The Bonk’s second album takes us down a well of deep musical inquiry, and although it focuses on improvisation it is grounded by a sense of ritual. Its opening composition, I’m in There, sets the tone, with its bric-a-brac sonic palette that opens up to allow for glorious saxophone and wonky drums.
Future 87 is a present classic, a swinging wonder, where Phil Christie sings, somewhat persuasively, that “it all happened by accident”.
How Shallow? whizzes and wheezes, with glowing synths, driving drums and lovely guitar, like Angelo Badalamenti bopping around the 1960s. Algebra is a tender, weird slink, and Trying on Oblivion sounds positively aspirational, with Christie’s yearning vocal floating atop strident drums before crumbling into a trumpet-drone jazz wig-out.
The Stars Look Great is masterful, with its chasing, playful melody, and the brilliant, bonkers May Feign sounds like Sergio Leone directing a film about library music.
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Lonely, The Only somehow musically mines the time period of 1950–1970 while washing it through a modern blender; it is all discomfiting beauty. Needless to Say pares things back, with elegant saxophone conducting the wandering pace.
This record is vital, witty, mysterious and compelling, like being on Willy Wonka’s boat ride, with detours to the lands of David Axelrod and Alejandro Jodorowsky. It resides in a space of discipline and freedom, where The Bonk are very much greater than, not equal to.
