Mr. Bungle – California – Review

Mr. Bungle

California (Warner Bros.)
by Tim Den

The inlay says it all. Plush photos of flowers, leaves, and the refreshing dew left by nature in the wake of another spring mornin;, Mr. Bungle‘s new album is as joyful and picturesque as their last effort (1995’s Disco Volante) was hostile and disturbing. Images of Hawaiian beach girls, crimson sunsets, and ukuleles shake their hips in the minds of the listener, laughing all the while at the avant-garde art kids crying and frustrated over the fast one Mr. Bungle has pulled on them. Gone are the “post-modern” artwork, “visionary noise,” and “sound experimentations” that fellow Bunglers have familiarized themselves with, and instead… a tikki bar band?

But that’s just the point. Always out to disappoint and surprise the people who’ve tried to tie down their musical identity, Mr. Bungle has again gotten the upper hand in this game of “find the next way to out avant-garde the next avant-garde band.” And if there was ever any doubt that they would always come out the winner of the game, California will squash it. After all, what could be more “avant-garde” than playing totally opposite of the direction you’re expected to head? Instead of trying to top the outrageousness of Disco Volante, California simply amplified exactly what it wasn’t – ’50s surf rock, Beach Boys harmonies, pseudo-funkadelic, and Barry Manilow piano ballads. While every other band that’s claimed to have mixed art with rock (hello noisecore!) screams and slithers about in their pathetic attempt to get attention, Mr. Bungle has done it with a simple idea that only true artists like themselves can create: an art-rock album so art rock, it’s not.

And I, for one, am damn glad they surprised everyone. Because whereas Disco Volante was great in its bold moves, California is simply a catchy-as-hell album that you can’t help but play over and over. From the opener “Sweet Charity,” the bee-bops and the doo-waps and the lounge jazz just don’t stop, and beautiful melodies (from the godlike Mike Patton) abound. Some songs, like the overwhelming, symphonic anthem “Retrovertigo” and the Temptations-ish “Vanity Fair,” will simply awe you with their sheer pop quality. They will make you wonder how these songs could’ve come out of a rock band pretending to have roots in rock, and how, despite the over-the-top sarcasm, they manage to retain the best of both – great composition and tongue-in-cheek musical commentary. Not only are these songs perfect in their pseudo-pop rock cynicism, they also exist as simply great fucking pop tunes. Not since “Weird Al” has another artist written songs that originally set out to copy and parody a genre, but end up being some of the finest the genre has produced.

It’s frivolous to try and analyze the genius at work within Mr. Bungle. And even though I’ve attempted here to describe how California exists as an oxymoron between mockery and pop perfection, it’s best if we just shut the fuck up and accept what’s given to us. And what that is is nothing but pure musical bliss and an artistic imagination millenniums ahead of its time.