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BACK
 PELICAN
- Amplifier Worship
By Chris Dick
If Black Sabbath’s trademark sulfur and brimstone blues-singed
riffs propelled Rock ‘N’ Roll in an entirely new direction
(Heavy Metal) in 1970, there’s a new breed of riff-mongers
taking the same idea, twisting it, turning it, and blazing a new
trail 30 years later. The path is strewn with the good, the bad
and the ugly, but recent memory puts a select few in the upper echelon
as purveyors of the mighty Riff. One such six-string metallic maven
is Chicago’s Pelican, who, with the release of the fantastic
Australasia, redefined Heavy with smart use of spacious major and
minor chords, warm production and the ability to translate a myriad
of emotions without even saying a word.
Formed out of progressive grindcore outfit Tusk, Pelican’s
steady, massive march-like rhythmic gait shares more in common with
ISIS, Godflesh, Melvins and Boris than, say, Napalm Death, Creation
Is Crucifixion and Converge. As an instrumental band, there’s
an interesting position that no instrument receives precedence in
the songwriting—no wailing solos, extended drum breaks or pretense.
Pelican’s Australasia is a singular force, and unlike most
bands of similar style, by the time the album is completed, the
abuse that is life feels muted, distant. Australasia, in many respects,
is the salve for all those years of Slayer, Carcass, Darkthrone,
et al.
"As individuals the members of Pelican constantly use music
as a primary mediator in our lives," explains guitarist Trevor
de Brauw. "Music is more or less a conduit for our emotions,
from outrage to relaxation. The four of us are all into heavy bands
whose sound is warm and full, thence becoming relaxing. Australasia
was intended to have that warm, saturated guitar sound—to have
structures that both felt like drifting, but followed conceived
patterns of riffs. We wanted the record to be both relaxing and
engaging."
Indeed it is. Difficult to imagine a record like Australasia to
be heavy, relaxing and engaging, but the album’s six songs
flow seamlessly to form an hour-long foot-tapping, introspective
escape. From the mountain-collapsing power of "Drought,"
the (nearly) beautiful melody that pins "gw" to the blissful
acoustic solitude of "—", Australasia works in mysterious
ways to involve, not suffocate, the participant. De Brauw reveals
how the album came together after the release of 2003’s self-titled
EP.
"We started stretching back to our roots— to punk bands
like Indian Summer, Jawbreaker, Uranus, etc.—and into more
historical rock sources. It’s likely to sound ironic, but I
think the more uplifting pieces started coming when we were beginning
to listen to Yes— at the same time Laurent and I were modeling
our guitar collaborations after bands like Thin Lizzy and Iron Maiden.
It’s never been a problem integrating the more uplifting material
into our sets—to us it just sounds like our music regardless
of whether it is uplifting or despondent."
Most music, even on the heavier end of the spectrum, is centered
on a vocalist. The vocalist is often the catalyst that carries the
music, reinforces the melody lines or provides the message. There’s
a natural feedback loop in the music and lyric process in which
participants can identify with the artist, and use that information
for a variety of purposes—reading Lovecraft, for example, usually
was sparked by Metallica or Morbid Angel. For Pelican, to say no
such vehicle, like a vocalist, is present is not only misleading,
it proves that traditional rules don’t always apply. Imagine,
for a second, if Black Sabbath had recorded album (this year) of
instrumentals like "Supertzar," "Laguna Sunrise"
or "Fluff" with the same mindset they had in the ‘70s,
and it’d probably sound a lot like Pelican’s instrumental
mantra.
"Laurent [Lebec; guitars] and I have always been into working
with song structures that don’t really revisit motifs,"
says de Brauw of the way he and his fellow bandmate write songs.
"Most Pelican songs unfold by introducing a riff, adding some
variation to it, and then evolving off of that variation into something
new and not going back to the initial riff again. It lends the songs
a feel of constant evolution, and doesn’t leave much space
for a vocalist. In the several bands we did before Pelican (and
in Tusk, currently), these types of song structures proved to be
very difficult to write lyrics to, as they violate so many people’s
conceptions of how to write and sing lyrics—there’s no
verses and no choruses, just stream of consciousness. So for us,
at least, it is way easier to be instrumental because it cuts out
the lengthy lyric writing process. That doesn’t necessarily
mean that writing compelling instrumental songs is easier, more
that we’ve always sort of tread this more difficult path of
song writing."
Yes, even without a Robert Plant or an Ozzy Osbourne, Pelican’s
brand of heaviness is appealing to a wider audience now that they’ve
joined the Hydrahead Records roster (Keelhaul, Cave In, etc.). Strange
to think that not more than a few years ago, Pelican was aground
as a side-project, but now that Australasia is garnering the group
more and more acclaim, de Brauw and company have their hands full.
And that’s a good thing.
"We’ve got so much in the works it’s difficult to
remember it all," comments the guitarist on the maddening items
on Pelican’s to-do list. "We will do a brief tour of the
West Coast. Right when we get back we will be heading into Electrical
Audio to record two new songs—one of which will be paired with
a James Plotkin remix of "Angel Tears" from Australasia
to comprise our side of a split recording with our friends Growing.
That record should hopefully come out by late summer on Hydrahead.
In August we will be crossing the sea for our first European tour.
Also in the works will be a split recording with the band Floor,
also on Hydrahead, though the release date of that is still to be
determined."
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