Up to this point, the chief appeal of Chilean duo has been the tone. Their first two albums — 2012’s Chapter II: Vulgo Gratissimus Auctor (review here) and their 2011 self-titled debut (review here) — practically shocked the listener once it was understood that there was no bass, and that guitarist/vocalist Néstor Ayala and drummer/backing vocalist Francisco Alvarado were creating that richness of sound with just the two of them. That and a burgeoning lean toward catchy hooks made particularly the second album and the band’s ensuing digital EPs and singles indicative of potential for something more intricate and skillfully crafted, and their third album, Plan B: Sin Revolución no hay Evolución, arrives self-released on CD/digital with vinyl due March 2014 on Bilocation Records as the realization of that potential. In the layers of Ayala‘s vocals and in the songs overall the band’s melodic sensibility has bloomed, and the 10-track/55-minute offering is all the more engaging for it. One is tempted to compare it on paper to Torche, who also blended thick tones, pop melodies and irresistible hooks to satisfying effect, but the reality of Plan B: Sin Revolución no hay Evolución is different, less upbeat musically and more socially themed in its lyrics, as heard on the extended “40 Years Ago,” which deals directly with the 1973 coup in Chile that saw the rise of Augusto Pinochet, even breaking in the middle to a long sample (in Spanish) of the news about the government being overthrown by the military before the lyrics (in English) return to decry the theft of natural resources for capitalist ends and land on repeating the lines, “Never again in our country.” That the words to that song and all the others save for the mostly-acoustic “Time to Flee” would be in English is even more interesting in the context of an anti-colonialist stance, but ultimately the album is about more than just that, with opener “Don’t See You Around” offering a laid back, rolling groove that catches the ear immediately and allows At Devil Dirt a platform from which to launch the varied explorations of “I Lost My Guide,” “Mommy,” “40 Years Ago” and so on.

Unmistakably, the mood of closer “There is Not a God or a Devil” is darker than a lot of the rest of Plan B: Sin Revolución no hay Evolución, and while “40 Years Ago” is mournful, then the finale is more horror-themed, but even in those last moments, At Devil Dirt hold to a psychedelia that sounds full and heavy and balanced. The inclusion of a cover of The Beatles‘ “Across the Universe” is telling, and that famous single is treated to a suitable rumble and vocal layering, but really, the songs showcase a diversity of spirit each almost unto itself, and where “Don’t See You Around” is practically dream-pop with tonal gravitational pull, “Conscience” takes more of a heads-down rush to get to its own strong chorus, more definitively stoner rock in its vibe, with rougher vocals over top of the continually-impressive low end. Those vocals still arrive in layers, whether it’s Ayala adding tracks to his own voice or Alvarado backing, and provide the uniting factor that ties much of the record together throughout the various shifts in mood and approach. The semi-title-track, “Sin Revolución no hay Evolución,” begins one of the album’s most significant of these moves, though admittedly it’s more thematic than sonic, acting as a kind of introductory chapter in a four-piece set of political material. There are those automatically turned off by social consciousness in music. I’m not one of them. South America has beautiful traditions both of heavy rock and political philosophy in art, and At Devil Dirt in no way sacrifice songwriting for message, so all the better. “Sin Revolución no hay Evolución” keeps firm to the opening duo’s memorable ethic, pulling back on some of the crunch of “Conscience,” and even with the long break from about 3:20 to 9:37, “40 Years Ago” carries with it one of the most resonant hooks At Devil Dirt have composed to date, which leaves a lasting impression even though the slower third movement of the song doesn’t return to it (I had been hoping for just one final runthrough). The second-longest cut, “People Raise Again” (6:30) ups the pace initially and moves fluidly through a languid verse chug that devolves into droning and noise that foreshadows the psychedelia to come on “I Lost My Guide” and “Mommy.”

Maybe that’s intended as a moment of departure from one section of Plan B: Sin Revolución no hay Evolución to another — in fact more than half the total runtime has passed; should be interesting where the vinyl sides are split and if all the songs from the CD are included — and if so, “Time to Flee,” even if it’s thematically consistent with the three songs before, marks a change in ethic anyway, with Spanish lyrics, an acoustic feel in its verses like those of Alice in Chains‘ “Got Me Wrong” and guest keys from Juan Pablo Alvarado, who also contributes Mellotron to the closer. It’s the shortest cut at 3:13, but makes sense in the context surrounding especially with the break after “People Raise Again,” and the melancholic heavy psych of “I Lost My Guide” — Alvarado‘s kick providing a grounding influence on the effects-laden guitar — is all the more ethereal for the lead-in. Airy verses and choruses trade back and forth at first, but there’s a build at work as well that comes to a head after two cycles through. Even then, it’s a long way from the crunch of “Conscience,” and “Mommy” holds to a similar vibe, if one somewhat more fully toned in practice. As one might expect, there’s a more personal narrative from Ayala at work in “Mommy” than anywhere else, and it’s likely not a coincidence that “Mommy” comes coupled with “Across the Universe” given the psychedelic feel of both, but the groove is easy to get lost in all the same with more synthesized swirl arriving late, and while it’s an absolute law of physics in our universe that no one is ever going to do The Beatles better than The Beatles, At Devil Dirt offer an endearing port of the original’s spaced-out wanderings, the distortion present but not overbearing in relation to the vocal melody. They hold out the last note of “Across the Universe,” and there’s a brief pause as a result, but still, the turn into “There is Not a God or a Devil” is somewhat surprising. Where “Mommy” and the Beatles cover were sweet-toned, the closer is brooding and more in line with the casting-off of colonial influences of “People Raise Again” lyrically — its chorus being “There is not a god or a devil/It’s just another system/To keep us under control” — than the musical adopting of them that came with taking on a song by a British band. Couple that with the horror-flick element the Mellotron adds, and “There is Not a God or a Devil” is a last-minute surprise on the part of At Devil Dirt, though what brings it into the fold with the rest of the material is the quality of its construction.

If that chorus is At Devil Dirt‘s last message this time out, it begs the question of where their focus might lead them from here. In its structure and in the actual front-to-back listen, Plan B: Sin Revolución no hay Evolución is nothing short of a triumph in the development of the band, and it leaves me wondering if they’ll continue such a multifaceted expansion of sound or if one side or another will win out in solidifying over the others. If their fourth album found them proliferating deeply personal noise rock or politically-charged switched-on heavy psych — or any other arrangement of those puzzle pieces of influence — it would make sense, so for both what it is in itself and what it might portend for At Devil Dirt going forward, their third full-length is their most essential and fascinating work yet.

At Devil Dirt, Plan B: Sin Revolución no hay Evolución (2013)

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Bilocation Records

 

Tags: At Devil Dirt, At Devil Dirt Plan B: Sin Revolución no hay Evolución, Bilocation Records, Chile, Plan B: Sin Revolución no hay Evolución, Santiago

This entry was posted on Friday, November 22nd, 2013 at 2:27 pm and is filed under Reviews. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.