New - Blank Banker - Intervallic Travails - LP

As the opening track from Intervallic Travails begins, the listener might be forgiven for thinking they were hearing an outtake from Polvo’s Exploded Drawing sessions: the roomy drum sounds; the interwoven guitar lines, both bendy and heavy-riffy; the complex noisiness that also rocks at an elemental level. A sharp intake of breath is audible just before the vocals kick in, a last gasp before leaping into a whirlpool.

Blank Banker has always moved easily between avant-garde post-rock complexity and more accessible grooves and melodies: they can rip through a cover of “Barstool Blues” that rocks harder than Crazy Horse and then bend your head with a weird combination of notes and rhythms that might in brief flashes remind you of shit you like, but which doesn’t sound quite like anything you’ve ever heard before.

The guitar tones on Intervallic Travails are the highlight, as usual on a Blank Banker record, with Orion Layton and Andy Rench cycling through a diverse range of carefully hewn sounds. The popping-and-crackling sustained chords that undergird “Fault” sound like guitar strings simmering in hot oil. Layton has been pushing the boundaries of guitar-driven indie/post-rock with Blank Banker since the 1990s, and he’s cultivated a distinctive and individuated style. These guitars never sit still for a second, stretching and bouncing and bobbing and weaving in and out of the vocal melodies. Familiar source material and influences rise to the surface from time to time: a brief sequence that evokes early Sonic Youth (“School”), or maybe late Walkmen (“Tomcats”); traces of speed metal (“Cairn”); the ubiquitous echoes of Ash Bowie; even flashes of Steely Dan and prog rock. But the combination, anchored by the airtight, propulsive rhythm section of Neal Markowski and Jon Strasheim (Daddy’s Boy), is pure Blank Banker.

Layton is the rare guitarist who consistently lays down dynamic, compelling lead-guitar sequences—I don’t want to call them “solos,” as they completely eschew wankery and cliché—that always take the listener on a trip full of unexpected turns, smoldering depths, and surprising eruptions, like the best of Mascis, Martsch, or Young (check out the second half of “Anna’s Laminate” for a prime example).

The lyrics and song titles might have you reaching for a dictionary (see “Iantaculum”), but the wit and wordplay are as satisfying as the guitar theatrics (“There’s no anomie amongst anemones”!). Definitely listen to these songs with the lyrics visible, so you can appreciate the sheer genius of rendering a line like “What kind of psycho keeps on smiling, / right through the bleakest stage of late capitalism yet? / Is he insouciant?” as singable and even catchy (“Theme from BB”).

The standout track on Intervallic Travails is “Orange Couch,” which begins in familiar Blank Banker territory, with an extended intro and lyrics that evoke what sounds like a therapeutic solo ayahuasca trip (or maybe just some exceptionally strong gummies): “under an Afghan blanket on an orange couch / Doors of perception / were opened wide.” The opening section never returns (once the meds kick in), as the guitar tones dissolve into what sounds like giant gears grinding to a halt before relaunching as a ridiculously catchy and delightful up-tempo staccato chording thing and a downright fucking jaunty bass line (“Look at the self / from far away / changing the self”). The color scheme of this song—this trip—has completely transformed. It might be my favorite transition in any song I’ve ever heard. Every time it comes around, I smile. I don’t want to say it sounds “poppy,” but the infectious appeal is akin to that of a great pop song. The band rides out on this part for a couple of minutes, with variations and intensifications, but always sounding like a sprightly stroll in the sunshine.

The first “Theme from BB” sounds something like Polvo fronted by Frank Black. The “Other Theme from BB” closes out the album with a sound that suggests a stoned take on a campy soundtrack to a 1960s spy-themed TV drama—or maybe a chopped-up re-edit of the Logjammin’ theme in The Big Lebowski. The distance spanned from one “Theme” to the other encapsulates the trip that is listening to this new album: moments of distortion, chaos, and outrage resolve into surprising moments of playfulness, beauty, and even calm. Intervallic Travails is bookended by theme songs that couldn’t sound more distinct from each other, yet the combination makes perfect sense as a sonic effort to define “BB.”

Matt Mitchell