Isla Margarita / Naida
29 October 2012
|Isla Margarita||Sunny Lax|
Vol 9 shines with this pearl. Marton's Daisy Island was part of the harsh wave of adrenicanes that swept this era. Even now, it's hard to imagine that someone made a two-parter this good. Thank you, Levente, for daring us to dream. Anyway, the intro is not much to spend time in. Neither is the first climax. The base tune is a warm-up, an appetiser, to give us a base for the jalapenyo pizza that's to come. It's a fairly empty plastic bottle that had sentiment in it. The fountain will arrive later. For now, a simple one-two up-down playschool jam made even more childish by the particular synth will fill time.
The first inkling of a crack at the capsaicin dam is the lead-up to climax 2. The singular berender is the spineshudderingly simple tetrodotoxin firehose that alternates for a while, then floats up or down every so often. Rather than most songs, and most great songs, which have a few haunting places to go before the geoblast, IM begins and ends with the same tool used to open the brain. Everything feels so warm. But trepanation has a counterpart, neurosurgery. So let's look at that.
'Naida' is Latvian for 'my hate', but Naida is my love. It's also Finnish for the F word. Even the first beat kicks off the playful glimmers that light up this oceanic display. The flying fish, however, are caught by an eel that stretches all the way up from the South Sandwich. Unlike in IM, this base tune for the ghost-making peppers is fine on its own. Climax #1 is also very simple, but it's bouncy enough to overplacate & do more than just distract while the follow-up is prepared. For a base, it's spectacular: without devastating anything, it can morosely bounce to a few same regular places & mildly please each time. It is against this tasteful, amusing tune that the main action must whip.
The renaissance of Naida starts with an antegressive call, soft & mortifying; again, a justified song per se. But the peak of the Naida Alps is the snowcapped Severest, the shaky train-station attention-calling instrument, now reupgraded for immemorial redintegration. Despite filling only half the bars, this bonus tune plays off & against the main bread better than Laurie & Fry. It shakes the laminarian bed it sits in, capping off the cake with a short burst of callously sweet & acidically puncture what was left of homeliness or moderacy. The main tune resets it, & the cream of the drop again melts away traces of calmness. The vocals return, & everything is right. Few things feel as good as Naida. The vastating vigoration can barely be witnessed.