The Mars Volta - Amputechture

by Adam Anonymous

‘Amputechture’ has become the definitive The Mars Volta album. And here’s how

"Anybody who cites ‘Amputechture’ as anything less than brilliant either hasn’t listened properly or patently made up their mind beforehand. The Mars Volta will scarcely care, whatever; they’re too busy rising to another plane alto-fucking-gether."

Twelve months or more ago, those meddlin’ piss-chucking kids who recently so enraged The Mars Volta’s frontman Cedric Bixler-Zavala at a US show by blessing the stage with a urine-filled bottle might’ve had a point. Extra points if they’d copped an earful of ‘Scab Dates’, last year’s rambling live album document, or wandered in and out of TMV’s headlining marathon at All Tomorrow’s Parties around the same time. Had another great band disappeared into the anus of self-indulgence?

In the words of Bixler – a man, incidentally, blessed with a pleasingly comedic Michael Jackson-esque voice when speaking – and partner in TMV creative crime, Omar Rodriguez-Lopez, it was time to “step up” their game. And damn them to Mexico and back if ‘Amputechture’ hasn’t gone and done just that exponentially.

Taking the relative immediateness of promising first post-At The Drive-In missive the ‘Tremulant’ EP and succeeding trip of an LP ‘De-Loused In The Comatorium’ and welding it to latter day obsessions with jamming songs into the ground, ‘Amputechture’ has become the definitive TMV album. And here’s how.

Firstly, although if you can pronounce – or at least spell – half the song titles without close prior examination, you’re either Mexican or a fucking multi-syllable devouring genius, there are real, undeniably massive-ass hooks. Honest. Bixler is prone to impenetrable, impressionistic lyrics and until now it’s arguably been part of the El Paso, Texas-originating clan’s appeal. But snippets of tangible dialogue make ‘Amputechture’ altogether easier to grasp; it soon becomes a record that scoops you up with the loving caress of an insane grandparent.

Take ‘Vicarious Atonement’, an ATD-I-worthy exercise in post-hardcore-schooled word coupling if ever there was one. As it creaks and yawns compulsively into slow action, Bixler reveals “I regret/Not killing you when I had the chance/I know I had the chance” before threatening that “Maybe I will always haunt you” with the floating menace of a detached spirit.

Later, ten minutes into ‘Day Of The Baphomets’, he seems to creepily intone “I am the reason for your missing child” in scenes reminiscent of ‘Enfilade’ from ‘The Relationship Of Command’, alongside a hectic percussion-led Latin-flavoured interlude that somehow doesn’t suck like a schoolgirl’s first blowjob.

The absolute crowning glory is ‘Viscera Eyes’ – presumably, odd trivia fans, not named after Viscera Magazine, founded in 1980 as a literary guild for homosexual writers (thanks Google). Sprawling over so many bridges, lulls and peaks as to make its status as a download single splitting the fine line between crazy and super-insightful, it’s the most accessible single missive TMV have committed to tape since ATD-I’s untimely demise; the Rolling Stones gone Mexican mega prog.

Ultimately, don’t believe the naysayers and doubters, because anybody who cites ‘Amputechture’ as anything less than brilliant either hasn’t listened properly or patently made up their mind beforehand. Either reaction would be understandable though equally ill informed. The Mars Volta will scarcely care, whatever; they’re too busy rising to another plane alto-fucking-gether.

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