Austin Sound

Dreams are nothing like albums. Between the time we put head to pillow and the time we wake up to start whatever monotony the day has in store, we completely submit our consciousness to the will of our imagination. Dreams are highly introspective, at least in my experience. Both people close to me and people that I thought I’d forgotten long ago run amuck in my subconscious; what little “plot” I can discern from them is usually related to the things that are stressful in my life. And what’s more, you don’t have a choice! You’re asleep, and whatever dreams you get are the ones you’re stuck with. Ever tried to coerce your subconscious into a sex-dream? Doesn’t work, does it?

But albums, on the other hand, albums are almost none of these things, especially from the listening perspective (which, unless you’re Bill Baird, means you and me). Listening to an album is looking in on the consciously created artistic work of another, and it’s by your choice alone. But then there’s Bright Blue Dream. When an album drags you in with haunted vocals and harsh rhythms, keeps you at its mercy through 14-minute guitar explorations, and then releases you after an hour or so like a mid-afternoon nap, then you can’t help but feeling like maybe, just maybe, you were dreaming.

Okay, let’s get some history out of the way first. {{{Sunset}} (henceforth: Sunset) is essentially Bill Baird, who was once the bassist for Sound Team. But alas! The drama: Sound Team finally broke up following their major-label release Movie Monster, playing their last show at the ACL Fest in fall, 2007. Before the demise of Sound Team, in late 2006, Baird had released two companion CD’s, {{{Sunset}}} and Silence!. The former was a collection of mostly acoustic recordings, and the latter was primarily instrumental. Now with Sound Team out of the picture, Sunset is the focus of all of Baird’s attention. About a week or two ago, the first official Sunset release, Bright Blue Dream, made its way to my CD player, which is exactly where we now stand.

From the first note, the album is somewhat harsh: both the drums and the synthesizer that kick off the album’s opening track “Dear Broken Friend” seem to clip the sound meters, leaving the listener with that sense of awkwardness when things get digitally messy. But as more instruments come in, the harshness is smoothed over by layers of noise. If by the time the vocals enter you aren’t already feeling like you’re in some sort of alternate-dimension haunted house with slowed-down dance music playing, then clearly we aren’t listening to the same album. By the time the vocal chant takes over at the end of the song, I’m looking over my shoulder to make sure I’m still alone.

The album’s real merit though is that it maintains this level of, for lack of a better word, captivity. Both “Diamond Studded Caskets,” “I Love My Job” and “Man’s Heart Complain” expand on the “haunted” sound of the first track, especially due to Baird’s bone-chilling vocals that rarely rise above a whisper. The latter two tracks even include more vocal chants at the end. Like any good album though, the music slowly progresses towards new ideas. None of these songs are as completely grotesque as the first, and “Gulf of Mexico,” once it gets going, is a different beast entirely. The song is more spacious and relies primarily on acoustic instruments, a distant harmonica, and large vocal harmonies before evaporating into the noise of the title track.

Ah yes, the title track, “Bright Blue Dream.” Length: 14 minutes, 13 seconds. Whether or not this song “works” (basically, do you skip to the next track at the 5 minute mark or not) is really contingent upon the listener. If up to this point, you’ve allowed yourself to be lulled into the dream world of Bill Baird, then this track is the height of the dream, where length is no object, and repetition seems appropriate, if not required; but if you’ve found yourself still unable to dive headfirst into the rabbit hole, then trust me, turn back now. In its own right, the song isn’t really all that interesting, but if you let the album work like it should, if you buy into it, there’s no describing the dreamy blissfulness of the experience. No matter that the song sounds like a dream, listen to this track with the windows open on a cool afternoon day, and I guarantee you will fall into a deep sleep.

The album changes quite a bit after its expansive middle section, especially with “Old Sandy Bull Lee.” Light acoustic guitars play over handclaps, shakers, and a booming bass drum, all with a vague resemblance to some of the slower numbers on Beck’s Guero. The multi-part vocal harmonies are a clear departure from the unnerving whisper-like chants of the first half of the album. So just as the album pulls you in with odd haunted rhythms, it eases you out with (dare I say) Beatles-esque pianos and strings in “Golden Reverie.” Not a bad way to end a dream.

I’ve fallen asleep with the television still on before, sometimes even with the bright blue “no picture” light shining on my dreams, but submitting to “falling asleep” in Bright Blue Dream was a different experience entirely, though oddly similar to dreaming. But isn’t every good album the same way? Isn’t it always up to the listener to “buy into it” or not? If that’s true, my only advice is to buy into this one; trust me, the payoff is huge.

Mp3s from Bright Blue Dream:
Man’s Heart Complaint
Moebius

Websites:
www.blondebill.com
Myspace