Thalassocracy - Frank Black

Thalassocracy - Frank Black

No man is an island? Well, Frank Black is an island. In fact, the man's a thalassocracy, a maritime empire. And you? You're just a Romanov, just landed gentry all too willing to have your throat slit by mad-eyed proto-communists. Oh, and you collect those stupid Fabregé eggs. Think about it: while Frank Black is tending to his empire, you're collecting decorative eggs. You are a joke.

This song has the uncanny ability to make 98% of all other songs sound absolutely ridiculous. Frank Black doesn't have time for instrumental openings or atmospheric synthesizers. He doesn't have time to wait for an egotistical producer to slowly introduce each new instrument into the mix. And he certainly doesn't have time for exotic instruments or choruses or breakdowns or even a build up to a crescendo. The song is a crescendo. Look, if all of western music is a cult elaborately worshiping the crescendo (and it is), then punk is built on the premise that music should give people what they want. Frank Black is famously adept a teasing the listener before he lets the music explode, but he's also good at this type of full-frontal assault (see "Alec Eiffel" and "Head On"). This song, though, seems even more immediate. I mean, "Head On" takes a Led Zepplin-esque 2:12 to get its point across. But he never sounds rushed; in fact, he sounds surprisingly comfortable. Hell, the man even squeezes in a relatively lengthly guitar solo.