Pierrot Lunaire – Dog Chakra
8.5.16 by Scott Scholz

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“My theory is that when it comes to important subjects, there are only two ways a person can answer. Which way they chose, tells you who that person is. For instance, there are only two kinds of people in the world, Beatles people and Elvis people. Now Beatles people can like Elvis and Elvis people can like the Beatles, but nobody likes them both equally. Somewhere you have to make a choice. And that choice tells you who you are.” – Mia Wallace in Pulp Fiction

When I was a little squirtle, I was totally an Elvis person—it wasn’t about musical styles so much as the notion of solo artists versus bands. The psychic weight of responsibility on solo artists seemed so much more interesting to follow, y’know? I still find myself more attracted to folks who strike out on their own musical path, and for the last five years, Pierrot Lunaire has been my Elvis.

I’m super pumped and a little bummed out about the arrival of “Dog Chakra” on Opal Tapes: another tape is great news as a huge fan of Pierrot Lunaire, but it’s bittersweet to know that this is the end of the line. Like the project’s namesake protagonist in Giraud’s poems, Pierrot’s mission has neared its end, and the entheogenic ritual circle must be closed with his role as stand-in poète maudit, the poet iconoclast who leaves us too soon. Another 45 minutes, and we’re on our own.

Taken as a whole, previous Pierrot Lunaire jams on labels like Sic Sic, Hooker Vision, and Tranquility Tapes always felt a little like pieces of a larger puzzle, each made of collaged freakouts as alien as they were deliberate. While it might be possible to “solve” this wild ride now that we have the final puzzle piece, let’s have a little fun with it instead.

PL’s recordings have always combined bits of synth, saxophone and found sounds, and “Dog Chakra” immediately drops us into this weird-but-familiar world. Opener Elegy for a Plastic Bag is heavy on manipulated thrift store tapes, which turn into a kind of dark ecclesiastical memory foam in the hands of Mr. Denizio, a bit of funeral music for the end of the project. Like previous recordings, the formal structure is a sort of “block form,” with abrupt and spatially jarring transitions between ideas.

Looped and layered saxophones play a major role again on most of these pieces, and Denizio’s unique approach to horn playing is one of my favorite things about Pierrot Lunaire. Combining the wild flurries of folks like Arthur Doyle, the hermetic weirdness of Jandek, and an all-in onslaught of psychedelic delays and overdrive, “Dog Chakra” takes horns into refreshingly non-jazz territories. The psych-infused spatial distortions of Transient Surroundings (Too Much LSD), the harsh/subdued contrasting sections of A Conversation with the Flowers in My Kitchen, and the incredibly distorted solo sax passage in Pathetic Oasis that almost morphs into guitar feedback mimicry are among the best sax moments in the Pierrot Lunaire discography.

One subtle deviation found in “Dog Chakra” is that percussion is more prominent in this final chapter, including some lowercase pots & pans and a tabla loop in A Conversation, as well as significant portions of the final two pieces. Stimulus Delta makes for a fine farewell piece: clanging percussion takes focus in the foreground while aquatic and interstellar drones murmur below. Looped, manipulated voices eventually haunt the joint before an abrupt switch to some minimal synth lines that walk us into the final moonlight. RIP, Pierrot Lunaire.

Whether you’ve been into PL for a while, or this is your first taste, “Dog Chakra” is a great place to jump in. Snag one while you still can from Opal Tapes.