Motor, Klunk

Klunk, Motor’s first release, is brought to you by French drummer Mr. No and Minnesota native Bryan Black. They apparently met when Black watched one of Mr. No’s shows and became fast friends because of their mutual love of Prince. They originally co-founded the electro-techno project Xlover (check out the album Pleasure & Romance) with frontwoman Nina Rai, who, believe it or not, is a self-proclaimed female version of Prince. Soon after Xlover’s first release, both men decided that experimenting exclusively with techno would be their next move. Such was the beginning of a collaboration that not only reflects but satirizes this country’s continually darkening political climate.

The best aspect of this album is the fact that neither man is fluent in the language of techno music, yet it is interesting to note that this rather neophytic vantage point can result in a refreshing and provocative leap in their brand of industrial electronica for the masses. Take album opener “Black Powder,” for instance. Let’s say the apocalypse decided to rear its ugly head and wreak havoc on humanity as we know it. “Black Powder” would be the soundtrack to this catastrophe, with Mr. No and Black snickering all sinister-like in the shadows. The track is reminiscent of low-flying planes, gunpowder, and flesh wounds stuffed with shrapnel and empty shells.

The abrupt ending of “Black Powder” may seem like a cease-fire, even if only temporary, but it picks right back up on the third track of Klunk, “Stuka Stunt.” Part two of the end of the world brings to mind images of army boots stomping in sync and horns wailing and warning the people of impending disasters that have already occurred. I love the smell of napalm in the morning. “Botox,” another treat, conjures up this scenario of a dilapidated factory located in the warehouse district of some forgotten industrial town in Europe; think of the movie Hostel. Women from all over go to this place in secret to get major work done for cheap. I envision these women lying supine and stark naked on this conveyor belt while robotic arms with lasers pinch, snap, zap, and cut their way to perfection, while the recipients stare off blankly with Stepford-like smiles pasted on their faces. Think Joan Rivers.

“Sweatbox,” an unlikely dance hit, sounds like what strobe lights look like. It has that ability to thump through one’s ears and into their chest, pumping one’s heart to submission and taking over the person’s body. If one were to visit Motor’s official website, they’d notice the link for the band’s own mini-videogame featuring “Sweatbox.” I’m not making this up: you get to drive this beat-up van on a road filled with various gasoline tanks (these are good, you need more gas), while trying to avoid other cars, people, and animals. You rack up points for safe driving and you get to listen to your new favorite song. Now, tell me, what could be better?