Crazy Clown Time
David Lynch
Play It Again Sam
David Lynch’s Crazy Clown Time is in many ways the musical equivalent to minimalist artist Marcel Duchamp’s fountain, a urinal he installed on its side. Like fountain, the most noticeable aspect of the album is its creator. Also like fountain, Crazy Clown Time stands ready to take the piss out of you.
The album seems to ask the question, “What would a Neil Young electronica album sound like?” This is a question that hasn’t been answered since Young’s terribly received 1982 electronica album, Trans. Lynch spends much of the album melodizing and vocoding his vocals in an effort to distract the listener from his thin voice. Unfortunately, without the vocals, there isn’t much to listen to.
For a man famous for his meticulous sound design in film, Lynch and company have produced a shockingly empty album. The guitar riffs are reminiscent of Twin Peaks, and the same drum line seems to appear on every track.
In addition, most lyrics repeat endlessly, making most songs, especially the seven-and-a-half minute vocoded lecture on transcendental meditation “Strange and Unproductive Thinking,” feel tossed off and bloated. While perhaps not aiming for it, Lynch misses the minimalist mark by a fair margin.
True genius emerges when talent is met with adversity. Every pearl is formed around an irritation. Limitless talent seems to flounder with unlimited resources. This is especially true in Lynch’s case, who made Eraserhead for $100,000, and Dune for $40 million. In an effort to avoid a fiasco, however, Crazy Clown Time is an album almost devoid of any creativity. It sounds exactly like what it is: the first effort by an artist unsure of himself.
Influences of other artists creep into every song, from latter-day Scott Walker’s avant-garde storytelling in the title track, to John Maus’ playful take on ‘80s stereotypes in tracks like “Good Day Today” and “Stone’s Gone Up.”
However, just as no one is able to ape Lynch’s film style, he is not skilled enough as an artist to properly distill these influences into something unique. None of which would be particularly deal-breaking, however, if the album wasn’t so long. The 14 tracks of Crazy Clown Time runs nearly an hour and 10 minutes in length. This, coupled with the repetitious nature of the lyrics, makes the album a painfully arduous journey to get through.
That isn’t to say there aren’t any bright spots on the album. In fact, there are two.
The album’s opener “Pinky’s Dream” features Karen O desperately pleading for her life against a backdrop of psychedelic guitar playing reminiscent of Syd-era Pink Floyd. The intensity of her singing mixed with atmospheric swells make the song sound like a track from Portishead’s Third.
Similarly, “She Rise Up,” the album’s closer, finds a nice mix of the elements Lynch fumbled with for most of the album.
Between lush guitar lines, an interesting narrative and an unsettling yet beautiful mood, it is unfortunate that Lynch hits his stride so late in the album.