Mono Lisa's weirdness shines on 'Shining Crisis'

<a href="http://<iframe style=" target="_blank"border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=3856844058/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=none/transparent=true/" seamless>shining crisis by Mono Lisa">

A good general indicator of the integrity and grit of a musician comes from watching their reaction to being called “weird.” It is a word that should be taken as the highest of compliments. Weird is what every artist should aspire to be — synonymous with and at the same time less tired than such terms as “progressive” or “innovative.” Mono Lisa’s Nick Lowery seems like he would totally dig being called weird; revel in it, bathe in it and let the connotations of the word cover him like a warm goo. Make no mistake, Mono Lisa is totally, radically, and astoundingly weird. His latest release, Shining Crisis, is perhaps his weirdest effort yet. Initially thrown up on Bandcamp, the album caught the attention of local purveyors of weird, Skeleton Realm Records, and was given a proper release sometime last fall (the label's website is very creative and eye-popping while at the same time being charmingly devoid of any helpful information).

Like many of the (mostly) self-released albums in his back catalog, Shining Crisis kicks off without warning or ceremony. The first track, “Vanity Plates,” opens with a whatever-is-lower-than-lo-fi digital kick drum that Lowery distorts to the point that listeners may mistakenly think their headphone jack isn't plugged in all the way. Quirks such as this in the production, found throughout the album, make Mono Lisa’s sound stand apart from artists currently working in the electronic pop musical spectrum. This release is a bit harsher than the current blanket of lo-fi bedroom pop sweeping the blogosphere, but it’s still pop music, just weird.

The myriad of uncommon synth and guitar sounds Lowery works with, not to mention the leftfield tones he throws at you, raise the question: “Was that on purpose, and does it even matter?” Eventually one is inclined to just chill out and listen. Despite the constant presence of the aforementioned harshness, however, Mono Lisa fails to obscure an inherent sense of innocence. Even in his fuzziest moments of tape warbled confusion, he fails to hide a practiced and prodigious technical hand. It’s like a sleight of hand trick Lowery is pulling on the listener. While one hand turns up the crazy knob, the other subtly delivers solid, expertly crafted two-three minute pop songs. Despite being recorded at home, all of his songs are innately accessible. Some of them (most notably the anti-summer jam “Cruisin Down the Strip,” which sounds a little like something the Beach Boys might have written on a considerable amount of acid) could confidently bumped in your parents' minivan, windows down, without freaking out the neighbors (not too much, anyway).

Pop music is a divisive genre, and one that has traditionally ostracized and discouraged such avant-garde minded songwriters who would dare to stir the pot with dissonant chords, angular chord progressions, and the like. The genre is choked with a nauseating homogeny of melodies and structures, and yet this conformity also leaves a space for the occasional breath of fresh weirdness, and Mono Lisa’s Shining Crisis slides effortlessly into that divide and fills the gap.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★