Mi Ami (less cut)

Mi Ami  “African Rhythms”

from African Rhythms (White Denim)

godwave rave// Out Now

(orig. pub. Feb. 2008, this is less cut)                                                

Before a couple of them jump-started Mi Ami,  D.C.’s Black Eyes added up to a quintet of malcontent multi-instrumentalists, who sometimes might turn into a ten-armed drum set, yet furiously deny any interest in dance—but, a bit like Flannery O’Connor’s Wise Blood fugitive Hazel Moats birthing his Church Without Christ, they splattered groove-and-self-denying beats, like they splattered guitar, sax, vocalizm, and other stuff, all over the tried and true templates of early 00s neo-post-punk, neo-no wave,  and the manly straight-edge grooves of Fugazi, parents of the Dischord label, where Black Eyes spent their short, sharp, splintery shelf-life. Yet BE’s second and final album, 2004’s Cough, opened with calm, attractive bass, drums, and voice, components of a profile which, the longer it wore a crown of monkey nerves (thin sounds agitating the left channel, especially on headphones), the stronger it seemed, by contrast and via subtle development—before vanishing into the seizure of “Eternal Life.” Nevertheless, they’d showed their hand, which had the last word on the last track, “A Meditation.” Here, even after the crusty metal petals of renegade bassist Jacob Long’s sax rends some velvet morning, and lets a chorus line of doggie howls out—even then, blood unsplatters, goes back into veins, into a pulse, just a sweet little body beat: the still, small voice of the senses, and sense is talking too: all talking ‘bout waiting for a little tune-up, maybe. Or maybe not. Damn!

So nothing for it, but for Long (apparently/sadly minus his sax, but sometimes with a keyboard as well as bass) and guitarist Daniel Martin-McCormick to split for San Francisco, separately and at different times, but  Everything That Rises Must Converge  (hesh now, Flannery). They eventually formed Mi Ami with 
De-e-e-troit Techno Murder City refugee and drummer Damon Palermo. 
To put it reasonably now: Mon Ami acknowledge the influence of dub, techno, and Afrobeat, but their somewhat downplayed jazz studies (like, in school, even!) also pertain. Mainly in a Milesian Tales way: just as Miles Davis’s late 60s-to-early 70s recordings often put bass, drums, guitar, and keyboards up front, with Miles’ trumpet gradually turning background into foreground, and/or
vice-verse, compulsively tweaking a sense of deep focus, so Martin-McCormick’s never still, but small (as filtered) voice chatters and wails behind the (rest of ) the rhythm section, also shadowing his stuttery guitar, which sometimes rises into crisis (as does the voice, more often), before either or both crash-land on the one, which is always making short, sharp phrases amidst the mists of granulated notes in the music pump.

But it’s not all work! “African Rhythms” is a nevolution of Black Eyes’ mega-percussion cussin’, plus flag-waving(-rippling, -writhing) guitar apparitions: just good clean fun, and suitable for your next prom, if you and your date take all your vitamins. On Mi Ami’s MySpace page, there’s also a remix, “Arhythms,” by Rickey Rabbit, DJ of Mon Ami tourmates and hiphopologists Food For Animals. Rabbit pumps some of the song into a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon, which gets pretty friendly with passing buildings. Martin-McCormick is also encouraged to sunburst his guitar through some office windows, inspecting some folders and tasting some latte.

Also on their Myspace page, and on Mon Ami’s first release, the 12” vinyl EP/maxi-single African Rhythms, the title song is followed by “Clear Light,” which at first seems like a nice respite from the parade, a sweet chill spot. But soon comes a reminder that “clear light” is the stage of the acid trip when colors have just been peeled, and the lounge turns out to be liminal: the vibe is washed clean and stands raw, charged by the change and the falling away. Deep focus prevails, however, as a march is folded into the bass. The voice gets hung on a note, pulls back, eventually gets free enough to chatter on back there (warning to some: DMM’s vocally on the periphery, like Perry Farrell always should be--but a likeness keeps flickering by). On the MySpace, “Ark Version” then uses ominously magisterial organ to track the voice along a railroad of bass and drums, switching tracks just a little whenever a freak-out approaches—but “Ark Of The Covenant” is born in crisis, and, despite fleeting mentions of deities, “I wish I was dead” are the most clearly heard words on a Mi Ami recording so far. But the currents pull them on along (no spoilers here: hearing is the true believing, and no matter where they’re going, these tracks will address every muscle in your head). On the 12”, “Clear Light” is more like the slower, deeper adagio between  the allegrolicious “African Rhythms” and “Feel You,” which marches trouble around at a brisker tempo than “Clear Light.” “Summer-summer-summer-summer-summer-summer-go-WAY,” orders Daniel Martin-McCormick, but also he might be ending with “Buy me a car,” so there’s hope for the boy yet (good to know somebody still believes in something).