Of all the progressive rock groups that have come and/or gone over the last several decades, few — if any — have been as idiosyncratic and audacious as the Mars Volta. Formed out of the ashes of post-hardcore Texan outfit At the Drive-In (whose other three members went on to form indie rock band Sparta) by guitarist Omar Rodríguez-López and vocalist Cedric Bixler-Zavala in 2001, the ensemble continuously broken boundaries, challenged expectations, and blew minds with their blend of power, intricacy, conceptuality, catchiness, and eccentricity. Full of arresting counterpoints, relentless complexity, entrancing melodies, and wildly imaginative (if also incoherent) imagery, their work was unique, prophetic, and downright addictive. In light of their recent disbandment, PopMatters’ Jordan Blum and Brice Ezell have decided to look back on the Mars Volta’s studio output in commemoration of their illustrious career. No other band has ever accomplished what the Mars Volta did, and it’s unlikely that any other ever will.
De-Loused in the Comatorium
2003
Jordan Blum: Simply put, the Mars Volta’s initial LP is a mind-blowing introduction, as well as one of the best debuts I’ve ever heard. The first of several concept albums, the record revolves around Cerpin Taxt, a man who spends a week in a coma after overdosing on morphine and rat poison (it was inspired by the death of Bixler-Zavala’s friend Julio Venegas). In addition, the title comes from the lyrics of “Eunuch Provocateur”, the closing track of their Tremulant EP. Also, De-Loused in the Comatorium includes the first guest appearance of Red Hot Chili Peppers bassist, Flea, and guitarist, John Frusciante. As Brice rightly points out, De-Loused set a musical template for the group that they’d alter slightly with each new release while still staying true to the core mechanics established here.
Musically, the band was already light years beyond At the Drive-In. A blend of jazz fusion, progressive rock, ambience, and post-hardcore (with a few touches of Latin flair), De-Loused begins with “Son Et Lumiere”, a sorrowful and indulging touch of Floydian dreaminess. Bixler-Zavala sings softly as he sets the stage with poetic remembrances. The track segues seamlessly into “Inertiatic Esp”, which really captures what The Mars Volta was all about: frantic percussion, dissonant guitar work, abrupt dynamic shifts, weird sound effects, and histrionic performances (especially Bixler-Zavala). With “ Roulette Dares (The Haunt of)“, they continues the madness with a stronger focus on engagement.
Later, “Drunkship of Laterns” entrances the listener with its various vocal patterns, as well as its bombastic rhythmic changes, while “Eriatarka” proves that they could be both intricate and emotional. While I agree with Brice that “Cicatriz Esp” leaves something to be desired in retrospect, it (and “This Apparatus Must be Unearthed”) are still full of their trademark avant-garde rebellion, jazz overtones, and authoritative hooks; in contrast, “Televators” tones down the intensity to feature the best songwriting on De-Loused; Brice is spot on with his take, as well. Its vividness, refinement, and poignancy make it one of the group’s most affective pieces. The album concludes with “Take the Veil Cerpin Taxt,” which contains some wonderfully colorful freakouts.
All in all, De-Loused in the Comatorium proves that the Mars Volta knew what it wanted to be from the start: a platform from which Rodríguez-López and Bixler-Zavala could create wildly imaginative and melodically gripping controlled chaos.
Brice Ezell: De-Loused in the Comatorium is still one of those albums that means a lot to a lot of people, and not unjustly so. Few prog debuts in the ‘00s are as audacious as this one; the way Rodríguez-López and Bixler-Zavala merge together avant-jazz, indie rock, prog, and Latin music is something no other band has been able to manage, and frankly it’s good that no one else has tried. While an incredibly strong debut — one that showed that the potential energy of At the Drive-In still had room to turn kinetic — De-Loused lays the burden of the Mars Volta right out: be as ambitious and uncompromising as possible. Each one of the group’s releases finds some way to deviate from the incomprehensible blueprint that is De-Loused, with, of course, varying degrees of success. As interpreted by the genre’s biggest acts, contemporary prog frequently involves checking one’s inner editor at the door and letting the creative engines go wild. What this LP does remarkably well, however, is keep things honed in and tethered down — or, at least, as conceivably tethered down as a band like the Mars Volta could ever hope to be.
Though billed as a concept album, as many of the Mars Volta’s records are, it makes about as much sense as your standard Bixler-Zavala lyric, which is to say very little. Rather, what’s uniquely enticing about De-Loused is how it takes the various elements of what was already present on the Tremulant EP, released in 2002, and embellishing on them in every way possible without managing to go completely bonkers. This isn’t to say this is a faultless work; as the later part of the band’s career would demonstrate, they write better pop songs than lumbering epics, which is quite evident here. “Inertiatic ESP”, at just over four minutes, is twice the track that the 16-minute “Cicatriz ESP” is, though compared to some other epics of theirs, the latter stands out due largely to its freshness at the time of its release. This has to do in large part with the interplay of the group at this point; whereas on future releases — Frances the Mute especially — the dynamics of the musicians tend toward prog extremism, here the back-and-forth is very jazzy in a delightfully nuanced way, particularly on the late end of “Take the Veil Cerpin Text”.
But most importantly, one song here stands out as indicative of The Mars Volta’s greatest talent, one often overlooked by the fans hungry for oodles of soloing: writing ballads. The penultimate “Televators“, a primarily acoustic ballad with some disturbing and nonsensical lyrics (“Fragments of sobriquets/Riddle me this/Three half-eaten corneas/Who hit the aureole/Stalk the ground”), overpowers all the other jams on this LP with a surprising grace. It’s easily one of the strongest pieces in the Mars Volta songbook, and if one can push past Bixler-Zavala’s mangled poetry, he or she will likely find a track like this quite accessible. This prowess in balladry is something that will take a few more albums after De-Loused to fully develop, but on its own “Televators” is a magnificent thing, and a marvelous way to bring this bold and irreverent debut toward its conclusion. Like Jordan, I find this to be a debut unlike anything else in recent memory, and as fitting an introduction to these guys as one could hope to get.
Frances the Mute (2005)
Brice Ezell: While De-Loused in the Comatorium is still hailed as a considerable achievement today, no other album in the Mars Volta’s discography gets as much adoration as Frances the Mute. It contains the group’s longest song — the portentous “Cassandra Gemini”, clocking in at a whopping 32:32 — as well as the most distinct incorporation of Latin American music in their sonic. The Bond-referencing, 13-minute opener “Cygnus… Vismund Cygnus” introduces this almost instantly, with its demented tango rhythm serving as a tantalizing background to Bixler-Zavala’s alternated Spanish/English vocals. All of this occurs at a whirlwind pace, with the only significant break being the lead single “The Widow“, probably the most well known of the group’s songs to the mainstream audience — at least, the mainstream audience that managed to stick around after sitting through all of “Cassandra Gemini”. In terms of ambition, Frances the Mute sees and raises De-Loused in a huge way. Anyone who at the time thought Rodríguez-López and Bixler-Zavala couldn’t go any further likely found his jaw dropping in unfazed disbelief. This is the sound of prog’s id, unchained.
Frances the Mute
2005
Now, for those who aren’t drawn to prog — the type of folks who wouldn’t be drawn to the Mars Volta in the first place — this description of Frances the Mute will make it sound like a nightmare of a listen. Truth be told, they aren’t far off, and it’s an album that can prove nightmarish not just for those who get squeamish at the thought of a five-minute, freestyle lounge piano solo (the end of “L’Via L’Viaquez”), but even for fans of prog. For while there are career highlights on this LP, “The Widow” and “L’Via Viaquez” especially, much of it constitutes the sound of a creative ego completely untethered to coherence. This can be seen in the bizarre sequencing of the songs on Frances the Mute’s CD release. Though the record consists of only five tracks (totaling a whopping 76 minutes), the CD will show 12 tracks: the first four are individual songs and “Cassandra Gemini” is split into eight individual pieces. It looks absolutely wonky when put into iTunes or any other digital media player, and to some extent it reflects the ADHD spastics with which Rodriguez-Lopes and Bixler-Zavala crafted this track. A generous take on this piece would see it as overly zealous; a cynical one would hold it as nonsense. The latter is a more compelling view than the former; it’s easy to credit the band for being gutsy, but hard to excuse them for their everything-goes approach. The song isn’t pure babble, but it’s far from the structured epic that’s held up as the archetypal form in much of contemporary prog. A track like “L’Via Viaquez”, while not entirely shooting for the stars as many might like it to, is a much more feasible format for this band to write in. Hell, sometimes even eleven minutes is too much for these guys.
I, however, am acutely aware that I am — amongst people who count themselves as fans of this band, which I still do — largely alone in this opinion. Jordan’s view that this marks their career peak is a fairly common one, and in many respects it could be because I don’t have as much a taste for adventure as those people do. Even those who enjoy “Cassandra Gemini” have to admit is a laborious track to get through. Few, I imagine, make it all the way through in one sitting the first time around.
Still, despite whatever criticisms are lobbed at Frances the Mute, it will for the foreseeable future remain the ubiquitous Mars Volta LP, and in some ways it’s really the truest lens through which to analyze its music. Nearly every aspect of its style is contained in this work, and for all of the follies of its ambition, it’s not difficult to see that at least they were genuine in their genre-spanning approach. In a way it’s incredible to see how Frances the Mute has attained the status it has given that it’s probably the most difficult work by this most difficult of progressive rock outfits.
Jordan Blum: With its preference for perplexing lyrics, repetitious sequences, bizarre sounds, staggering technicality, and involving arrangements, the Mars Volta’s sophomore effort is easily their most polarizing (as well as their most overtly ethnic). This time around, the plot draws from a diary that late member Jeremy Ward found. The text concerned author’s search for his biological parents. The group utilizes a wider palette of timbres, a more adventurous approach, a fascinatingly symbolic cover, and a brilliant display of conceptual continuity to tell the tale. Like Gentle Giant’s second album, Acquiring the Taste, decades prior, Frances the Mute is the Mars Volta’s most inaccessible and multifaceted release.
Opener “Cygnus… Vismund Cygnus” begins quietly with an exceptional chord progression and prophetic poetry. It isn’t long, however, before the track erupts into a level of insanity that De-Loused never reached. A schizophrenic display of shifting melodies, dizzying counterpoints, aggressive declarations, and unexpected derailments converge as each instrument seems poised for dominance. Its final minutes contain a collage of cars, people speaking, and other sounds, which showcases the first of several drawn out moments on Frances.
“The Widow” is definitely an unofficial homage to Led Zeppelin. It’s relatively succinct and vintage, with Bixler-Zavala and Rodríguez-López doing their best to capture the spirit of Plant and Page, respectively, while still incorporating plenty of quirks. Meanwhile, “L’Via L’Viaquez” features a strong cultural influence in both lyrics and technique. Like “Cygnus”, the track goes through several movements that alternate between tranquility and tension. Subsequently, the first and final third of “Miranda That Ghost Just Isn’t Holy Anymore” are essentially just ambience. Conversely, the middle section features mournful horns that fade into mournful guitar arpeggios filtered through psychedelic effects. Also, Bixler-Zavala sings with one of the Mars Volta’s best melodies with great fragility and pain.
Despite what Brice says about its pompous nature and “everything goes” approach (which I agree with somewhat), it’s hard to argue that the highlight of the band’s entire career is “Cassandra Gemini,” an eight-part, 32-minute masterpiece. It begins with a bang as hyperactive guitar lines juxtapose hostile percussion and impassioned vocals. With its complex drum patterns, magnetic melodies, and extravagant production, the first few segments culminate in the most addicting section of progressive rock I’ve ever heard. The concluding third is essentially a free form jazz experiment that ultimately leads into a reprisal of both the suite’s opening moments and the opening of the album itself. Throughout the journey, the Mars Volta implements plenty of strangeness too, making the piece overwhelmingly catchy, catastrophic, and cosmic. It’s absolutely incredible.
As obscure and odd as it is mesmerizing and infectious, Frances the Mute is arguably 20% waste and 80% genius. In any case, it’s likely the group’s best record.
Amputechture (2006)
Jordan Blum: Released a mere year and a half after Frances the Mute, the Mars Volta’s third album is their first without a unifying narrative. Rather than continue to work with revered artist Storm Thorgerson (whom they used for their previous two LPs), this release introduces Jeff Jordan as the artist for the band’s covers and booklet (making it appear somewhat like the initial entry in a trilogy). Musically, Amputechture feels like a warmer, more consistent and confident synthesis of its predecessors; on the other hand (and in contrast to Brice’s take), it isn’t as exciting or daring as either De-Loused in the Comatorium or Frances the Mute, which makes the record both a step forward and a step backward.
Amputechture
2006
Amputechture begins with “Vicarious Atonement”, a bluesy, psychedelic song filled with regret. It evolves nicely thanks to its colorful timbres, such as dissonant horns, keyboard drones, and soundscapes. It shifts into the much busier “Tetragrammaton” without pause. At roughly 16 minutes in length, it’s easily the album’s most versatile offering. Refreshingly complicated segments provide the transitions between its various hectic and introspective, soothing moments. An abundance of engaging melodies and luminous construction help it stand out as one of the band’s best pieces.
Elsewhere, “Vermicide” is an impenitently gripping throwback to ’70s hard rock, while “Meccamputechture” moves with relentless momentum as it draws listeners in. The way it establishes a central motif, strays from it wildly, and recalls again near the end is ingenious. “Asilos Magdalena” is a haunting acoustic track in which Bixler-Zavala speaks ominously in Spanish, whereas “Viscera Eyes”, with its biting riffs and hooks, is highly invigorating. Finally, “Day of the Baphomets” is arguably the most out of control sector on Amputechture, which is a nice contrast to the abstract calmness of closer “El Ciervo Vulnerado”. Utilizing a strong Middle Eastern influence, it’s probably the most otherworldly thing the Mars Volta has ever done.
Even though it does a lot of things marvelously, Amputechture ultimately suffers a bit from its slightly safe and complacent approach. It’s still packed with unusual behavior, masterful musicianship, and striking vocals, but it doesn’t feel sufficiently risky or farsighted. Don’t me get wrong — Amputechture is a thoroughly fantastic affair, but it’s not quite as remarkable as its predecessors or two immediate successors.
Brice Ezell: Released only a year after Frances the Mute, Amputechture is in some senses as dense — at 76 minutes, the band still hadn’t found in a way to cut away at their overflowing excess — but it has a much more sensible ambition than Frances. There are no thirty minute epics here, though three of the tracks run over ten minutes, with the classic rock-inspired “Tetragrammaton” topping the list at sixteen. A greater emphasis on hooks and catchiness is also present, with the groovy chorus of lead single “Viscera Eyes” standing out amongst an overall strong collection of songs. Amputechture is a leaps-and-bounds improvement over Frances the Mute and even De-Loused in the Comatorium for these reasons, among many others. Given that the latter part of the Mars Volta’s career involved trading in zany progisms for comparatively concise, verse/chorus songwriting (especially on Octahedron), it’s the go-to album for anyone looking to find the group at their most convincingly apeshit. This LP still has the roughness around the edges that in many ways defines the style of the band’s songwriting — there is something appealing about their imperfections — but the balance of ambition with sensibility that’s present here is unlike any other of their works. Jordan is right when he says that it is a step back ambition-wise for the group, but for those not able to handle language-melding, hyper-kinetic 30-minute epics — such as myself — it’s exactly the right move to make. For any other band this would be the point where they’d stop advancing their sound and instead begin refining it (see Dream Theater post-Octavarium), which is often viewed as a moment of weakness. In this case, it’s what makes Amputechture such a well-rounded experience.
Case in point: “Day of the Baphomets “, undoubtedly the defining off-the-wall jam these nutty musicians ever wrote. Especially in the chaotic live version performed on Henry Rollins’s program, the song makes one forget for a moment that these are the guys who struggled to keep “Cassandra Gemini” afloat. Juan Alderete kicks things off with the best bass playing in the Volta discography, laying down a positively wicked solo that hints at many of the themes that will recur later in the track. The interplay between Alderete and guitarists Rodríguez-López and John Frusciante (of the Red Hot Chili Peppers fame) is as technically impressive as this band ever got; after the opening solo, where the guitar repeats a single picked note to establish the rhythm, the bass and guitars trade off solo and rhythm duties, with a seamlessness of a jazz trio. On its own, “Day of the Baphomets” outdoes anything on Frances the Mute.
Fortunately, the rest of the tracks are largely up to par with the quality of “Baphomets”. The equally windy but less intense “Tetragrammaton” is a showcase for the guitar techniques of the Mars Volta, with Frusciante and Rodríguez-López demonstrating their chops both in tone and playing ability. And, continuing in the tradition of excellent balladry, there’s “Asilos Madgalena”, sung entirely in Spanish in one of Bixler-Zavala’s most haunting vocal performances. There is an extremely veiled (read: impenetrable) critique of religion that runs throughout the lyric sheet of Amputechture, and “Asilos Magdalena” (“Asylum Mary Magdalene”) is where the lyrics reach some level of understandable criticism. Aside from having the best line Bixler-Zavala ever wrote — “Y ya no estoy enamorado con tus mentiras” (“I am no longer in love with your lies”) — the narrative here, a Mary Magdalene revenge tale that sounds ripped out of an obscure black metal album somewhere, is intriguing both in concept alone and its pseudo-literary proclivities. On paper “Asilos Magdalena” is utterly ridiculous, but if you haven’t bought into ridiculousness at this point in listening to the Mars Volta, then you’re likely completely lost.
The Bedlam in Goliath (2008)
Brice Ezell: Structurally, The Bedlam in Goliath seems like the type of move necessary for the Mars Volta following two lengthy and exhausting LPs. Though only a minute less in aggregate length than Amputechture, The Bedlam in Goliath does not feature a single song that runs over ten minutes (two tracks, “Cavalettas” and “Soothsayer” come close at nine minutes each), and the emphasis on hooks stemming from songs like “Viscera Eyes” is still present; at the time of its release in 2008, this was the most accessible of Mars Volta LPs to date. Grammy-winning single “Wax Simulacra” manages to sum up the MO of these guys in a concise, tightly-wound 2:39, an incredible feat for a collective of songwriters best known for throwing away the erasers from their pencils. It’s also a nice sort of mini-opener to the wah-wah crunch of “Goliath”, a track that I, like Jordan, find to be a pleasantly unhindered composition.
The Bedlam in Goliath
2008
But while he and I agree in that one instance, overall I find The Bedlam in Goliath to be much weaker than Amputechture and even Frances the Mute. Curiously enough, while I have a damned difficult time trying to hold myself down and take in all 33 minutes of “Cassandra Gemini”, I have an even harder time trying to listen to this in its entirety. While the aforementioned structural change in song length appears like a sensible move on paper, this is still the Mars Volta we’re talking about, which means that even in a seven-minute span they can still hop enough genres to give a listener whiplash. The Bedlam in Goliath is easily the densest out of all these records, and it’s because there are more songs than these guys had put out in a single album at that time — Noctourniquet would later top it by one, though it is a full ten minutes shorter as a whole. By spreading out a lengthy album across 12 tracks and simultaneously keeping to the whip-snap genre and tempo shifts, the group makes this listen feel like ages, which is undoubtedly the worst feeling one could have in trying to engage with a project as obtuse as this one. This is a work I’ve tried to revisit over and over again, especially following the announcement of the break-up, but no matter how hard I try, by track six I grow tired. Songwriters as balls-to-the-wall as Rodríguez-López and Bixler-Zavala by their nature have a rod out for their back, and they finally reached a point Sisyphean circularity here.
Jordan Blum: Following fluently in the footsteps of its forerunner, The Bedlam in Goliath feels like a direct continuation of Amputechture, however, its depth, variety, catchiness, and disregard for conventions makes it the superior choice (sorry, Brice). It was inspired by the bad luck that resulted from an Israeli Ouija board that Rodríguez-López gave to Bixler-Zavala. They named the board “The Soothsayer” and were eventually visited by several spirits, including “Goliath”. In addition, the album is a commentary on death and taboo love in Muslim society. Years later, it’s often considered their most destructive creation.
Similar to “Cassandra Gemini”, the one-two punch of “Aberinkula” and “Metatron ” allows The Bedlam in Goliath to begin almost in the middle of itself. Bixler-Zavala’s panicked delivery, as well as the sublimely arranged juxtapositions, makes the tracks more fearless and fun than just about anything on Amputechture. The latter selection is especially riveting, as it provides a great contrast to the funkier and more affective “Ilyena”, which also contains two of the group’s best melodies and illustrates just how sleek and emotional Bixler-Zavala’s voice can be.
“Wax Simulacra” is extremely appealing due to how well the instrumentation complements the vocals, and it segues brilliantly into the chaotic “Goliath”. Rarely has the Mars Volta sounded this in-your-face and untamed. Interestingly, the relatively serene and touching “Tourniquet Man” easily evokes the equally poignant “Televators” from De-Loused in the Comatorium. It’s superbly sorrowful. Later on, “Cavalettas” showcases that they haven’t lost their schizophrenic edge, as its changes are abrupt and awesome.
The work enters its exceptional finale with “Ouroborous”, another extraordinary example of how well the group handles dynamic changes, melodic shifts, and idiosyncratic effects. It’s essentially an expertly synthesized procession of intensity, contrast, and desperation. Afterward, the ethereal nature and dense passion of “Soothsayer” makes it candidly disturbing, while “Conjugal Burns” honorably feels like a concluding, definitive statement, giving the album a true sense of closure.
Overall, The Bedlam in Goliath is fiercer, sharper, braver, and more triumphant than Amputechture. While some fans (including Brice) may feel that the latter is more accessible and less defiant (which it is), this one feels truer to the heart and soul of the Mars Volta. In a way, it’s the last album of theirs to accomplish that, which is sort of a shame; however, its follow-up more than makes up for it in other ways.
Octahedron (2009)
Jordan Blum: After releasing four records that essentially pushed their sound and genre as far as they could, the Mars Volta decided to drastically alter their direction with the penultimate Octahedron. Their “version of an acoustic album” (as Bixler-Zavala often remarks), the concluding chapter of the Jeff Jordan trilogy all but abandons the group’s trademark complexity and sporadic nature in favor of organic simplicity and relative commercial appeal. Although there’s still a fair amount of intricacy and eccentricity, the tracks are shorter, more concise, and significantly less jolting. Of course, this would likely result in a subpar effort if not for one crucial element — the songwriting. Without a doubt, Octahedron is their strongest album in terms of steadiness and melodic craft.
Octahedron
2009
If there were ever any doubts that the core duo compensated for its lack of songwriting abilities by focusing on overly elaborate constructions and raucous attitude, album opener “Since We’ve Been Wrong” squashes them. Its combination of elegiac lyrics, fragile melodies (especially the bridge), subtle yet powerful arpeggios, and various other timbres make it by far thebest song they’ve ever written. Furthermore, a mournful synthesizer note (which is used as a thread to connect most of the tracks, giving Octahedron a strong conceptual feel) provides a fine introduction and makes the piece even more beautiful.
“Teflon” continues the emotive trend, as Bixler-Zavala belts out his words with a lot of angst. “Halo of Nembutals”, on the other hand, is more neutral and straightforward. The most haunting and hopeless song in their entire discography, “With the Twilight As My Guide” is like a greatly nuanced lullaby. Its harmonies are particularly heartbreaking, and unlike Brice, I really dig its lyrics. In direct contrast is “Cotopaxi”, an energizing addition that’s also one of only two tracks on Octahedron to refer back to the Mars Volta’s trademark frenzy. It transitions exquisitely into “Desperate Graves”, which relentlessly interchanges thoughtful verses for roaring choruses.
The Mars Volta continues to pluck at listeners’ souls with “Copernicus”, a soft and distressing song that’s highlighted by touches of refined piano accompaniment. Although it’s sparse, its silences help elevate its sentiment. Lastly, “Luciforms” also reminds one of the group’s earlier LPs in that it’s quite jarring tonally and exhausting structurally. In fact, with its clashing tones and uncommon percussion, it’s almost like an auditory representation of madness.
In a nutshell, Octahedron prioritized feeling, melody, and cohesion over virtuosic performances and peculiar musical puzzles, which winds up being its biggest strength. I agree with Brice in saying that it showcases how great the duo is at prog-pop songwriting. It’s also the band’s most condensed and consistent collection, making it easy to digest and quite tempting to hear repeatedly and often. Octahedron stands as a grand statement in terms of expectations and artistry, and it’s a highlight of their career.
Brice Ezell: Upon seeing the tracklist for Octahedron when it was initially announced, I could hardly believe my eyes. For a moment I thought I was reading a weird prank or the press release for some other band that got mislabeled: all of the tracks were short and the entire thing ran for less than an hour. It was as if a portal had opened to another universe and a bizarre Mars Volta had come forth, suddenly imbued with the ability to write music that’s appropriately restrained and technically uncompromising.
When I published my admittedly controversial list detailing my picks for best progressive rock albums of the past decade, I included Octahedron, much to the chagrin of the general public who, unsurprisingly, thought Frances the Mute or De-Loused in the Comatorium got robbed. Now, with the Mars Volta’s career officially over, I’ve realized that my opinion hasn’t changed at all. While a significant departure in many ways from the group’s core style — during the recording process, Rodríguez-López referred to it as an “acoustic album” — this is an LP that manages to retain every aspect of the Mars Volta’s greatness without devolving into repetitive, easy jam sessions. Like “Wax Simulacra” before it, the energetic “Cotopaxi” says everything one would need to know about the band — they’re rhythmically unassailable, melodically daring, and postmodern as all hell — in a succinct timeframe that nevertheless conveys each strength present. Rodríguez-López and Bixler-Zavala had written short songs before Octahedron, but they had never given them enough space to breathe; even something as strong as “The Widow” nearly suffocates when sandwiched in between “Cygnus… Vismund Cygnus” and “L’Via Viaquez”.
Instrumentally, the Mars Volta is in top form here. Virtuoso drummer Thomas Pridgen, who only collaborated with the group on this LP and The Bedlam in Goliath, adds an enormous amount to this diverse sonic, especially on would-be single “Teflon”, which has a near danceable beat — a genius complement to the best chorus this band ever wrote. He’s also the driving force behind the tricky meter of “Cotopaxi”.
Along with tightening up the songwriting, Rodríguez-López and Bixler-Zavala do a huge service to their overall sonic by greater emphasis on the ballad, something previous works failed to do. The Pink Floyd spaceiness meets desert acoustic guitar of “With the Twilight As My Guide” is alluring, even when Bixler-Zavala’s words fail to make any meaningful impact (“My devil makes me dream/Like no ordinary dream”…erm, what?). “Desperate Graves”, like “Teflon”, benefits from a massively catchy chorus, the kind that makes it easy to forget the vague emotions these guys deal in. Best of the ballad lot, however, is the opener “Since We’ve Been Wrong”, which tops “Televators” in the affective category; here, the lyrics actually convey something one might even call poetically beautiful: “Since we’ve been wrong / I’ve been part awake / Since we’ve been wrong / You will never, ever know me.”
What appeals to me the most about Octahedron, however — even above laconic song craft and gorgeous melody — is the same thing that Jordan pointed out: the emphasis on emotion over knotty instrumentation. Certainly, to suggest that those two things are in opposing camps is to create a false dichotomy, but the way the story of the Mars Volta unfolded made it so that they did seem antithetical. It’s hard for me to get the feeling I get from a cut like “Since We’ve Been Wrong” from the oversaturated riffing of “Cassandra Gemini”. The thing that Octahedron confirms is something one isn’t likely to hear most people say about the band: The Mars Volta are much better prog-pop songwriters than they are craftsmen of towering epics. In other words, this is as close to a masterpiece as these guys ever got; it’s a strange thing to say for a group whose calling card is a work as weighty as Frances the Mute, but it turns out that four albums after De-Loused, these proggers haven’t lost the ability to surprise.
Noctourniquet (2011)
Brice Ezell: Noctourniquet ain’t no Abbey Road, but I would say it’s far from the collection of uneven songs that Jordan finds it to be. Unfortunately, even after managing to successfully hack off the fat of previous albums on the compact Octahedron, the band is back in hour-plus length with this LP — though, to their credit, at 64 minutes it’s still a good ten to 12 minutes less than any other of their stuff. Like The Bedlam in Goliath, there are no particularly long songs here, which signals the same failure as Bedlam: too much spread out over too many tracks. Where Noctourniquet differs, however, is in its greater emphasis on the verse/chorus structure that its predecessor began to flesh out. Bedlam is quite reliant on the labyrinthine, shift-a-minute structure that’s more prevalent in the band’s earlier work. This LP wisely takes the strengths of Octahedron and embellishes them, foregoing the emphasis on ballads and incorporating some harsher genre stylings; the Nine Inch Nails-esque buzzy distortion of opener “The Whip Hand” is a good example of this.
Noctourniquet
2011
If nothing else, the Mars Volta ended things with the best single they ever put out: the demented rasta lounge of “The Malkin Jewel“, where Bixler-Zavla channels Roger Waters at his most demented in the chorus. “All the traps in the cellar go clickety-clack / ’Cause you know I always set them for you / All the rats in the cellar form a vermin of steps / Yeah, you know they’re gonna take me to you,” he slovenly croons, evoking the image of a late night bar singer four scotches in. Yet for every moment of heaviness or ugliness, the band brings back the beauty of Octahedron, producing some ballads equal in excellence to that album. Jordan wisely singles out “Empty Vessels Make the Loudest Sound” — a lovely title — as a standout track; the dreamy post-rock guitar tone here is a nice touch. Bixler-Zavala’s vocal performance on the one-two power ballad punch of “Vedamalady” and “Noctourniquet” can be counted amongst the most compelling of his work for the Mars Volta.
Put in the simplest way, Noctourniquet is for those who liked the accessibility of Octahedron but wished there were less ballads. Like nearly everything this group put out, it could have done with some cutting here and there; some parts in the middle and late sections drag on, and even though the song lengths here are short, the jam tendency hadn’t completely left the musicians here, resulting in sections of certain tracks that really don’t add much other than more notes on a staff. But, in the end, that’s always the band the Mars Volta was going to be: even as they pumped the brakes on Octahedron, they were never giving up on being the wild and crazy guys who wrote “Cassandra Gemini” and “Day of the Baphomets”. As I mentioned before, part of the appeal of the Mars Volta is their imperfect, ragged sonic, and for that reason, Noctourniquet may not be the perfect LP to end this revered group’s career, but it’s definitely the one they deserve. A strong but imperfect finish for a progressive rock act that’s, well, strong but imperfect.
Jordan Blum: Had the Mars Volta known that their sixth album would be their last, they might’ve put more effort into ensuring that it felt like a heartfelt, proper conclusion to their legacy. In other words, it could’ve been their Abbey Road. Unfortunately, though, Noctourniquet is closer to Let It Be — a series of lackluster tracks (save for a few) with watered down songwriting and production. Rather than a conclusive, grand statement, Noctourniquet feels like a collection B-sides and demos. Even though it has a few worthwhile moments (and an intriguing set of inspirations, including life-affirmation, Solomon Grundy, and Hyacinthus), it’s definitely their weakest release.
To be blunt, the first half of the album consists almost entirely of ugly electronic tones, dull timbres, and uninvolving melodies. Sure, it still sounds like the Mars Volta, but it’s significantly less colorful, distinct, adventurous, hypnotic, and complex; in fact, segments of tracks like “The Whip Hand” and “The Malkin Jewel” (which is far from “the best single they ever put out”, as Brice suggests) are downright irritating. To be fair, “Empty Vessels Make the Loudest Sound” is as poetic musically and lyrically as its title suggests (it would’ve fit well on Octahedron), but it’s really the only saving grace out of the first several songs.
Things pick up with “In Absentia“, which is wonderfully strange and multifaceted. Its evolution is very impressive and innovative, and its final section is outstanding. “Imago” and “Vedamalady”, with their standard forlorn melodies and introspective atmospheres, continues to make the latter portion of Noctourniquet fairly interesting, while the title track is filled with imaginative effects and engrossing dynamics. Finally, “Zed and Two Naughts” provides a biting, engaging finale with its direct chorus and clever build up.
Noctourniquet has its share of pleasing portions, but the majority of it feels relatively amateurish, repetitive, and worst of all, half-assed (for lack of a better term). It’s almost as if the duo just phoned this one in, as it’s considerably less cohesive, melodic, intricate, eccentric, and enjoyable. It’s their most inconsistent as well since the objectionable aspects far outweigh the likeable ones. The Mars Volta had a stellar reputation and track record prior to Noctourniquet, but it’s hard to argue that this one is on the same level. Rather than “strong but imperfect”, the album is weak and imperfect; rather than go out with a bang, the Mars Volta ended their career with a disjointed whimper.