When the hotshots from the Trinity News offices beckoned me to House 6 to pick up the new Max Tundra CD to review, my first thoughts were (as yours probably are too) who the hell is Max Tundra?
| Artist | Max Tundra | NS |
| Title | Parallax Error Beheads You | |
| Label | Domino | |
| Myspace | www.myspace.com/maxtundra |
When the hotshots from the Trinity News offices beckoned me to House 6 to pick up the new Max Tundra CD to review, my first thoughts were (as yours probably are too) who the hell is Max Tundra? So in the spirit of knowledgeable and well-researched journalism I headed to the source of all information, yes, that’s right, Google to see what I could find out. Although his official site maxtundra.com revealed little about him, except that his real name is Ben Jacobs and he’s a thorough-bred Cockney, his MySpace told me the real story.
When I read the description of his music – “warm, emotive, uplifting songs that will capture your spirit, pour it over ice, and serve it back to you at the best disco in town” – I was sure I was in for a treat. In one impressive press blurb on the site, the young singer-songwriter is likened to the legendary Frank Zappa and his gravel-voiced partner in crime Captain Beefheart. On reading this I was ready and willing to take a listen. Hell, on reading it I was ready to declare him my new favourite artist and write a rave review having not even heard a single note.
But just as thousands of cunning sixteen year-olds lie about their age, interests and even looks (we’ve all seen those cleverly angled black and white photos) on MySpace, Max Tundra has lied to us. I have nothing against the man, he is not secretly my ex-boyfriend or an old lover I was once spurned by, he is simply an artist I had high hopes for and was let down by, miserably.
The album begins with “Gum Chimes,” a cacophony of mismatched electronic beats that sound like they were made on a Fisher-Price synthesiser by someone who is either deaf or being extremely ironic. And it doesn’t end there – we are then treated to nine more equally diabolical tracks which all sound pretty much exactly the same – like excruciatingly annoying polyphonic ring tones that keep going off on the bus.
To end this piece, all I can say is that with a couple of Nokia phones and a Casio keyboard, I reckon, even I could make a better album.
Maeve Storey
