Secret Aging Men – Night Mowing

I’m embarrassed to say it; but, “they’ve shagged me.” In the previous release, I found them to be super-uber-groovy. Now it seems as if they’ve earned a license to thrill at will. These beats get so darn penitent that I could see them getting smuggled out of the country -- just to prove such dexterity exists to foreign dignitaries.

Whether almighty deities or political emissaries hold the power, it would be a crime for either party to keep this ancient ark from the people. The problem is jazz fusion is like a 10,000 year old mummy. For all practical purposes, it’s been under wraps and locked away from the public for much too long. It almost seems like it’s spent eons underground.

Few shops peddle this sacred booty for fear it’ll put the brainwashing reality shows (e.g. American Idol) out of business. Disc Jockeys just don’t want to deal with the blowback from skirting parental controls nor do they want to be nagged by corporate micromanagers or superficial peers.

Looking at the grander picture, this lack of disclosure does us little good. The programmed candidates that our musical leadership has picked out for us to hear are; let’s face it, piss poor. Well, thanks to the Internet: To the users-of-streaming-audio go the spoils.

If you haven’t had a chance to hear them digitally, here’s the text file that highlights their latest torrent:

Night Mowing starts with a simple clip called “Sunset”. In lieu of real light, the radiation that leaks from its sills comes to us in the form of synthetic flutes. Since their meticulous scythes are nonabrasive, there is hardly any chance for them to cause folliculitis.

Next comes “Emergence”. Not only does it pick up where the opener left off, it’s photogenic and grows into a tone that’s sweeter than honey. If stranded on a desert isle, I could live off this nectar and if given the choice; I’d certainly choose this soulful bliss for my solitary sustenance. Suffice to say, it’s my favorite on the disc.

What goes up must come down. Only in “Gravity 101”, it’s the other way around. The synth huffs; the cymbals puff. Like an exasperated python, the bass slithers and hiss. When they let it all hang out, its undulations are similar to that of a Flower Kings’ jam. As if it were a balloon in heat, these snakelike vibes are compelled to go up, up, up and away.

“Sweet Spot” invites a sax into the syndicate. Likewise, the drums are hipper than a salsa instructor. This classy dancer is tied for runner-up.

On the street, “Avenue 13” is known as the gumshoe with the combover. On one hand, this intuitive jazz is inquisitive. On the other, it’s so itchy it’ll make you scratch your thinking cap. While the trail is cold in the beginning, it gets much, much warmer. And if there were concern for dandruff or lice, they treat those flaky irritants with an instrumental that gels. Buyers beware: These silicone-based enzymes are so effective that it’s practically impossible to acquire them over-the-counter.

With “Deep Pockets”, they can’t be accused of cheapness. They lay on generous gobs of pianos, and draped upon the real estate are silky sheets of trombones. Not to mention, Sal Caltabiano won’t allow them to cover the tip alone. So he throws in more than his two cents on the drums.

We get enlightened with a “Piece of the Puzzle”. I can see clearly now; the day is here. Simply put, this is thought-provoking but still it’s easy on the ear.

In “Octane”, they’re cooking with gas. It’s so wild that I wonder if they are using the wrong pump. There is no ineffective ethanol in this tank. While they’ve stoked the fire, it never tastes like lighter fluid nor does it come close to getting burnt. My compliments go to the caterers of this racy piece.

With that said, Sad Pie” is just a ploy. When you bite beyond the lackluster crust, you’re met inside by a savory rainbow of concentrated lust.

No longer pacing themselves, the time signatures in “Mood Swing” are about as stable as the stock market. In the long run, it’s a worthwhile investment due their diversification on brass. Aside from that, the drums produce a healthy dividend.

Falling back to a more conservative scheme, “Leap of Faith” is far from a hasty decision. To be honest, the rhythms are totally gainful. Personally, I don’t see this venture as risky business. Without a qualm, I’d cowboy-up and champion this bull, which lends itself nicely to portion of the prize money.

Luckily, I went with the former arrangement as the elation promised by the impulse buy turned out to be a fraud. For those who stayed on, “Lament” is the most mournful of the bunch; reflecting what happens to insular and greedy lemmings. While it’s solid to the core, it could potentially trigger a bout of melancholy in an otherwise normal state-of-mind. For that reason, I don’t plan to ask this downer back since she could make us all clinically depressed.

Continuing on, “Out 2 See” is a happy-go-lucky turn of affairs. This is more like it if you ask me, but we’ll soon find out that the good times don’t last forever -- even if our egress is temporarily deferred to hear this fuddy-duddy.

Argh! We’ve reached the end, and it’s only been a mere 54 minutes. As fate will have it, “A Really Good Ending” is exactly what is billed. Whereas this posse started out at “Sunset”, they run away with the rising sun. We hang on for as long as we can but alas, we find the finale is much too short. Before we know it, the gate is locked and the “band”-itos have dis-“band”-ed. Offsite, they toil and tune their instruments until that next attempt to breach our security systems. That’s no small feat when you consider the fact that most of their fans have sophisticated inner-workings spliced into their genes. Hopefully the empathic Petrelli saves them all before they’re inappropriately touched by Sylar.

Returning to the mission statement: What hero, spy or mastermind, is able to pull off the retrieval of these goods? Maybe Indy is better suited to nab the valuable assets. Then again, the sandbag used to replace the golden statuette only served to send a big-ass boulder after butts. So maybe we should sanction James Bond for these hits. In either case, it would be unwise to commission Maxwell Smart. Whoever goes to present the stolen treasure to the tribesmen, he or she will be thoroughly shocked at the lost art these Secret Aging Men have drummed up.

In the end, if you worship this band, you might surpass the holy test -- as the prophesy implies, “Only the faithful fusionist will pass!”

8/10

P.S. I love the name of this band. They’re hip but unlike a replacement for that bony projection of the femur known as the greater trochanter; repeated listens will prove their polymers age well.

Line-up:

Rick Meyer: Guitars & Guitar Synth

Ed McAdory: Keyboards

Sal Caltabiano: Drums

Sam Hall: Bass Guitar