, and you begin to sing to her. Your song about your mother sounds vaguely similar to Pink Floyd, except when she sings back to you, she does so with the voice of a chipmunk with emphysema. Things then get extremely chaotic and you're surrounded by dark-side noises including clocks, simulated cash registers, and saxophones. Still, you try to express your true feelings to your mom, but then you have a personal crisis. So much so, that you even call the Police. You tell them that every girl you go out with, becomes your mother in the end! As if that's not frightening enough, you realize that YOU are now... ELVIS! (during the cheezy, Vegas years). In sheer terror, you hang up the phone and run back to the ballpark. After bumping into a reincarnated Jimi Hendrix, you realize that spring can really hang you up - especially when things go lo-fi in a way that makes you think of a Duran Duran night mix being used as a video game soundtrack. Then, out of nowhere... it's Cole Porter! (or so you think). What are you listening to? You're not certain. Is this an actual phonograph recording? You're sure that it is until you hear cartoon noises accompanying the charge to "misbehave." But if this isn't vintage, how can it feature such a prolific clarinet player? You ponder all this while enjoying a movie-soundtrack-like version of a tune from the Residents "Freak Show" album, and you run into a jazz guitarist who is exhorting you to "try Substance W." You're confused. You're certain you just did, but to make doubly sure, you go back to reliving the beginning of your spring session and re-start the experience all over again.
___________________________________________________________________
Needless to say, Substance W's "Spring Session W" is unlike anything you will ever experience. If you like The Residents, Dread Zeppelin, Neil Diamond, They Might Be Giants, Pink Floyd and Aluminum Tadpole, there's a good chance you'll like Substance W. That is, unless, you can't handle all your food being "mixed."
If you're in a college dorm-room, this is the perfect album to have playing in the background during a group study session (trust us on this one). It's possible that a few of your "friends" might become enemies, but... who needs 'em? Those kinds of "friends" can stay out of the kitchen from now on.
By all means, check out Substance W's "Spring Session W" as available at Worst Kitchen Records.
