Frogs :)
All photos mine, first one edited for contrast.
I wish I had many more pictures of frogs but they tend to be uncooperative. Unless they end up in your grandparents' fish pond, or you go to an amphibian place where you can see them in tanks, or they're crawling around everywhere in the mud so you end up getting one, or you happen upon one or two at the pond's edge during mating season, where they're more interesting in getting their calls out than avoiding you.
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Frog Eyes — The Bees (Paper Bag)
The Bees by Frog Eyes
Hard to believe that it’s going on two decades since Frog Eyes burst howling onto the scene, channeling otherworldly energies in ecstatic, free-form chants and choruses that were only peripherally related to the indie pop scene they landed in. The Bloody Hand (2002) and The Golden River (2003) were unadulterated shocks of wild creative energy, and if we didn’t know exactly why we were urged to “put your rock ‘n roll hands in the god-damned burning sand,” it sounded desperately important. But fast-forward about a generation and Frog Eyes is back at it, surviving various side projects, a bout with cancer, a pandemic, a hiatus and a band name change (they were Soft Plastics for one album). There is still no other band that sounds remotely like Frog Eyes.
Carey Mercer announced that Frog Eyes was kaput in 2018. It seemed like the end of an era that permitted and even celebrated the genuinely weird–not just Frog Eyes, but Animal Collective, Black Dice and sundry others. But indeed, towards the end, Frog Eyes had shifted its direction, putting its fugue-state aesthetic into ever more regularly defined architectures. In 2015, I called Pickpocket’s Locket “Frog Eye’s most elegantly structured, premeditated, composed album ever. It is also miraculously, unexpectedly the band’s best to date. You don’t often win this big when you fundamentally change your game.” That was the next to last Frog Eyes album, but Violet Psalms in 2018 was similarly nailed down. When early on, Frog Eyes had evoked lurid, heat-addled dreams, its music evolved into something like art pop. Still odd, still intoxicating, but better behaved.
The Bees runs again in that well-tempered vein, building intricate fables out of Mercer’s guitar and acid prophet vocals, Melanie Campbell’s hard-thwacked percussion and Shyla Seller’s artful keyboard arrangements. The title track is, perhaps, the record’s spiritual center, an extended meditation on the natural world set to clanging guitar chords and galloping drums. It moves like a lucid dream, past striking images, its poetry unspooling in a way that seems unfiltered but, in fact, bears the signs of writerly attention. A long instrumental coda ushers it out, with guitar tones flickering against washes of keyboard sound.
Mercer’s guitar is more prominent than on some Frog Eyes records, with cuts like “Rainbow Stew” and “I Was an Oligarch” proffering an electrified jangle that might remind you of Guided by Voices. The drumming, likewise, is high powered but uncomplicated, punching out the eighth notes to push the songs forward. Sellers, on keyboards, is a bit of a wild card, adding textures that are sometimes new wave-y, other times ethereal and unsettling. The songs feel visionary but firmly nailed together, a daydream set on a sound foundation.
Mercer survived throat cancer in the mid-teens, and his music now tilts towards the existential. “Everything Dies,” which closes out the album, is slow and wondrous, with hissing, hovering guitar tones wreathing around whispery considerations of the transitory nature of life. “What did you do, what did you do, what did you do?” asks Mercer. Made some great, oddball music, stopped for a minute, then made some more. Bravo to Frog Eyes, back from the dead.
Jennifer Kelly
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frog eyes -- bells in the crooked port
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AllMusic Staff Picks
Frog Eyes
Violet Psalms
Frog Eyes' seventh long-player is more measured, but no less distinctive (and destructive) than previous outings, delivering all of the architectural twists and turns, fragmented rhythms, and surreal narratives that have come to define the group over the years. Frontman Carey Mercer delivers caustic slabs of kinetic post-punk and wily art rock with the nervy fervor of a lead-poisoned carnival barker with a poetry Ph.D.
- James Monger
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