REVIEW: The Robot Ate Me "Carousel Waltz"

Rating: 9

Forget what you might imagine about bands with “robot” in their name or the implied, detached violence of mechanized chewing, swallowing, etc.  There are no cliché synthesized bleeps and burbles or industrial gnashing, grinding, chunking or clanking sounds on this record, or even any sci-fi imagery of spaceships or robots, much less robots that eat people.  There are really only two indications of what you will hear on this disc based on the band's name.

The first is derived from the matter of fact acceptance of deep personal surrender held in the words “ate me.”  While the phrase "eat me" aggressively asserts itself and seems intimately related to all things middle finger, the past tense "ate me" turns the idea on itself; it is resigned to having already happened.  It’s as if, having just been captured and consumed, the band's progenitor Ryland Bouchard is able to be reached for comment and rather than begging for a hasty and safe expulsion or describing the horror of it all or wondering at the incredible odds of there even being such a thing as a robot interested in eating people he shrugs and says “The robot ate me.”

To belabor a tedious and probably meaningless point, the second clue comes from The Flaming Lips "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots."   On the title track Wayne Coyne sings, "Oh Yoshimi, they don't believe me but you won't let those robots eat me. "  Catch that?  "Yoshimi" was released in July 2002.  Less than a year later Bouchard's band Bedroom Heroes, a more apt if obvious title for his brand of dreamy DIY pop, was replaced by The Robot Ate Me.  Coincidence?  Fifty bonus points to anyone who already guessed the Flaming Lips / Robot Ate Me comparisons don't end there.

***

The Robot Ate Me is Ryland Bouchard with help from RJ Hoffman and David Greenberg.  As is the case with so many other arty little bands this is primarily a one-man show.  Bouchard shares what seems to be a quiet but deeply intrinsic weirdness with indie icons like Jeff Mangum (Neutral Milk Hotel), Phil Elvrum (Microphones, Mt. Eerie) and the man who mixed the Kool-Aid, Wayne Coyne (Flaming Lips).  Having recently moved from sunny San Diego to not quite as sunny Anacortes, WA Bouchard has also aligned himself geographically with Elvrum, where the two even put on a “Recording Day Camp” last December at Department of Safety recording studios - where it might also be noted that Bouchard prints his own t-shirts (available for sale on their website. If you order directly from his label he's likely to include quirky extras and hand written notes.  I got a free poster and a little green army man with my order.)  I’m trying to stifle my enthusiasm for the possibility of future collaborations between the two (The Robot Ate The Microphones?  Mt. Eerie Ate Me?).  Like other things that exist only in my mind, we’ll just have to wait and see.

“Carousel Waltz” is oddly sweet and sweetly odd.  It lives in a space between the revelatory and the insular, lyrically balancing worldly if gentle proclamations and private musings in the artist’s unique short hand.  Bouchard’s lyrics invoke less overt imagery than a general sense of movement and emotion – and like so many memorable works of art, the subtle but pervasive theme is Love.

The music also moves between a simplified populist sensibility and the more quirky and introspective, allowing straightforward percussion to anchor frequent interjections by horns, accordion and Bouchard’s own tenor, which manages to be both buoyant and deadpanned throughout.  Songs glide along in playful hops and skips, lulls and lilts, giving the impression of wistful ambivalence while accumulating then diminishing momentum without letting the ride stop.  Some songs – in fact the whole album - ends up feeling a bit too short, as if, having made his point, Bouchard simply pulls the plug and lets things wind down under their own power rather than manually applying some sort of brake.

To me, this want for prolonged or more developed endings – the desire for the song or album to keep going – is either evidence of its greatest success or a source of dire frustration. Within the simple context of the music and its wealth of stripped down sentimentality any mild frustration is forgiven and ultimately outweighed by what becomes an intrinsic need to play it again.  And with songs thoughtfully sweet without being saccharine, meaningful without seeming bottomless, and light but not weightless you might as well give it another spin.  For instance I am certain that at any given moment I could eat four or five entire thin crust wood-fired tomato, basil, mozzarella pizzas with a light tomato sauce without getting bored, full, or sick.  Maybe for you it’s popcorn.  It’s the same way with “Carousel Waltz,” rewarding, enjoyable and surprisingly captivating – worthy of if not begging for repeat listening.