Epic concept albums like John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme, The Ruttles’ Yellow Submarine Sandwich, Glenn Gould’s Solitude Trilogy, Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon and Marlo Thomas’s Free to Be You and Me don’t come along often. At best, one has to wade through hours of Chris Squire bass solos which usually ends with a firmly stated “no” to Yes.

However, once in a while intrepid musicians journey out into the nether reaches beyond the comfort of aural safety, and find an island in the rising sea of remakes. Kinkzoid’s Debaclelypse (2009) is one of those moments of discovery. This fourth offering from the Chicago-based experimental band presents their most accessible record to date. Kinkzoid is Steve de Chiara and Greg Chapman. De Chiara is a former member of the Blitzoids and a record store owner. Listening to their first 3 albums, an educated ear will pick up on the sort of encyclopedic references in the same way a Quentin Tarantino movie is a pastiche of obscure films from the past. (Tarantino worked at a video store before his career took off). I could name musician names, music forms, and indigenous music instruments sampled, but that’s just an exercise in showing off my record shelf. It would risk a reader not knowing my cultivated references. For example, a Debbie Gibson b-side track to the single of “Shake Your Love” will lose most people.

I would describe the music of Kinkzoid as experimental, programmatic, and cinematic. Changes can take place mid-song, prompting you to check your cd-player to see if a new track has begun. Formally arranged songs alternate with highly abstract juxtapositions of sounds, voices, samples, and riffs. I spent one night listening to all four albums back-to-back. (You can do it too on their website) It’s a suspenseful journey, as what begins as a seemingly random die toss in Cagean chance processes, a primordial soup of noises edges slowly from a self-defined funkiness towards increasing coherence, or at least, a pattern most of us recognize. Debaclelypse, their most recent installment, is also their most “accessible” in terms of that familiar pattern our ears are accustomed to.

Kinkzoid achieved worldwide renown when they put the “hate” speech sermon of FLDS Polygamist self-appointed Prophet of the Fundamental Mormons (not to be confused with vanilla Mormons of Salt Lake City) to the bluesy riff of Bo Diddley’s “I’m A Man,” dispatched through a cheesy organ. The sermon dismisses drug addicts, homosexuals, blacks, and the Beatles (“pingy pangy unnoticed useless people nobody would hire”). The song promptly shifts into a classic punk rock piece about stolen innocence before resolving to a harmonized quartet of “ouch!” If you have judiciously ignored HBO’s Big Love, and gone straight to the source, primarily Rulon Jeffs’s “‘In Light and Truth: Raising Children in the Family Order of Heaven. The Word of the Lord Through is Servants, the Prophets,” Carolyn Jessop’s “Escape,” Flora Jessop’s “Church of Lies” and Debbie Palmer’s “Keep Sweet,” and have knowledge of Warren Jeffs’s cult meglomania – one in which the fate of women and young children are manipulated and controlled against their will to achieve patriarchal, testosterone-overdriven, manly goals – you will chuckle at Kinkzoid’s clever “Warren Jeffs Explains,” a song where the prophet’s sermon is manipulated and controlled against his will to achieve the band’s songwriting goals.

Debaclelypse begins with “Pure”, with the phrase that is actually a faint riff of A Love Supreme‘s opening piece “Acknowledgment.” “Pure” and the recurring riff in the closing piece “Floating” serves as harmonic and melodic bookends in the tradition of concept albums. From that point of departure, Casio-sounding organs, clicky percussions, and a sole pounding drum propels lyrics that meditate on the purity at birth, a symbolical opening of a suite and what lies ahead. “Best Laid Plans” begins as a multitrack of bells and whistles, but don’t change the channel, because from this tapestry, birth is given to vocals that enter midway and proposes the “Best Laid Plan” ahead. Bells toll throughout “Walk Through Fire,” percussion sounds like an automobile starter on the verge of turning over. It’s as if a DJ has his hand on the turntable and is slowly letting up and letting the program speed up and free to be its natural pulse. Playing, liberated children are heard in the background before “Remember When” is introduced: a majestic processional gliding pass quirky, interrupting trumpet-like riffs, accompanied by a chorus of cellos, a nostalgic longing for the better times of bygone days.

“Earlier Today” is a straight three chord blues, a Rosie Greer to the Ray Milland of the preceding song, questioning whether our sentimental memories are greater than what reality was. “Life is a Four Letter Word” echos the four descending chords of “Remember When,” transformed into a plaintive chant, lamenting the condition that is living, lost in binary echos and analog drones of white noise. “Two Time Wait” starts in windy conditions amid dripping water and distorted drones, but upshifts to a rising sense of urgency through three note cycles and screaming vocals. “Running In Circles” is awash in sampled woodwinds, walking bass lines, walking piano notes, ambient noises, a testament to the legacy of Chicago modernity in the arts and jazz ensembles.

“Lost Ways Last Days” is my favorite piece from Debaclelypse. Stately, gorgeous chord changes accompany harmonized vocals through daring pauses, congos, offbeat, out-of-synced like a beautiful face with “eyes strangely out of place.” It may not “take” in the first few listens; but like all aesthetics that establishes distinction using its own gauge, it will eventually settle like a familiar coat or a devoted lover. It’s something or someone you think about returning to all day and feel content when you finally get there. With modern electronics, I know any musician can easily sync and autotune vocal music and drums into an accessible AOR radio-friendly piece. The fact that a band can, but chooses not to, shows you they have a message, and is instructive as to the sort of artistic daring that Bunuel utilized to transport us to where we are today. “Floating” closes the album using themes from the nine other tracks.

You can download and listen to these songs. Please remember that while you can do this, If you like what you hear, I always encourage people to physically make a purchase or a donation especially when the money is going directly to the band and not the producer/publicist/record label/manager. That’s the new order of the record industry. Show up to the gigs and buy the cd’s directly from the band if you want to keep the indie music scene alive. It’s all about putting money directly in to the musician’s pockets and keeping the whole “point system” from the powers that be.