Likewise inevitable and impossible. You take some of the most formidable players of their generation — Scott Kelly of Neurosis, Al Cisneros of Om and Sleep, Scott “Wino” Weinrich of The Obsessed (etc.) and Dale Crover of the Melvins — and put them in a band together. As groups go, that’s pretty super. It didn’t last.

Listening back to Shrinebuilder‘s 2009 self-titled debut (review here), released through Neurot Recordings with cover art by Josh Graham (who probably should’ve been in the band too), the novelty of the idea is still hard to overcome. Maybe if Shrinebuilder had become a real working band — that is, one that took priority over everyone else’s other projects; no minor ask in this case — and had put out two or three more records by now, it would be easier to divorce the five songs of the 39-minute offering from the people behind them, but I remember when this album came in the mail, and the premise remains exciting, bringing these artists together and seeing what comes out.

Driven mostly by the riffs of Kelly and Weinrich, Shrinebuilder nonetheless gave everyone their space. In album opener “Solar Benediction,” the two guitarists trade verses early, with Kelly‘s gruff delivery playing off Wino‘s wizened sneer, before an e-bow topped break, hypnotic in its layered stretch, builds back up to a crawling final crush, and it’s not until the subsequent “Pyramid of the Moon” that Cisneros arrives on mic. He does so in the fashion of a wandering mystic. The foundation on which the changes from one riff to another and one apparent songwriter to another could hardly be more solid than to have Dale Crover on drums. Find me someone more used to going wherever the hell the song is going to go who already happens to be friends with all of these others. And he holds “Pyramid of the Moon” together through volume ebbs and flows, Kelly‘s vocal subdued early as they move toward a kind of vocal-drone chanting midsection and, with a few cymbal hits, into Cisneros‘ first verse of the record and the second lyrical mention of Jericho in the span of two songs.

That itself is emblematic of what’s largely been lost in Shrinebuilder‘s Shrinebuilder and certainly was at the time. Its songs are loaded with nuance. The subtle layer of guitar effects bolstering the atmosphere behind the second verse of “Pyramid of the Moon” — could be more e-bow, could be something else — or the acoustic guitar layered into the back end of “Solar Benediction.” As much as that leadoff track and the entire LP that follows is typified by that first moment when Kelly arrives to declare, “We stand burning before you/Returning wisdom with blood,” even the interplay between bass and drums as that ambient buildup takes place moving into the second half of the song is worth the headphone listen.

And Shrinebuilder continues to offer depth all across its span, whether its the vocals harmonizing with Kelly in the first half of centerpiece “Blind for All to See” — is that Crover? — or the march in that final riff as the song seems to just kind of come apart into a psychedelic ether, moving into “The Architect,” which feels Wino-driven in its guitar progression early, that twisting style, only to give way to Kelly again — and maybe Crover too, or Cisneros, it’s hard to tell even now — in a thicker movement that caps the shortest song on the record and what might’ve been at least a partial working model for the band had they opted to go forward, lacking the turns of “Solar Benediction” or the nine-minute closer “Science of Anger” that immediately follows, but a basic structure from which they might’ve pushed ahead. So it goes.

Shred comes early in “Science of Anger” and hits over at least two layers of rhythm guitar before the first verse — if you want to guess who wrote that lead-style riff, I’d put even money on Kelly or Wino — but the energetic feel from that first solo is mirrored in the drums and carries over to a feeling of spaciousness as guitars to twist and intertwine between the next two verses. Vocals are again layered without ceremony to which they’d be well entitled, and as Kelly‘s guttural voice rises to consume seemingly everything in its path, consider the layered-in echo of the words “twisted formations” at 3:33 as further evidence of Shrinebuilder‘s orientation toward detail. They didn’t just throw these songs together with parts by one person or the other. They could’ve. But even in the progression of the album as a whole, they saved both Wino joining Kelly in that heavier part and a mic-return from Cisneros for last. They built an album.

The transition to Cisneros, prefaced by a turn toward more of an Om-style march, is somewhat awkward, or at least rhythmically counterintuitive as to when he actually starts singing at 5:28, but it all starts to make its own kind of sense as the track gradually builds toward its earthen-psychedelic finish, a suitable payoff but a relatively gentle touch for a record that’s been nothing if not liberal in throwing its weight around, tonally-speaking.

As noted, Shrinebuilder didn’t last. I was fortunate enough to interview Al Cisneros for the album (I don’t think I’m cool enough to get that interview these days, so I’m proud of that one), and to see the band in New York in Nov. 2009 (review here). I was drunk and uncomfortable at Le Poisson Rouge, out of my league in its New York-ness. I don’t remember much about the show, to be honest, other than they was awesome. That was one of a few tours Shrinebuilder did; they’d also hit the West Coast and Europe before everyone went their own way again. In 2011, they put a 13-minute version of “Science of Anger” out as a single (discussed here) through Coextinction Recordings — the idea of a digital-only label was also a novelty at the time — and they’d follow with Live in Europe 2010 (discussed here) that year as well, releasing on vinyl through My Proud Mountain.

I’m not sure if more Shrinebuilder would be worth trading the last decade of material from these players — Kelly‘s records with Neurosis, Corrections House, and solo, as well as the Sleep reunion, Wino‘s ill-fated regroup with Saint Vitus before reviving Spirit Caravan and The Obsessed in succession, or even Crover‘s ongoing Melvins-being-Melvins — but since it didn’t happen the point is moot. Everyone is still alive, so never say never, but as it stands, this self-titled is a moment that’s passed and doesn’t look likely to come again. Fair enough. Particularly in terms of how well it’s stood up to the last 12 years, still delivering something new on a random revisit on a random week, one couldn’t ask for more than they gave.

As always, I hope you enjoy.

—

In New Jersey, where I live, the office of child welfare is called Child Protective Services. When I was a kid, it was called DYFS, the Division of Youth and Family Services, or some such. My mother used to say DYFS was gonna come and take me away if I didn’t behave. Fair enough.

CPS came to the house this past weekend because The Pecan broke his leg and it’s his second significant fracture in about two months’ time, following of course his cracking his skull falling on the basement floor in March. I think it’s largely because we’re white and living in suburban comfort in a nice, relatively clean house (I could stand to vacuum), that they didn’t allege significant abuse, but they definitely asked. “Hey, you ever spank your kid?” I said I swat his butt to get him to go up the stairs — not with a broken leg, obviously — but never in a disciplining manner so much as playful.

I guess a toddler — worse, this toddler — with a spiral-fractured tibia is what I get for calling out one of my parenting nightmares last Friday in noting that he’d pooped in the tub. This is life, people.

He was going down the twisty slide with The Patient Mrs. after tee-ball, juked when he should’ve jived, and snapped it. He and I had gone down the same slide in the same way just minutes before. A fluke thing. In our postgame analysis of the event, The Patient Mrs. and I examined both whether he needs more calcium in his diet — he doesn’t drink milk but his doctor has never remarked on significant lacks in his bloodwork — and whether we’re terrible parents. I’m pretty much convinced of my own awfulness, and The Pecan himself is unilaterally mommy-centered enough to articulate his confirmation of same, but neither this nor his fall a couple months back were really anyone’s fault. I blame myself for both, but that’s just parenting shit (or, in my case, shit parenting; I failed even before I started). It’s unfortunate timing.

Which is basically what we said to not-DYFS. They were supposed to send a follow-up later in the week and no one came. Fine.

He can walk with help at this point. A little more movement every day. No school this week, which has meant I get up early to work. He goes for follow-up imaging today and a second orthopedist appointment on Monday. At urgent care last Saturday right after it happened, they scared The Patient Mrs. with talk of surgery — some residual trauma factoring in from our hospital stay post-skull fracture there, I should think — but it doesn’t look like he’ll need any rods or anything as of now. He’s in a boot. Might need a cast. We’ll see on Monday. His entire being stinks. Hasn’t had a bath in more than a week. I’ve been wiping him down every day, but he’s “cheesy,” as we often joke. “Ya cheesy,” he says.

That’s been the week. That and maintain, and both have been a challenge. It has brought into light how fortunate we are to live minutes from my family — a support system we simply didn’t have when we were living in Massachusetts — for not the first time, but that is especially vivid after vaccination. We are lucky to be where we are, in this house. I have hard times. A lot. In my head. A lot. Every day I speak to myself in Bad Voice. I should like to actively work more on being thankful than being a miserable bastard like my own father. It is an aspiration. A challenge. I fail more often.

The kid’s up and has been for a while — we’ve been joking this week about “loafing” in bed — and it’s quarter-to-eight, so I’m gonna head upstairs and help him get down, get breakfast going. Thanks for reading and have a great and safe weekend. Watch your head, hydrate, all that stuff.

FRM.

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Tags: California, Neurot Recordings, self-titled, Shrinebuilder, Shrinebuilder Self-titled

This entry was posted on Friday, May 21st, 2021 at 10:52 am and is filed under Bootleg Theater. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.