Graham Reid | | 1 min read
Harold Budd
The album title's reference to the late American eccentric and somewhat emotionally damaged pop artist Daniel Johnston – and the childlike cover art – flag that this album is a kind of left-field inspired amateurism by this self-described art-rock trio from Otepoti lead by singer/writer Max White.
As with Johnston's often bizarre and sometimes very moving songs, the songs here take their own wayward path between personal observation (the mundane aspects of life like cleaning up) or imagistic lyrics with pop melodies or speak-sing passages.
Bunchy however is more aware than Johnston was (particularly in his younger years) so the accusatory pop-rocker Scrapbook opens with “I’d like to ask you when it was that you stopped growing and began your studies for a degree in obnoxious self loathing”.
And Non-Fiction is a bent love song: “You can live inside my head anytime you like, but I’m quite touchy about my shell collection. So I'll ask you politely to please unlearn how to ruin my life so I can tell you the truth. Unfortunately I love you”.
When Bunchy aim a straight arrow at pop (Glass Eye Contact, The Elephant Man), idiosyncratic post-punk pop (the assertive Leather Dog) or wobbly folk (500 Tapes, White Noise) they possess a certain charm or lively enthusiasm.
Harold Budd – their finest moment here – is a sincere farewell to that fascinating pianist/composer, and some will certainly find reference points here in Jonathan Richman (after Modern Lovers), maybe a hint of the Incredible String Band (without the world music or spiritual references) and perhaps Johnston, although that actually seems more tenuous.
Like those artists, Bunchy's Big Score is for a select audience, one prepared to suspend judgment about what this might mean beyond them enjoying themselves.
The second half is better than the first: Start with Harold Budd, set aside expectation and settle in.
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You can hear and buy this album at bandcamp here
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