I like to describe albums as personalities—created by or representative of artists—and treat them as if they were companions that come and go throughout life, interacting in ways deep enough to consider them entities. Certain songs and albums can be angry at the world for polluting the environment, in search of consolation after a tough relationship ends, demanding society to improve social standards or any other sentiment a human can feel or express. To further my claim and say that personality found in the music world is essentially a microcosm of the same found in our world, all sorts of extremes—many of them unpleasant to seek, and even worse to find—must be sought out.
Unfortunately, bland, shallow and corporate personalities have become most pervasive in contemporary society, whereas at different points in history, music has subtly taken on stronger personas, such as an instigator for equal rights, a global melting pot of cultures and most often a voice of counterculture movements. Yet throughout time, I have consistently found one of the hardest, most rewarding and intriguing personalities to dive into: the eccentric.
The eccentrics combine those extremes given above with everything in between. Most often, one persona or sound is used as a distraction while a deeper meaning is hidden in a usually clever or ironic presentation. They are not afraid to be wholly abstract or offensively direct. In fact, I'd wager they feel uncomfortable being anything else. Most of all, they are always more conscious of their sound, expression and message than any other music artists. Which leads me to one of the few obvious aesthetic traits serving as an indicator: inaccessibility. I have found them to be a notoriously tough nut to crack, making it tough to find diehard fans of David Bowie, David Byrne or Brian Eno collections—in my opinion, three of the more prominent eccentrics from the '70s.
Ever heard of the Talking Heads? Probably. But how many people know them for more than that one song Billy Bass used to constantly belt in Walgreens and Wal-mart aisles everywhere? A lot less. Even David Bowie's masterpiece, The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, is often overlooked or unheard of, with Bowie's backgrounds usually only extending to ""Changes"" and the Guitar Hero version of ""Ziggy Stardust."" Yet Ziggy Stardust was one of the first successful concept albums that sewed social criticisms into the seams of its sci-fi narrative. And the best part is how quickly these artists get bored with what they're working on. David Byrne and Brian Eno collaborated while taking breaks from other projects to create My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, on which they use mostly household items for percussion like cardboard boxes and frying pans, the sampled speech of exorcists, Arabian commercials, etc. to serve as lyricisms, as well as several other pioneering recordings in the ambient genre.
Two groups immediately come to mind as carrying on this tradition today: The Flaming Lips and of Montreal repeatedly stretch boundaries in inexplicably bizarre ways. I don't have the word count to go through all of their oddities, but the highlights still impress. The Flaming Lips' Zaireeka is one of the most thought-out experimental albums of our time with public experiments done while composing, and specific strategies for listening—the album consists of four separate discs meant to be played simultaneously on four different stereo systems.
Meanwhile, of Montreal's music has turned what were innocently presented characters and stories—""Old People in the Cemetery,"" ""My British Tour Diary,"" ""Chrissy Kiss the Corpse""—into excruciatingly vivid personal statements, which prompted do-it-all front man Kevin Barnes to unveil his alter ego, Georgie Fruit. Luckily, today's music culture provides more touring and interaction with artists than ever before. So when Kevin Barnes comes out on a rotating stage to do a show in a thong belting, ""Come on chemicals!"" from the '80s power pop pleaser, ""Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse,"" there's no way around judging his character and alter-ego being entangled with the music. And this is where my personalist theory finds its solid base: extreme personalities.
There's so much more to delve into with these two entities as they add depth with each radical release—not to mention other artists who dabble in such eccentricities, such as Wolf Parade and its several off-shoots—or keep them under a false façade of comfort, like John Vanderslice. Taking the time and attention to unravel these layers makes them the most rewarding listening experiences, as these artists are doing music a service through experimentation. Eccentric songwriters create unique sounds and take them in such radical directions that their personality must become intertwined with their music. And if you ask me, that's what music is there for.
Want to show off your own eccentricities? Try to impress Justin at jstephani@wisc.edu.
