It’s hard to describe a singer without flitting through a range of analogies. In fact, it requires an almost active effort to avoid comparisons, and yet, that’s something that cannot be escaped when talking about Australia’s Rhizome and The Flavonoids. Despite the numbered name, it’s actually just one person—Western Smith—and he sounds a whole lot like David Byrne of the Talking Heads, or Ian Dury of The Blockheads. A wry, staccato way of singing that asserts a markedly theatrical layer over any and all kinds of instrumentation. On his debut album SUPERIMPOSER, Smith presents this idiosyncratic style on 8 songs that surf assuredly through new wave and electronic beep-boops (if there is such a thing; he might be the first to do it).
Enough talk, though. What better way to dive into a surftronica album than to break down its songs, and “Robojerk” most definitely smacks you in the face with its otherness. On the first track, Smith’s stylistic cabaret crooning shakes hand in glove with a lot of jarring, Tron-coded electronica. With lyrics like “Binary matrimony, Chattin’ up a storm,” and “Unzip your hatch, we’re the perfect match,” the song reads like an ode to a cyberpunk romance—a robomance, if you will. It could also be a friendly jab at humanity’s sudden dependence on AI and the prevalence of a ChatGPT boyfriend/girlfriend.
Two songs in, and it’s already clear Smith is a bit of a wordsmith, using that ability to point out a few of the terrors of our times. “Puff piece—snuff piece, it’s quite the same” rings out heavily despite the playful sounds around it on “Snuff Piece,” a crazed, stimulant-laden punk track with an aggressive, twangy guitar and a maniacally quick rhythm. It would sit perfectly as the soundtrack to an MTV Jackass episode, Knoxville cackling and everything. Or maybe as the tune to a street skate montage, with a whole lot of gnarly spills. You get the gist. Except it’s actually a thoughtful and acidic takedown of what most news channels proffer today—misinformation, violence, indignity, and of course, sports and finance! How bizarre.
The momentum doesn’t really dip here, though, as the reflections and attacks on the fast-food culture of short-form content continue with “Bitesized Zeitgeist.” A standout tune not just due to its technical flair, but because it signals that the songs are now going to be increasingly… wavy, for want of a better term. “I’m an alien earthling, no use in pandering,” Smith sings, while every possible sample on his DAW is put to use. The overuse of random noises can be excessive at times. In fact, one downside of the shambolic production on several of the songs is that it often drowns out the words, making it nigh impossible to really dive into the lyrics on simple listening. This wouldn’t have been a problem if Smith primarily used his vocals as a rhythmic instrument, but as exemplified, he writes some truly creative verses, and he’d be doing himself a favor by giving the listener easier access to that understanding.
There’s an essence of japery to the music of The Flavonoids, irrespective of how heavy the material might be. Just listening to “Cruiselining,” with its funky contrapuntal guitar wiggling alongside the bass, makes the derriere do the doo-wop. Funnily enough, this jammy etude is actually a satirical song about the damage that massive cruises cause, destroying entire marine ecosystems just to fulfill our own desire to experience luxury on the sea (who needs a go-kart track on a ship?!). “Floatation / For your exploration / Bottomless gratification.” Yeah, pretty much.
Several of the strange and circus-like sounds from the earlier songs are subdued in favor of louder guitar and keys on “Night Melon,” though it’s still got a solid electronic essence, a la David Bowie or Prince. Lyrically, the line “Do you want to be seedless” is ambiguous; it might be trying to make a metaphor between our pursuit for perfectly seedless fruit and our own societal loss of normality, though it’s hard to tell. Some sweet arpeggios and synths round out the song, laying the stepping stones for the curtain call on this electro opera album.
As the slickness of the previous tune starts to fade, its solid cohesiveness makes way for a snap of the seams. We’re not in a safe neon dancefloor anymore, we’re at a street party that’ll turn into a mob any second now. That’s what being thrown face-first into “Return to Magnoplasm” feels like: an instrumental 4-on-the-floor with a whole lot of additional elements, as Mr. Rhizome is wont to do. It’s a wonky, dissonant piece resembling a live jam, going from one point to the next like a wheelbarrow down a hillside. Maybe by this point, Mr. Smith was just kind of done with the album, wanting to wrap up his sonic gift to the world with a pretty little bow, but choosing a bendy buzzsaw instead. Only he knows what’s really going on inside that alliterative, metaphor-heavy head of his.
Decoding (pardon the wordplay) what’s going on in SUPERIMPOSER is half the fun of listening to the album, thanks in no small part to its intrepid instrumentation and enigmatic lyricism. It’s akin to the joy of a waterbaby discovering a waterfall—thrilling and a little nerve-wracking. Clearly, Smith doesn’t care much, if at all, for convention. He’s on a journey to address the injustices of the world using satirical wordplay, while helping us envision the chaos around us using his varied and highly off-kilter soundscapes. As a debut album, it’s ambitious in its experimentation, and no one can deny the sheer musicianship on display, from the guitar to the synths. Just remember to stay grounded when listening, and hope the electronics don’t overload.
