On its sophomore LP, Merchandise channels the darkness of 2016
“In their obsessive concern for the health of their political leadership, they were miraculously able to ignore a far greater threat to their own well-being.”
That line is taken from a J.G. Ballard short story—the same British science-fiction acolyte who penned The Atrocity Exhibition (which inspired Joy Division’s song of the same name) and Crash (a novel that so moved Siouxsie Sioux that she wrote “Miss The Girl” for her side project, the Creatures)—entitled “The Secret History Of World War 3.” This dystopian fantasy set in the mid-’90s imagines a U.S. Congress so desperate for command and control that it passes a constitutional amendment in order to bring an aging Ronald Reagan out of political retirement, only to watch his health falter at the precise moment when his country needs him most—becoming “a corpse wired for sound,” an immobilized vessel providing only symbolic guidance for an ailing, aimless nation. Written in 1990, it could just as easily have been penned today for all the Donald Trump absurdity it anticipates.
Ballard’s story also happens to be a key catalyst for the Tampa, Fla., band Merchandise’s sophomore album, A Corpse Wired For Sound. Or as singer/songwriter Carson Cox puts it, “Lyrically, the album is dealing with some weird literary themes we’ve never really addressed before. And Ballard was such a moral writer; he seems like someone who would’ve been insulted at the way government, society and religion—essentially every aspect of institutionalized life—would say one thing and then do another. Everyone called our last record our ‘end of the world record,’ but that already happened. We’re in weird new territory, somewhere after that. The state of the world is so miserable right now. And I always wanted to be a musician at the end of the world.”
Musically speaking, Merchandise—Cox, plus core members Dave Vassalotti (guitar, electronics), Pat Brady (bass) and new drummer Leo Suarez—has evolved into a hybrid of goth’s finest hour (think the Mission, Bauhaus and its various baritone-voiced offshoots) spliced with the dreamy textures often associated with groups such as Ride or Cocteau Twins. Where the band once kept true to its Floridian punk roots by recording early efforts in a closet, the new album is a more proper studio affair, featuring tracks produced in Italy, Berlin and New York City in addition to its home turf. With Maurizio Baggio helping to sculpt the resulting maelstrom into a more fully formed whole, Merchandise emerges as more of a British-sounding nocturnal concern than its earlier incarnations, with the first single, “Flower of Sex,” stomping aggressively toward you with drums that hit like medieval battering rams and phased guitars storming through the track like a noisy summer squall.
“End Of The Week” churns in a similarly sinister fashion (with Cox crooning Burroughs-indebted stream-of-consciousness through a white-hot metallic screen), while epic closer “My Dream Is Yours” suspends all drumming until the three-minute mark before pummeling listeners into a puddle. The sounds are towering, the impact is visceral. Which is a considerable achievement when the album’s peripatetic roots and long-distance collaboration model between band members are fully taken into account.
Having left Tampa for a time, Cox’s residencies in New York City and Berlin afforded the album a street-tough ruggedness that Merchandise had never achieved. But these experiences have also gilded that edge with an intellect and curiosity that was always lurking just beneath the surface.
“I was reading Henry Miller when I was living in New York,” he says. “You can walk down those streets where he lived even now. But growing up in a weird place like Florida, seeing that stuff on TV or reading about it, there’s a huge barrier between you and the lives they lived. You can’t imagine yourself doing it. You have no access to it. If anything sticks around long enough, that style—no matter how personal—becomes fashion. I don’t think anyone my age had any cool experiences with music or art growing up. We started out corny as fuck, which is why irony is such a big thing, I guess.”
Ironic or not, in a year this dark with foreboding, Merchandise gives the impression that it very much means it.
—Corey duBrowa
