The Conformists

Three Hundred
(Fifty Four Forty Or Fight!)

One of my common gripes when reviewing is that too many bands adhere to conventional rock time signatures too often. I’m talking about the tired old four-beats-per bar, 120 beat tempo blueprint that has been played to death since the birth of Blues. I was excited to discover The Conformists avoid the 4/4 signature like the plague. Not only that, but the Illinois band employs some of the most bizarre beat schemes ever to hit the ear of modern audiences, even whipping out a ridiculous nine beat jigsaw puzzle on one of their tracks. In theory, The Conformists’ new album Three Hundred was the gem I was looking for in a murk of…well, conformity. After nearly twisting my head off trying to pin down an opinion on this disc, I discovered the roller coaster ride of fluctuating opinions flitting through my brain to this minute probably fits what the band is hoping to achieve.

The album simultaneously sounds like the biggest load of sonic shit this side of an electrocuted cat and a glimmering work of avant garde genius. Nothing on the disc is for the faint of heart or anyone not open to noise rock. The opening track is thirty seconds of silence and the closing “You’re Welcome” is a challenging eight minutes of constantly shifting musical movement. The dynamics of Three Hundred are often a maddening claptrap that jars the ears and rapes all order and sense. At first listen, this could qualify as the most debilitating musical jargon produced by anyone, let alone famed engineer Steve Albini. What I came to discover is the disc is impeccably ordered, just not in any way that modern rock audiences are used to experiencing.

Thankfully, these guys are garage rockers at heart who merely have a tendency to hate convention as their ironic name implies. The palette is stripped down on Three Hundred, which gives a raw edge to the already jagged production. “Laundry Hepburn” sounds like Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest character Billy Bibbit shouting while being dragged down sanitarium halls. “Black People” starts off with an irritating repetition of the words “thank you” before it kicks into a jellied mass of epileptic guitar. The Doors-infused “A.S.M.M.C.” delivers the fabled nine beat bar, dancing in threatening rhythms along a tempo that marches with bewildered precision. Most tracks defy easy definition, running through a kaleidoscope of broken weirdness and invention that either pleases or inflames.

Love it or hate it (and you’re sure to do both regardless of how much you listen to it), Three Hundred reflects at the very least a daring band with an uncanny ability to look beyond rock’s borders. Even if a vast majority passes the band off as complete garbage, The Conformists play rock that is beyond mere self-gratification. Although the disc may not reach, it still speaks.

-Matt Wendus, Revolt Media