Minotaur: Greek symbol of the innate wildness of the human psyche, and title of Dallas-based musician and visual artist Tex Patrello’s debut album. Minotaur is angelic yet primal, reflecting the duality of its mythical half-human and half-bull namesake. Each of its ten tracks are relatively long, with most hovering around five or six minutes, but no second is wasted; sounds are constantly in motion, flourishing and cascading as they expand in both breadth and depth to envelop listeners in dreamy soundscapes, raw lyricism, and avant-pop experimentalism.
Listeners are thrown headfirst into Patrello’s otherwordly sonic realm with the shrill opening strings of “Ricky,” which merge seamlessly with breathy vocals. Rhythmic piano soon joins the chorus—bringing to mind Fiona Apple’s melodic, unpredictable “I Want You To Love Me”—creating a dynamic mix of intriguing sounds as they gradually layer over one another. “Ricky, Rick, my stripe and star / You’re my favorite star, why are you so far, far away?” Patrello croons, her voice easily shifting across feelings of tenderness, melancholy, and sensuality. Lyrics depicting football and baseball games, locker rooms, and stripes and stars conjure up visions of stereotyped, suburban American nostalgia, but paired with layered instrumentals that propel us into a more futuristic dimension. This juxtaposition feels designed to unsettle and warp the familiar into the unfamiliar—a theme that continues into the rest of the album.
Moving into “Eat It,” Patrello blends mellow sounds with more ominous lyrics—listening to the track feels like drifting on a cloud before being struck with a sudden spell of thunder. “So sad, what a pretty face you have and it’s not for me,” she muses against muted drums from Boone Patrello, part of slowcore Texas-based band Teethe, which explodes at the song’s end. Patrello is certainly not afraid to shock her listeners, something which continues into the sonically soothing, but lyrically disturbing, “Panda Express.” The track opens with meandering classical piano before twisting into more distorted instrumentals and audacious lyrics: “You know my love is hot bologna,” she sings wryly, before taking a more explicit turn as she details orgasms, sex with Ricky, and another girl in the picture.
Continuing to surprise us, Minotaur takes a completely new direction with “Long Lost Pimp,” which begins unexpectedly with a deep male voice describing the moment he first saw Patrello, “perched, a little lady on that there fence.” This adds a somewhat unsettling touch to the track—coming in at just over two minutes, it is the shortest on the album, documenting a brief encounter with another man, perhaps to distract her from Ricky. “I feel like going out / Can you go-go, old man?” she taunts; her voice is slightly smothered by cacophonous beats, hinting that this new man isn’t simply going to end her infatuation with Ricky.
Indeed, “Wichita Falls” circles back to the simultaneous innocence and lust that Patrello enjoys toying with. “Everything’s alright in Wichita,” she sings tenderly, before delving into more carnal lyrics depicting “bedspread doom,” drowning sins, and surrendering to the feeling of loving someone even if he’s “really a bad man.” In this song, and throughout the album, the juxtapositions are stark, encouraging us to tune in—to have a more active listening experience as we sit up and pay attention to the dramatic stories unfolding in her lyrics. After all, as Patrello asserts in the title of the next track, “Anything Goes.” This is one of the more upbeat songs on Minotaur but still incorporates a gloomy, somewhat unsettling interlude midway through. Indeed, Patrello seems troubled by her ultimate commitment to Ricky and dismissal of the other man, Lou, from “Long Lost Pimp”: “Lou man was swell / I loved him as well / But you could say I threw him away / In case you wanted me to be your girl.” Yet, “Anything Goes” soon bounces back to the quirky lighthearted jingle that opened the track—Patrello admits, “Oh, and I try to stay cool / ‘Cause I know I love you no matter what you do” as she is drawn back to Ricky once more.
“Slick-Dick’s Baby” is the longest song on the album at almost seven and a half minutes, carving out plenty of space for Patrello to fill with lush instrumentals and a sexual storyline about Ricky’s football game. She combines themes of patriotism, love, and lustfulness with temerity: “Love me like the barracks, still and tall / Love me like you love America / And when you choke that fucker, call me wife.” This twisted patriotism continues into the hazier “Resident Evil,” shamelessly fusing tradition and vulgarity as she sings, “My country ‘tis of thee / And of thee I sing / Dirty boy, he butter up my womb.” Perhaps patriots’ devotion to America is how Patrello feels about Ricky—something obsessive, unfaltering, naive even: “No, you ain’t shit / But wow, oh wow, you got me now.”
Leaning into more animalistic imagery, the penultimate track “Pony Meat” is one of the most sonically unique. Jagged, abrasive synths are interjected by crashing cymbals as she recalls intense encounters with a metaphorical beast that soon turn violent: “I took him down / ‘Cause there’s a new boy in town / And we’re famous, shook the ground / We’ve blood upon our masts / Ooh, I like his limb-limb, slim hip lap.” After the maximalist frenzy of “Pony Meat”—and the rest of the album—“De Kalb” is somewhat of a subdued finale. With piano and strings taking center stage, the instrumentals start gentler, finally in harmony with Patrello’s soft vocals. Feelings of acceptance wash over us, enhanced by shimmering synth and a slow, steady beat that creeps in. “I am only moved by corn / I hear the cattle think / And I am touched by light / It touched me in the wheat / Still, I don’t know what it was,” she sings wistfully. References to corn, cattle, and wheat evoke that same small-town, nostalgic imagery from the album’s opening song, “Ricky,” creating a sense of cyclicality despite Patrello remaining uncertain about what’s to come.
With titles “Wichita Falls” and “De Kalb” paying homage to her Texas roots, Tex Patrello has crafted an album that traverses the line between comfortable and uncomfortable, familiar and unfamiliar, homely and otherworldly. Juxtapositions prove a powerful tool as Patrello encourages listeners to expect the unexpected, leaving us with a resounding message that things are not always what they seem—from the neck down, a minotaur appears to be an ordinary man, but looking up at his face reveals something more shocking and sinister. Minotaur demands your full attention, drawing you in with intricate melodies and ethereal vocals before confronting you with haunting contortions of bedroom pop that pack a lasting punch.
