Ditching the rule book is a good way to start, but make sure that you aren’t just swapping it for a different set of parameters. If your band makes a very musical point of declaring that you view yourselves as The Great Antithesis of Pigeonholes, well, you have already failed. You have not abandoned the rules, you have only accepted the method of tossing anything and everything at the wall in the hopes of discovering some faux originality. That way lies futility. (Or tons of fans… not sure.) Tossing the rules means having no idea what monstrosity your musical exploration will yield, but possessing the confidence to dive in anyway. Accept that it is impossible to know your destination.
Murmur, an adventurous group of Chicagoans, appears to view having some grandiose vision or pre-conceived musical destination as the wrong approach altogether. While many styles and genres can be heard within –70s prog rock, jazz fusion, black metal, post-hardcore, and more – they never allow any one clear element to dominate the floor, because they never even glanced at the rulebook. There is a palpable sense of restless evolution going on here, giving off the impression that this eponymous sophomore album is merely a snapshot. These songs will never be played quite the same way again, because to limit them is to have a destination in mind. And Murmur does not deal in destinations.
Acting as a unifying thread, while reemphasizing the band’s utmost dedication to self-discovery, is the reverence towards King Crimson. In its ability to hammer down tight, technical material before leaving it for sparser explorations of space, Murmur shows a clear affinity to albums such as Red and Larks’ Tongues In Aspic, albeit with an overall darker tone. “Bull of Crete” brings shades of polyrhythmic math rock, doubling down over itself before some half-yelled vocals offer a kind of caged anger, while “Al-Malik” similarly trades off soft dynamics for explosions of blunt metal riffs and technical wizardry. The album shines greatest over its second half suite, including the unabashed excitement of the “Zete II Reticuli” duo, a harsh deconstruction through “King In Yellow,” and the somber, emotionally ambiguous conclusion of “When Blood Leaves.” The holistic flow of Murmur obviously provides a full album feel, but more importantly, it maintains the undeniable impression that the band has greater plans for these songs in a live setting.
Of course, there could be no expectation of such plans without ambitious group chemistry, and Murmur is one crazily tight unit. They have the collective chops to realize that looseness requires a greater, more human dynamic than so much of the world’s flashy music, and the conceptual knowhow to realize that certain passages require a Richard Wright keyboard tone, while others need a Theremin squeal (at least, I think it’s a Theremin). And then there is the drumming of Charlies Werber. Like some transplant from the heyday of jazz fusion who has been force fed Tomas Haake videos, Werber is a one man machine of prog-o-dynamics. From his shuffles and romps to his rock drives and his special is-that-a-roll-or-a-blast-beat-or-both-oh-who-cares-it-rules technique, the man does not stop, and he will drive drum nerds mad with envy.
From Werber on up, Murmur’s virtuoso skills and group chemistry solidify the sense of “tasteful self-indulgence.” This is not the LOOK AT ME I’M DOING A MILLION THINGS wankery of so much prog and tech, but rather a case of the band members looking at each other and quietly asking, “What would happen if we did this… here?” The answer is that many things will happen; things that will irk a good number of listeners for simply having an unpredictable and meandering nature, but thrill many others because it’s just so goddamn cool. No, Murmur is not for everyone, and it is in no means perfect, but it finds brilliance in its cracks by never attempting to seal them. After all, perfection is a destination, and Murmur prefers to just keep driving on through the night.
