Review: Mess Esque ‘Jay Marie, Comfort Me’
One thing that has always sparked my interest on my musical journey in life is when I come across a band who work completely on their own terms. It’s always intrigued me that the concept of trying to please the masses isn’t for everyone.
The thing is, I like being in the minority, that elite section of society where what drives us, and the soundtrack to it, are so fundamentally niche.
In the last four decades, I’ve found my musical spiritual home on the fringes, and this has led me through all manner of bands along the way. The subject of today’s review is just one of those special moments when I can connect with an experience so coherently that the incoherence only serves to amplify my interest tenfold.
Mess Esque, if like me, you are new to, are an Australian duo who have created a truly wonderous, somewhat otherworldly experience that, if you allow it to, will carry you away into a dreamlike haze.
On their latest album, Jay Marie, Comfort Me, there is a real airy feel throughout. It does sound reminiscent of a couple of ‘90s acts at times, but this is in no way a bad thing. I get notes of Juliana Hatfield and Mazzy Star, with a little Throwing Muses chucked in for good measure. Perhaps it’s a vocal that is akin to Kristen Hersh that draws the comparison, but either way, for me this is all a bonus.
I think when an act displays an alternative rock sound, on any level, it gives me a deep joy down inside, especially as that period for me was very much a tussle of extremes; avant-garde alt rock verses brain shredding grindcore and industrial metal.
Neither was any less incredible in my eyes. It is that eclectic romanticism of those ‘90s sounds that drew me into Mess Esque, and over the course of the eight tracks had me completely spellbound. As for the duo themselves, Helen Franzmann does a fabulously serene job of vocal eloquence, while Mick Turner assumes the majority of the sonic landscape for Helen to drift within.
As opener Light Showroom gently draws us into the whole experience, it wastes no time in helping all the worldly worries dissipate. It is smoothly rich, understated, and somewhat meditative too. Close your eyes and you will be instantly transported to another plane of existence, weightless and calm. There is a soothing and intoxicating ambience, and if you let it, it will have you drifting off before its zenith.
It is smoothly rich, understated, and is somewhat meditative…
As Take Me To Your Infinite Garden breezes in, this is where it gets a lot more reminiscent to those ’90s vibes. There’s a chunky guitar that hypnotically rolls alongside a more up-tempo drum, and with Helen’s dreamlike singing to guide us, it conjures up playlists of Mess Esque comfortably nestled in amongst the likes of Juliana Hatfield, Belly, and Mazzy Star in their prime. At this point, I’m already lost in Mess Esque’s virtual fantasy land.
With track three, Liminal Space, the title says it all really. Defined online as ‘A transitional or in-between area, often evoking feelings of ambiguity and unease, that exists between two distinct states or places’, it is actually the best description for this whole sonic experience, especially if those two places are reality and fantasy. As for the track itself, it is beautifully awkward as it purveys that sense of unease but is so comforting that you really are left in a conundrum of just how to feel by its emotional peak.
That Chair really gives the best indicator at the band’s overall dynamic, with that dreamy Mazzy Star esq feel, it evolves into a deeper, more impassioned outpouring as it plays through. Crow’s Ash Tree introduces a side that’s been understated up until now, and as it focuses more on the instrumentation, it feels a bit freestyle and less confined to structure sonically. It’s also a little jazzy, but a good kind of jazzy, not uncomfortable and disjointed jazzy.
Track six, Let Me Know You, is a quirky little ditty, and if you dare to listen closely to the lyrics, you will be rewarded with a strangely romantic experience. Yep, there are lines like ‘let me lick your armpit’, which, beyond being comedically funny, is actually a very personal and private request and shows their inhibition to explore ideas and concepts.
The album’s penultimate track, Armour Your Amor invites in that softer, more serene vocal again, which is offset interestingly to the soundtrack, and through the use of quirky time signatures, provides a lovely, disjointed affair. Closing the show with No Snow, it is a stripped back and wonderfully sparse finale, and with minimal output, the band sign off with an eloquent goodbye.
It’s a beautifully unique album with such a peculiar charm that if you are prepared to invest your time in, you will be richly rewarded.
Label: Drag City
Band Links: Facebook | Bandcamp | Spotify | Instagram
Scribed by: Lee Beamish
