At Devil Dirt, Plan B: Sin Revolución no hay Evolución: Becoming the Guide
Posted in Reviews on November 22nd, 2013 by JJ KoczanUp 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.”