Let’s be blunt: Sean Lennon and Les Claypool can effectively do whatever the hell they want. The idea of them fusing their creative juices is a gleeful prospect, and they’ve definitely delivered with this surprisingly lively nod to old school psychedelia.
Monolith Of Phobos bounds along like a harder-edged Magical Mystery Tour, where adventurous whimsy meets satirical rhetoric in a spooky carnival setting. With Lennon’s sweet despondency and Claypool’s bouncy debauchery, both men are vessels of beautiful madness, and they it in take turns driving the album’s direction.
The record’s chock-full of glorious nonsense dealing with impossible realities and twisted dreams. Mr. Wright definitely falls on the Primus end of the scale; in this funk-laced strut about a filthy pervert, Claypool weaves in the explosive bass riffs and quirkily sinister characters he’s renowned for. Conversely, the Lennon-focused Boomerang Baby is a look into the dystopian world of a woman obsessed with her phone at the expense of emotional connection.
Monolith Of Phobos is very much a product of now – this is psychedelic rock that isn’t afraid to evolve and adapt. Both Claypool and Lennon understand that we have been mutated by our self-constructed technological habitat. The music reflects this, and experiments accordingly.
Ohmerica is a sinister comment on the corporate and political evils that plague modern society, made all the more uneasy by Lennon’s soothing voice. Captain Lariat is a delightfully wicked number about a sub-par captain and “dentist on the side” who takes nitrous oxide to experience fantastical journeys (“Have you seen Captain Lariat as he saunters ’round the room? / Chasing spiders with a broom / Fending off impending doom”).
Monolith Of Phobos is like a delicious dessert: if you’re completely new to these two personalities, then you’ll be doing yourself a disservice by starting here. But if you’re an adventurous soul or a faithful follower of either, you’re in for a treat.
BY JACOB COLLIVER
