Mt. St. Helens Vietnam Band, Where The Messengers Meet
Featured Album
Not a traditional rock album, but certainly a transcendence-seeking worldview
Mt. St. Helens Vietnam Band are certainly not making things easy on themselves. They have an overly long band name, a curious origin story (their drummer, Marshall Verdoes, was adopted by bandleader Benjamin Verdoes and is only 15 years old), and first picked up online buzz via a series of trippy, soft-focus "infomercials" that taught about the dangers of homeostasis and advice on how not to be boring. With all that Internet weight, it'd be easy to dismiss them as a gimmick, one that doesn't advance past the aura of their mythology. But the Seattle-based quintet's 2009 self-titled debut was a thrill, full of loose, jangly homages to Jefferson Airplane-style psychedelia.
The new Where the Messengers Meet takes that template and blows it up to stadium size, adding bits of prog epicness and placing even more emphasis on Benjamin's bellowing vocal chops. The band's updated aesthetic seems best represented by "Hurrah," a pounding, crashing cavalcade of guitars and organ squeals that suggest what Muse might sound like if they weren't distracted by songs about werewolves.
They're even better when they slow things down and let other sounds tumble into the mix. "Not to Know" balances jazzy guitar with an elusive string section that sneaks in and out of the background, occasionally taking over the primary melody but sometimes making you second guess the whole affair. It's a haunting tune that works as an incredible sonic puzzle — and also as ideal stoned-makeout music.
Where the Messengers Meet strikes a remarkable balance between the urge to turn everything up to 11 and the need to cram as much as many ideas as possible into their rising and falling swirls of sound. The best tunes — like the steady-rolling "You Were/I Was" and the Radiohead-biting "In a Hole" — satisfy both of those urges simultaneously.
Mt. St. Helens Vietnam Band aren't an easy sell nor do they inspire a natural embrace. This is complicated music meant to be listened to multiple times and deconstructed piece by piece. The melodies are often buried in the middle of the mix, covered by guitar fuzz, strange vocal harmonies and the insistent beat of Marshall Verdoes. Arrangements are developed and abandoned, only to resurface again for the crescendo. Yet somehow, Where the Messengers Meet becomes a coherent whole — perhaps not as a traditional rock album, but certainly as a transcendence-seeking worldview. It requires a level of confidence and skill that not even their complicated back-story can eclipse.
