Album Review: Mondo Drag, Through the Hourglass
Founding Mondo Drag keyboardist and vocalist John Gamiño titled the progressive heavy psych rockers’ fourth album, Through the Hourglass, in reference to the opening line of the theme for the long-running US soap opera Days of Our Lives. It is in honor of his mother, who reportedly passed away sometime in the tumultuous years since the San Francisco-based band released their last full-length, 2016’s The Occultation of Light (review here). In addition to being demographically relatable — I also watched that show with my mother as a kid; it was the ’80s and moms got to pick shows, especially when you were home sick from school (or just faking it) — it tells you something about Through the Hourglass in relation both to Mondo Drag‘s preceding work and to the style as a whole. It is built from a place of emotional sincerity.
It is also built nearly from the ground up. In addition to Gamiño and guitarists Nolan Girard and Jake Sheley, both also founding members making a return, the crisply-produced, organic-vibing six-song/39-minute RidingEasy Records long-player is the first Mondo Drag release since Conor Riley (current Birth, ex-Astra) joined on bass in 2018, and the first to feature drummer Jimmy Perez, who joined last year. Working with engineer Phil Becker (Pins of Light), who also mixed, they conjure graceful emanations of cosmic rock, set against a wistful backdrop from the outset of “Burning Daylight Pt. I,” which both introduces the album and moves in patient procession into a roll of heavy, organ-laced fuzz without losing the fluidity of when the riff first entered, a stately control of swing and tempo that sounds like nothing so much as a honed mastery of craft.
The ending of that lead track — which hums into the drum start of the more upbeat “Burning Daylight Pt. II” — emerges from a quieter and spacious midsection, playing out as a not entirely separate song and not quite a direct connection either, but there’s no arguing with the flow there or in “Burning Daylight Pt. II.” A soft-swinging boogie finds its lightness in taps of ride cymbal in the floating keys before the vocals enter, a subtle twist to the rhythm revealing itself in a stop at 2:35 before the keyboard and guitar line up for synchronized soloing, playing with and around the same notes in an engaging weave, then taking turns, keys first, in solos before the instrumental culmination brings down “Burning Daylight Pt. II” to the silence from which the 11-minute “Passages” will rise, doing so gradually with a new age drone and space rock effects shimmer before its low-end buzz begins its cycles and the whole thing opens up after two minutes or so with stately Hammond holding the melody complemented by ascending steps of guitar.
Of course, that’s just the beginning, and even within Through the Hourglass, “Passages” is unto itself. It’s not quite a full album-style flow, but it’s not far off, and it is the resonant emotional core of the entire span. Acoustic and electric guitars, the latter maybe with eBow or some such, craft a realized melancholia, like Mondo Drag were the only ones to remember how much longing was poured into In the Court of the Crimson King, and has its heavier takeoff after five hypnotic minutes of build, drums shifting after a few measures to half-time with tom fills and a last crash as the scene is set: quiet guitar, lightest cymbal taps, piano.
A chugging guitar and pickup in the drums signals the shift that’s already taken place and a classic space rock push seems to be taking shape. Instead of a sprint, though, “Passages” sort of overflows into its apex, frothing with organ-topped slow, heavy roll, bluesy guitar soloing, hints of proto-doom in the rumble, hints of “Hotel California” in the keyboard solo. At eight and a half minutes, they’re jamming, but it’s a plotted course, with keys and guitars calling and responding until a touch of shred from the latter signals the end; acoustic guitar and keyboard sounds wrap the last minute-plus in quiet contemplation.
As an 11-minute song on a 39-minute album, “Passages” would be a focal point one way or the other, but it’s all the more crucial for being instrumental. On side B, “Through the Hourglass” (6:21), “Death in Spring” (6:10) and “Run” (6:55) seem to find a middle-ground approach that neither “Burning Daylight I” and “Burning Daylight II” nor “Passages” fostered, and with the structural clarity particularly of “Through the Hourglass” and “Death in Spring” — the latter is downright catchy, also sad — they might’ve ended up on side A for a lot of albums. But Mondo Drag clearly aren’t interested in holding back in terms of expanse, and the trilogy of six-minute cuts that comprises the second half of Through the Hourglass offers a richness of detail that meets the high standard they’ve established, here and elsewhere.
At the end of the first verse in “Through the Hourglass,” in the lyric about not recognizing himself in the mirror, there’s a second vocal layer that joins Gamiño, speaking as someone else speaking back to him, and it’s a single example among many of the consideration and depth of detail Mondo Drag bring to their fourth LP. The balance of the mix as “Through the Hourglass” unfolds its second half — keys and guitar not competing but working together through their own means; grandiosity without pomposity — is further argument in this regard, but who the hell wants to argue anyway? Departing the Hammond, “Death in Spring” has a Graveyard-ish stretch of guitar for its first 10 or so seconds but goes on to emphasize keyboard amid the memorable delivery of the title line in the chorus. “Death in Spring” carries its grief with more motion than one might think of for a dirge, but it might be one anyhow. After a Hypnos 69-ian sway into psych, keys reach out into quiet to finish and keys start again in that silence — with chimes — to begin “Run.”
Somewhere in the infinity of infinite universes, it’s an alternate 1975 and “Run” is a radio hit. Subsequent generations will wonder what about the horses running through the night as described, but it won’t really matter because sometimes old songs just have weird words and you go with it. There’s a big ending of keyboard-wash to come, and fair enough, but “Run” is even more about its vibe than its chorus. Trading off from a quiet verse, the melody in “Run” feels well placed at the end of the album; it is resilient as well as resonant, and not unhopeful, and they even work in a quick bit of strut before the closer resolves with long-held notes of choral keyboard, which is as fitting a way as any in its not-overblown, classy but still evocative. Through the Hourglass is a whole work, and though they don’t put out a record every year, one can trace across their catalog the trajectory Mondo Drag have taken to get to the accomplished and expressive position in which they find themselves.
Mondo Drag, Through the Hourglass (2023)
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