genres: progressive rock + jazz
Ever wonder what a marching band passing by a prog rock concert would sound like? Probably a lot like Maps of Non-Existent Places. Blending the complexity of progressive and even math rock with a blend of jazz and big band instrumentation, Thank You Scientist have a blend of genre tropes that should sound incredible pretentious and self-indulgent. And yet, it doesn’t. It’s fun, catchy, aggressive, and emotionally moving. It’s the most complex album possible that’s just here for the vibes. Even with a several lengthy tracks exceeding six minutes in length, none of them feel drawn out or repetitive. Despite being almost ten minutes long, “Blood on the Radio” is sure to get stuck in listeners heads.
Much of this is because the band is doing absolutely everything to make this the most maximalist experience possible. Compositionally, each portion appears to be written according to its native assumptions. The guitars and drums are complex and driving, but nothing too different from other progressive rock bands, while the horns and strings alternate between darting in and out for emphasis as they might in a band performance and smoother sections more akin to their roles in a symphony. Chaotic jazz interludes keep everything even more off balance. The musical aggression straddles the line between prog rock and prog metal, but everything from guitars to vocals to trombones is just so bright. It’s infectiously easy to engage with.
There’s highlights on every single song. “Feed the Horses” is a study in contrast, with an intro of heavily downtuned guitar chugs alternating with triumphant horn blasts ceding way to a vocal verse dripping with R&B/Funk energy. The epic “Blood on the Radio” opens (and punctuates the songs throughout) with a distinct Latin flair while playing with moments of total silence amid the overwhelming myriad of instrumental chaos. Halfway through the album, a break from the nonstop pace comes in the form of “Absentee”. An incredibly emotional performance, sensitive vocals take precedence over the instrumentation throughout, though subtle flairs in the background and a precisely devastating build make the climax of the song hit even harder. Album closer “My Famed Disappearing Act” lets the band cut loose in full, with an absolutely absurd pace and ludicrous guitar work. It’s a fitting closer to a sonic experiment in maximalist relaxation.
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