College/Art Rock: The Majestic Twelve's Schizophrenology

I thought it was a jazz album. After all, there’s a saxophone-playing bird on the cover. The first track is a clever use of an archival educational record, but then as the narrator says, “During certain seasons of the year, mankind almost everywhere is subjected to a serenade of insect songs….In some wooded areas of eastern United States, it sounds like this,” the Majestic Twelve launch into something frenetic that is far from the jazz I expected.

“Welcome to the City” has this marching band snare that then sends out the group to do some hyper-rockabilly with flecktones of jazz, soul, funk, and punk. We’re talking Devo without the hats, Thomas Dolby without the aliens, Tribeca without the Manhattan Transfer, and the S.W.A.T. theme without the cheesy funk.

“Condoleezza, Check My Posse” should be a staple of Air America talk show bumper music with its tongue-in-cheek celebration of W and his gang. Again, the pace is frenetic, and lead singer Kenyata Sullivan does his best Stan Ridgway (Wall of Voodoo) impression. The song breaks down for a harmonic chorus singing, “Anne Coulter, Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, Tucker Carlson, Paul Wolfowitz” before a pirate-like chant brings back the frenetics.

“Cry” simply rocks. The guitars chime on “Whispering” while the chorus brings on pogo-ing. “Break It and Breathe” comes from someplace where Men without Hats, A House, XTC, Too Much Joy, and Hüsker Dü secretly met to give the Majestic Twelve a piece of their sound.

“Thank God Everything on TV is a Lie” attacks just about every popular notion coming out of the conservatives in America today, and while it is tough to stomach hearing Sullivan gladly say, “You really must be stupid to think that’s there’s a god,” the track still works for me with its way of not letting us so easily hold onto catchphrases without exploring the truth of these claims. It’s also a fine example of a generational shift and struggle in American politics that finds difficulty embracing either side of a two-party system.

In contrast to this faith wrist-slap, “Grandfather (Sweet Baby Jesus)” is about the most tender pray I’ve heard put to song in a long while. On the lips of an elderly grandfather, it’s carried by just a lone, plaintive piano.

Sweet baby Jesus, come talk to me;
I need to see You smile—
The cows in the meadow refuse to come home,
My children are grown and with child.

The fires don't burn like they did before
They shuffle and spark in the loam
I can no longer build, so if it’s alright with You,
Can I please come home?

Sweet baby Jesus, come sit with me,
But watch that third step by the door
I've been meaning to fix it, but my shakes are real bad
My hands are not my hands anymore.

Do You remember when I sang to You
As I planted this house’s first stone?
I can no longer build, so if it’s alright with You
Can I please come home?

What it comes down to is that Schizophrenology is the music of the people—the questions, challenges, confusions, and disillusionments experienced by Generation X, Generation Y, and everyone else caught up in this postmodern swirl. We’re happy being postmodern—or is it now post-postmodern—but we’re not sure how that plays out in the power-modern world. The album comes down to the final track, “Are You Ready?”—a dose of Mighty Mighty Bosstones-like ska that kicks us out the door to finally go do something about our parents’ world that we’ve been complaining about.

Thanks to the Majestic Twelve for the review CD.