Woove staff writer Stu Ruiz reviews the new Momentary Prophets album, Mandala (2010). Look for the Woove in print this fall!

In both word and execution the Momentary Prophets, a three piece acoustic band hailing from Manassas, have no hesitation about the intent of their music.  The liner notes count “Logan Byrd, Jake Hull, Ted Packard, and YOU” as band members, and in their own descriptions of their sound and intent they consistently expound on the importance of their listener to their existence.  That fact is hardly a revelation on its own, but the emphasis drives the point home that what this band really wants is to build a connection with people, to have a shared experience not as performer and audience but as consumers and creators of art, as fellow people making sense of life.   While that sentiment is easy enough to put out there, what’s important is that the music backs it up in nearly every aspect and that quality is what makes the record so effective.

This record’s greatest strength is how easily it welcomes the listener, and that has absolutely nothing to do with the accessibility of the music.  The production throughout is warm and perfectly suited for the exclusively acoustic instrumentation, never giving too much power to any one part of the song.   Every instrument has its own space to breath, bringing out not only some fantastic tones, but also allowing for each musician to wander within the confines of the song.  The wanderings are another factor adding to the record’s mystique, such as the quiet, nervous picking hiding behind the main riff on “The Boy that Was Made” or the banjo on “Sunflower” whose patterns never stand idle.   These intangible qualities are ultimately brought together by the engaging arrangements throughout.  The songs have excellent dynamics, complete with the capability to flow seamlessly from one part of a song to the next, often times swelling to intense moments only to drop off again into the next song. 

One of my gripes with the album however, is that the next song often times doesn’t fit in with the previous, and it’s mostly due to what seems to be something of an identity crisis for the band.  Mandala could fairly easily be divided into two albums: one full of songs with detailed arrangements, spiritually questioning lyrics, and a wide range of influences, the other featuring folk love songs with a pop edge.  There’s nothing particularly wrong with the latter batch of songs, as the same high level of musicianship is kept, and whatever the lyrics lack in originality they make up for in the earnestness of the vocals.  The problem is that these songs aren’t nearly as engaging or special, and although I try to keep myself from the easy comparison, at times I wish I was listening to the Avett Brothers instead.  

Luckily the former group of tunes finds the band operating at a high level, both musically and creatively.  Standout “Marching Men” starts with a repeated accordion riff that ambles along while layers are piled on, continuously building despite the occasional drop off, eventually culminating in a rave-up that your every day hardcore band would love to rip off and play on some cranked guitars.  That ending brings up the interesting question of how much aesthetics play into the way we categorize music.  The Momentary Prophets are a bunch of bearded and long-haired guys who only play acoustic instruments and mostly talk about love and introspection; without a single note being played you could easily judge them as a neo-hippie folk band who probably play on stages with wood flooring so that they can stomp their feet while they play. 

The songs, however, tell a much different story.  While the acoustic instrumentation relies heavily on experimental folk music, if you stripped the guitars and replaced them with electronic flourishes, songs like “C.C.M.E.” and “Fox Song” wouldn’t be at all out of place on a laid back trip-hop record.  In addition, the vocals on “The Boy That Was Made” owe more to Tool’s James Maynard Keenan than any folk singer, and if the introduction to “Drawing The White” was played on electric bass and backed by heavy, tribal sounding drums, it wouldn’t sound out of place on one of Tool’s records. 

Still, as much as there is divisiveness about some of Mandala’s songs, the band has one of its finest moments when they manage to bring both sides of themselves together.  The aforementioned “Drawing the White” broods on its own angst for over a minute before opening up, major organ chords pushing the music into the light, eventually melding into a beautiful chorus, as the lyrics change from the existential “if only my love could find me in this life” to the fond reflection “oh, the love that I know.”  It’s this metamorphosis in both thought and perspective that the band strives for in its art, a non-linear progression that they’ve certainly been on both sides of and one that is at the heart of the experience the Momentary Prophets want to bring you.

4.5/5 Wooves

RIYD:

Beat Circus – Boy from Black Mountain