I didn’t know what to expect when Denver, the new album from Neil Michael Hagerty and the Howling Hex, arrived in my inbox. I didn’t know about Hagerty’s stint in the ‘80s as noise terrorist with underground icons Pussy Galore. I didn’t know about his reign as a ‘90s alternative icon in Royal Trux either. I didn’t even know about his 15-years-and-counting string of solo and Howling Hex releases. Where have I been? Good question. But I was able to approach Denver with fresh ears.
And—hot dog—that was fortuitous.
Denver is a whacked-out, gonzo, gobsmacked tour de force. It’s weird enough to alienate your square friends, yet somehow assessable, enjoyable, and goofy. The album isn’t an experimental art piece you’ll listen to once, appreciate, and then discuss over an expensive cup of coffee. It’s an angular mashup of waltzes, polkas, oompah grooves, garage noise, punk, grunge, and ‘90s-era guitar fun. It’s weird, but in a good way, and is strangely addictive in spite of itself.
Denver opens with “City Song,” a raunchy waltz that feels like a demented merry-go-round. It’s as if the evil clowns took over—they’re all smiles, but something is horribly wrong. That’s followed by “Colfax West,” which has a quasi-polka, oompah feel (and lyrics about coconut latte). Those two songs set the rhythmic tone for the album—an alternating assortment of waltzes and oompahs. Some will complain about the relentless repetition, but I think it’s great. It’s like a theme and variations for the seriously deranged. Sometimes it’s a waltz. Sometimes it’s punk polka gone wrong. And that’s ok.
The album moves at a quick pace—most of the songs are only about two or three minutes long—until you reach “Lookout.” “Lookout” clocks in at six minutes and harkens back to those glorious modulated guitar sounds reminiscent of Hagerty’s ‘90s Royal Trux work (I explored his earlier work once I realized his awesomeness—how could I not?). The dissonant guitar leads skirt the edge of weird and the song builds in layers and intensity. It grows in a way that doesn’t sacrifice the mood or crush the vibe. “Lookout” at first seems incongruous amidst the otherwise manic energy of Denver, yet it’s the song’s imperfect tambourine hits—an odd element to focus on, I know—that best define it. While ostensibly on the backbeat, the tambourine’s vibe is somewhat uncertain. It wasn’t quantized or cleaned up in the studio and retains it’s imperfections. And that is true for the rest of the record as well. In a world of perfect releases, Pro Tools edits, studio plugins, autotune, and endless tweaks, Denver lets the cards fall where they may. It’s quirky, offbeat, and messy, but it’s also real. And that’s why—in spite of it’s faults—it’s so strangely inviting. There’s something seductive about it, especially since it doesn’t take itself too seriously.
Denver has other quirks, too. There is the nod to Black Sabbath—with xylophone accompaniment as an added bonus—on “300 Days of Sunshine.” There are the ‘50s-style doo-wop chord progressions on songs like “Guided Missiles” and the opener, “City Song.” There’s even an oddball a cappella introduction on “Mountain.” And in spite of the quirks, the musicianship is top notch and the guitar playing is superb, especially on songs like “Colfax West” and “Mountain.”
Add those elements up and Denver is an addictive feast of weird. It isn’t bizarro, outlandish weird. It’s an assessable weird. A weird a Eugene Chadbourne-influenced alchemist—sans Shockabilly and the electric rake—might have produced. It’s virtuosic slop. It’s mundane with a twist. And it’s a lot of fun. Your pretentious friends will hate it. Your mainstream friends won’t understand it. The critics will ignore it.
And that’s ok. Denver is a litmus test—use it to weed out the nerds and ward off the dorks.