Scanning the dial of an era believed by some to be mythical, Richard Swift has redefined the idea of inspiration. Through a spate of albums directly influenced by bygone melodies, he has channeled the lost art of traditional music making. But he hasn’t shied from shitting in the punch bowl, having indulged his underground sweet tooth under his own name (Onasis I & II) as well as his komische pseudonym, Instruments of Science and Technology. The last IS&T album, 2007’s Music from the Films of R/Swift, had a definitive 70s Berlin feel, down to the Eno-inspired minutia and sexual, if uniform, Kraut rhythm. Displaying a love for a genre that is currently influencing a new influx of experimental artists seemed a daring move for someone as grounded as Swift.
How little we knew. Music for Paradise Armor annihilates the old IS&T formula, removing the rudimentary catchiness inherent in Kraut for a mechanical exposé. Ripping apart the space-time continuum, Swift delves deeper into expansive experimentation, coming close to touching the storied underground of the present in terms of depth and quality. This album won’t endear Swift to any fans of his A.M. antics, but it will confuse those who have yet to grasp his penchant for exploration. With affecting results, Swift chooses once again to follow his instinct and not mass opinion.
Swift has been mum as to Music for Paradise Armor’s immediate influences, simply stating that the album’s impetus reflects the tech-centric societies of the American Northwest. Surrendering to his broken digit, Swift set the controls for the heart of the mechanical, breaking down technology into synchronized acts: the movements of a clock’s hands, the drips of a leaky faucet, the ripples of the sink water, the white noise of a broken television. Music for Paradise Armor is the residue of a world crumbling in the face of rapid technological advancement. What good is a new iDevice if it doesn’t function properly?
The half-baked synapses of Music for Paradise Armor also reflect Swift’s attitude toward his mangled finger. Unable to play guitar traditionally, he hides behind the chaos of IS&T to playfully pluck at dilapidated strings (“Mt. Mountain”) as a roughshod melody percolates around these half-hearted strums. This transfer of energy into the broken finds its angry innards during “Field Notes.” The track radiates a temper within its gnarled drone; Swift the creator turns mad.
Ultimately, it’s the joys of creation that find root. “Nuux” is a lilting piece, not far removed from Richard James’ lush ambiance. “Old Hanshakes” reverberates with primitive rhythms, and despite its best attempts to feign frustration, the vibrant, mechanical percussion is too infectious not to produce a smile. Leave it to Swift to create a positive where others would dwell on the negative. Music for Paradise Armor brims with bionic can-do; Swift is just as comfortable in the technological age as he is in the stacks of pop’s past.
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