Indian Jewelry, Invasive Exotics

On Invasive Exotics, the first full-length effort from the Indian Jewelry incarnation of Tex Kerschen, Erika Thrasher, and Rodney Rodriguez’s musical experimentation (they also pop up under Swarm of Angels, NTX + Erika Thrasher, and a dozen or so other names), the overall gist of the album is established pretty much within the first few seconds of the opening track. “Lesser Snake” starts with uncertain, quiet guitar, but then the stomping drums and jagged noise-rock distortion comes in, with the David Bowie-on-acid vocals drifting out over the top, and things get strange and scary real quick. To top things off, the synth-y bassline burbling along beneath it all is off-tempo just the right amount, enough to make the listener feel a little bit off-balance.

Which, when you get right down to it, is what Invasive Exotics is all about. This isn’t an album that’s pleasant to listen to, by any means. But hell, since when is “pleasant” the only way music can be to sound good? Over the past few years, the murky folk behind Indian Jewelry — the three mentioned above are generally the core “band,” but other members flow in and out like water — have honed their practice of crafting uncomfortable, strange, darkly psychedelic music to a fine art.

The album’s spooky as hell throughout, with gloomily atmospheric electronics, fucked-up-sounding guitars, drums that sound like they were recorded back in the ’60s in somebody’s basement, and processed, ghostly vocals. The end effect is occasionally reminiscent of Underworld, weirdly enough (particularly Kerschen’s distant, intensely obscure vocals; see “Dirty Hands” or “Health And Wellbeing”), albeit an Underworld that’s darker and much more claustrophobic than the electronic pioneers generally tend to be. When Thrasher sings, things shift a bit, with her gentle, atmospheric-yet-robotic voice evoking the Velvet Underground and Nico gone horribly, horribly awry (see “Come Closer” or “Lying On The Floor”).

Of course, like I hinted at above, this also isn’t an easy disc to get into. For yours truly, it’s up there with the Paper Chase’s God Bless Your Black Heart in terms of Uneasy Listening Albums, in that when the disc stops spinning I have a slightly queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach and can hear my own breathing like I’m underwater or something.

By the time the unprepared listener gets midway through the 10:13-long opus “Going South,” they’re bound to have a killer headache and feel pretty off-kilter besides. I leave it to you to decide whether or not that’s a good thing.