Jim O'Rourke
http://tisue.net/orourke

styles: avant-garde, electronica, indie rock, indie, pop, musique concrete, conceptual, electro-acoustic, folk
others: Gastr Del Sol, Red Krayola, Fennesz, John Fahey

I'm Happy, and I'm Singing, and a 1, 2, 3, 4
Mego, 2001
rating: 9.2
reviewer: mr p

I'm Happy, and I'm Singing, and a 1, 2, 3, 4 is one of the most powerful and poignant releases by Jim O'Rourke. Which is ironic considering the album almost didn't see the light of day. Reportedly, Peter from Mego Records had to convince O'Rourke to release it, as O'Rourke feels that 90% of the Powerbook-produced albums out there are rushed by a glut of people, a bunch of laggards of the so-called "Powerbook Movement," homogenizing every last bit of electronic noise. But make no mistake, these three lengthy compositions were recorded throughout 1997-1999 (in NY, Osaka, and Tokyo), well before ownership of a Powerbook became chic-- not to mention the countless laptop collaborations he had previously been involved in.

Released just months after the more "conventional" Insignificance, I'm Happy, and I'm Singing, and a 1, 2, 3, 4 shows O'Rourke's renowned, yet often overlooked, experimental side. Though each more well-known album (Eureka, Insignificance, Halfway to a Threeway, Bad Timing) is not typical rock, per se, these albums seem to mask the improvisational, free-form works of his past (Tamper, Remove the Need, Disengage) and even of the present (collaborations with Fennesz, Nobukazu Takemura, Muller). But with I'm Happy, and I'm Singing... O'Rourke reaffirms his ubiquitous position in the experimental world.

Repetition is a good term to describe album opener, "I'm Happy." This mammoth composition is essentially an accordion sample, albeit sliced and diced, cut and chopped, and sprinkled throughout 11-minutes of pure electro-acoustic bliss. Underneath each repetitive wave after wave of electronic glitch is a low droning that not only accentuates the high-end electronics, but also imbues an almost surreal beauty. At 6:40 the droning fades-out as the electronics become smooth in contrast to its previous staccato incarnation. A minute later, you'll hear the drones slowly sneak back in as the persistence of the electronics wear off. By 9:30 the electronics are entirely cut out, leaving only low drones and a trail of watery ambient sounds to lay the song to rest.

Where "I'm Happy" thrived on repetitiveness and subtle variations, "And I'm Singing" thrives on melody and structure. It starts with samples of clocks, leading straight into a barrage of blips, bleeps, bloops, blorps, and blurps. Bits of synth, acoustic guitar, and piano can be heard swimming in the background as O'Rourke tediously arranges the noise above an insistent and almost danceable beat. The song treks through an array of varying sections, carving an exciting path for listeners to follow. At 6:40 the song takes a sudden change and ends with dispersed sprinkles of calm noise and flirting static.

The album ends with "And a 1, 2, 3, 4," a majestic, ethereal journey that floats about with ease and sophistication. The song is based on samples of a string quartet, relying on repetition and minimalism to create the cinematic feel. The stereo/panning effects are hypnotic, as warm, soothing tones bounce from speaker to speaker. The subtle variations and minimalist approach coax the listener to listen more intently. After 17 minutes of floating carelessly about, the song becomes more digitized and obtrusive. Similar to "And I'm Singing," the last section of the song is calm and relaxing; it sounds like a robot pleading for your help as all its circuits slowly turn off. Seriously.

Of all the improvisational laptop music I've heard, O'Rourke remains on top with hands triumphantly on hips. What discerns this album from the rest is the emotional waves that splash the listener with every listen; the music is not detached like the music on many other electronic albums. O'Rourke is given the gift of melody, and it shows in even his most experimental excursions. And the lasting ability of the album is incredible; new sounds, structures, and variations can be heard with each subsequent listen. In short O'Rourke has provided electronic laptop music what it always seemed to lack but has always needed: a human heart that keeps on thumping.

1. I'm Happy
2. And I'm Singing
3. And a 1, 2, 3, 4

Insignificance
Drag City, 2001
rating: 8.3
reviewer: mr p

If Jim O'Rourke isn't bipolar, then his music definitely is. From the first snare hits and distorted electric guitar of opening track, "All Downhill from Here", you know you're in store for something different-- again. Insignificance continues the guitar-laden pop songs that peaked their heads on 1999's EP, Halfway to a Threeway. But instead of the intricate jazz-influenced acoustic guitar work, O'Rourke straps on his electric guitar and runs it through a distortion pedal.

It's easy to dismiss Insignificance merely as a straight-ahead guitar rock album, but subsequent listens reveal the awkward beauty and sophisticated pop sensibility that O'Rourke has penned his own. But no matter how hard O'Rourke tries to sound "normal" and conventional, he ends up coming off just a little weirder.

The first half of Insignificance is mainly comprised of upbeat distorted ditties. From "Therefore, I Am" to "Memory Lane", O'Rourke is more than willing to conform to the pop structures that have made top 40 bands, superstars; but the intimacy and beauty of the music is more sincere and honest than anything on the radio. Slightly off-key vocals, out-of-tune guitars, and subtle mistakes only add to the organic approach-- not to mention the amazing production.

The last three songs on the album showcase O'Rourke's more adventurous side. Album highlight "Get a Room" features intriguing, yet funny lyrics coupled with lush music, showing polar opposites coming together in a unique and twisted way. The lyrics unravel a story of a man's choice of who to be with for that night, but the catch is that this is his last night to live. Of course, in normal O'Rourke weirdness, the man is looking to get laid, but accidentally picks a "sleeper." The song fades on a repeating outro that leaves the listener without finality, letting us feel the frustration that the man was feeling as his number was coming to a close. "Good Times" is an unadulterated affair with quiet vocals and modest fingerpicking; and the 7-song album ends with the warm "Life Goes Off", leaving a genuine, uplifting feeling. Although not as rich and sumptuous as the orchestral pop songs of Eureka, these last three songs are every bit as emotional and oddly evoke a personal connection to the music and lyrics.

O'Rourke is one of the few artists who can dramatically change styles between albums while retaining a dedicated fan base. And it isn't blind devotion that has kept us buying his albums, it's his ingenuity and our respect for his courageous efforts-- and on top of all that, no matter how weird or conventional the song, O'Rourke's style is always imbedded in every note.

1. All Downhill from Here
2. Insignificance
3. Therefore, I Am
4. Memory Lane
5. Good Times
6. Get a Room
7. Life Goes Off


 

Halfway to a Threeway EP
Drag City 1999
rating: 9.0
reviewer: kasey diaz

Chicago native Jim O'Rourke (Gastr Del Sol) is viewed by many to be a post-classical composer who is a key player in combining the classical styles of Europe and mixing them with American folk and free jazz. These ideas can be seen in O'Rourke's 1999 full-length release Eureka, but O'Rourke's follow up EP Halfway to a Threeway is completely stripped of all orchestration, exposing O'Rourke's raw musical talent and songwriting ability. It exhibits O'Rourke's unique and inspiring guitar work not heard on Eureka and sets the stage for his witty lyrics.

The opening track, "Fuzzy Sun" is comparable to Eureka's "Ghost Ship in a Storm" flashing glimpses of a similar melody but with its own unique guitar twists. The second track "Not Sport, Martial Art" is an instrumental song which mixes somewhat jazzy guitar parts with solid and complex percussive backing along with cornet lines.

The true strength of the EP, however, is the ending two songs. "The Workplace" is a beautifully repetitive song, which features The Sea and Cake's Archer Prewitt and Sam Prekop on backing vocals. The song pokes fun at the working environment with storytelling lyrics about cross-dressing.  For instance, "Women look good here/ With men's clothes on/ It contains them." The title track is a chilling, gently strung ballad with a single guitar track and O'Rourke harmonizing himself with slight echo.

The result: an epic masterpiece. Think of Halfway to a Threeway as a slightly trimmed-off Eureka. In fact, Halfway to a Threeway succeeds in many of the ways that Eureka does not. O'Rouke proves that he is a polished songwriter who can show much more with so much less. 

1. Fuzzy Sun
2. Not Sport, Marital Art
3. Workplace
4. Halfway to a Threeway

Eureka
Drag City 1999
rating: 8.8
reviewer: cowboy dan

The smart music critics would describe Jim O'Rourke as a "post-classical composer", or an "ambient electronica experimentalist", or maybe even an "avant-garde electro-acoustic post-rock experimental guitarist". I simply describe him as "the fucking man". He is barely over 30 years old, but Jim O'Rourke has been everywhere. Never heard of him? Don't believe me? Go here. With that said...Jim O'Rourke, finally taking the time to actually work on some more of his own material, plays the role of composer and/or arranger on this project, which undoubtedly guarantees something special for your auditory apparatus. Eureka is yet another example of Jim O'Rourke's musical brilliance. He always finds a way to surprise his listeners in the most surprising ways at the most surprising times. Many of the tracks on Eureka are strung together by strands of music and sound, creating an effect that implies that the songs were not meant to stand alone. This is nothing new in the music biz, but O'Rourke actually makes it work. The songs seem to emerge out of each other and out of nothing at the same time. Beautifully orchestrated and cleverly organized, Eureka is a feel-good album from the get-go. The opening track, "Prelude to 110 or 220/Women of the World", is a 9-minute dynamic ascension, delicately arranged by O'Rourke, repeating one vocal line while continually adding musical layers with each iteration. An album could not ask for a better introduction. Although Eureka doesn't display much of O'Rourke's unique guitar work, it is still unique to his style. There a few parts that don't quite work as well as the rest, but they are either unnoticeable or easily ignorable. Buy this album.

1. Prelude To 110 Or 220/Women Of The World
2. Ghost Ship In A Storm
3. Movie On The Way Down
4. Through The Night Softly
5. Please Patronize Are Sponsers
6. Something Big
7. Eureka
8. Happy Holidays

 

Bad Timing
Drag City, 1997
rating: 9.3
reviewer: mr p

Bad Timing is the quintessence of the acoustic guitar. The album, comprised of four lengthy numbers, is dominated by the 6 steel-stringed apparatus. At times sparse, and other times dense, the album continually surprises; and the result is nothing short of astonishing.

O'Rourke's precision with the acoustic guitar and his ability to create memorable melodies with a single instrument acts on a behemoth level, despite its minimal approach. Each song features carefully calculated finger picking, beautiful arpeggios, and tangents that only broaden the songs' emotional validity and transcendent nature. Each piece jumps from accessible to experimental in a single bound. Yet while the songs cater to the experimental enthusiasts, an organic undercurrent plays throughout.

The four songs average ten minutes in length, and each feature several hooks to entice the listener. As the songs unfold, the hooks are replaced with subdued, drawn-out guitar riffs that rely on repetition and monotony. But with each successive iteration, layers of instruments seem to come out of nowhere. And because of the hypnotic, trance-like state of the music, you may not notice the added layers until a minute or two of exposure.

The power of these seemingly harmless songs is suffocated by the fact that they beg full attention from the listener. The full emotional impact of the album is only truly experienced with undivided attention. But Bad Timing is also effective as an album to play in the background; though not as powerful, you'll definitely derive pleasure from hearing the spastic arrangements and ingenious use of the guitar.

Slowly but surely, you'll realize that O'Rourke is waving a pocket watch in front of your two eyes, begging you to join his twisted world. And after several minutes feeling content with that fact, O'Rourke snaps his fingers and you are left feeling as if you had been on an incredible journey.

Album closer "Happy Trails" is one of the album's stronger songs. Most of the song is characterized by the minimal approach that hugs the other tracks, but it all builds to a highly unexpected twist. After the spastic twist deadens, the album is laid to rest with a lush horn arrangement.

Each Jim O'Rourke album can be characterized by small phrases and sentences. O'Rourke continually redefines his music, leaving only bits of clues that explain how and why and in what manner brought him to his present form. After the extremely experimental Happy Days and before the orchestral pop of Eureka, O'Rourke has penned one of the most direct and honest approaches to songwriting in just four songs.

1. There's Hell in Hello, But More in Goodbye
2. 94 the Long Way
3. Bad Timing
4. Happy Trails
 

Happy Days
Revenant, 1997
rating: 8.0
reviewer: mr p

Warning: This review will reveal the concept behind the album (which is a bad thing if you have not heard it). If you're interested in hearing the music without any preconceptions, please listen to the music first.

Before Eureka, Insignificance, and Bad Timing, there was Happy Days. No, not the television show that fostered a Fonz-crazed, leather-clad generation of macho prowess, but rather the "concept" album by the prolific Jim O'Rourke. For a track that extends over 47 minutes, you know you're in store for something unique. First of all, Happy Days is no more a song than a chicken is a book. It represents an idea, a musician's vantage, an intelligent exploration into the very nature of humanity; it evokes questions that are best answered with another question. This level of awareness and ambiguity works in its favor, resulting in one of O'Rourke's most intellectually engaging pieces.

The track begins with O'Rourke on an acoustic guitar, repeatedly fingerpicking a low D and a high D-- seems fair enough. But these two notes are the only sounds until about three-minutes-and-forty-seconds into the song when an augmented chord is plucked. It's not until another 40 seconds when an eerie static starts to make its foray. At 4:57 a dissonant acoustic melody rears its head. A minute later, the discordant melody reoccurs, now in 30 second intervals. Eight-and-a-half minutes into the song, a chord change coupled with a very piercing static is introduced. The acoustic guitar work is reminiscent of the John Fahey-influenced instrumentation on Bad Timing. The fiery static and mellow fingerpicking grow in intensity for over a minute, when the guitar returns to the dissonant melody. From there, the guitar plays the octave D's that introduced the piece, while the static and miscellaneous electronic noises slowly unravel its evil core. By 12:30, the acoustic guitar is barely audible as the static becomes fiercer and almost violent in tone.

Miniscule changes occur throughout the rest of the piece, which can be summarized as a huge ball of static. Twenty minutes in, another disagreeing static enters the fray, causing a wavering conflict between each static. These two conflicting static sounds battle it out for 13 minutes until another violent static comes in, followed by what sounds like a symphony of electric saws, motors, and blenders. Finally, at around 43:30 the piece begins to transform back to its original buzzing. A minute later, the acoustic guitar marks its return, playing the two notes the piece started with.

So what's the deal? How come the piece barely changed? Why didn't something happen in the middle of the static? These questions are raised as soon as the CD ends. The theatrical idea of the piece is meant to show the engulfment of the musician by something "much more important"-- an audible annihilation of a persona, according to O'Rourke. But he also wanted the listener to question why they were expecting anything in the first place, going from "Why is he doing that?" to "Why did I expect that?" Music shouldn't have to be predictable or a fulfillment of expectations, and O'Rourke makes this point crystal clear.

The funniest part of it all is the fact that O'Rourke has performed this song live on more than one occasion: "When I've done it live... I think I did it three times and retired it, I sit on stage with just a lamp, no other light, and play for the whole time, you can't hear me for 99% of it, but I keep playing and you can see me play, and hopefully people will ask, why the fuck is he still playing??"

Truthfully, the static is not very tolerable. Don't expect a free-form, ambient journey-- it's not meant to be pleasant. The album is harsh, obtrusive, and completely counterproductive for a normal living human being. It's like listening to everyone in the world logging onto the Internet with 56k modems at the same time. But reviewing the album based solely on its aural content is as unjust as O.J. Simpson's murder trial. The ideas surrounding the album's execution are what make it truly remarkable. Though only the first 12 minutes could stand repeated plays, at least one full listen of this album should be required to those seeking a musical challenge. And while many complex and theoretical albums require many listens to reveal its meaning, Happy Days requires only one.

1. Happy Days