Helicoid 0.222MB

Helicoid is a trio of girls from Osaka (and a battalion of guest musicians) who, at least on this disc, exhibit some fairly obvious Krautrock influence. At some of their live gigs, they’ve even taking to naming untitled improvisation tracks “Neu!” on their setlists. Which is no bad thing, they don’t pretend for a moment that their stumbling across this genre is completely unique and unprecedented. And they do have enough flourishes of their own to add to the basic templates.

The zenith of Helicoid’s playful approach is probably the first track on this disc, ‘Ratman,’ which is smoky and seductive, loaded with bandleader Hiroko “Roco”’s bilingual, deadpan scolding, e.g. “grow up, longhair” and “you-make-blow-down” which, if just for a second, is a perfect distillation of Damo Suzuki’s vocal style. Adding to the Can-izer effect is a fluid, rolling, guitar which approximates the late Michael Karoli’s steady-handed precision. It’s one of those songs that works its way into your bloodstream, as any good music of this kind should do.

Unfortunately nothing else on the album equals this first shot of simplified shamanism, but that isn’t to say it’s not a cohesive and entertaining piece of work. In spite of its 38-minute brevity, the Helicoid girls still manage to plunder the musical storeroom of attractive dub elements and a goofy sci-fi manga storyline involving a giant robot (also named Helicoid), with Roco guiding the proceedings to their conclusion with her half-lidded, anxiety-free observations. Now, those who haven’t gotten into Helicoid claim her lyrical style as the band’s Achilles’ Heel: sure, endless repetitions of contradictory statements like “No! I know!” or “Sore ga Saikou- Sore ga Saitte (that’s the best, that’s the worst)” may not be sagacious wisdom, but they work fine in this context of hazy pop, walking a tightrope between lay-about reluctance and manic energy.

Instrumentally, the band is water-tight, locking onto each other’s cues and misplacing nary a wah wah-laden lead or delayed organ stab. They even harmonize vocals with better taste than most, circling around the head of the listener like taunting pixies (albeit with far more palatable voices). All told, a good antidote to straitjacketed seriousness- and if you’re not proficient in Japanese, you’re probably not going to be too critical of Roco’s choice of words.