It’s hard to believe that it’s been nearly a decade since revered Britpop pioneers Blur released their last studio album, but what seems more inconceivable is that frontman and primary songwriter Damon Albarn has arguably been more productive in the years that followed than in the formidable ones before the group’s eventual flame-out.
Since the release of 2003’s Think Tank, Albarn has churned out two more platinum-selling albums from a side-project comprised of fictional cartoon characters, and recorded another entirely on his iPad. He’s composed a soundtrack for a stage adaption of 16th century Chinese novel, orchestrated an opera revolving around the scientific advisor for Elizabeth I, and has collaborated with everyone from the Clash’s Paul Simonon to Snoop Dogg and Bobby Womack.
So it should come as no surprise that his role as cultural curator would continue with his latest project entitled Rocket Juice & The Moon, a heavyweight ensemble featuring two indisputable icons at their respective instruments in Afrobeat drumming legend Tony Allen and alternative rock figurehead bass player Flea.
Rather than collapse under the weight of their own expertise like several so-called supergroups before them, the trio has instead crafted something utterly weightless; a free-associative collection of jams centered around West African funk, beat-driven psychedelia, and globe-spanning party music. The final product is an offbeat amalgam of influences that is as interesting as it is effortless.
Serving as more conductor than contributor, Albarn takes a backseat here and with good reason. As one of the few remaining drummers who can be instantly recognized with one snap of the snare, Allen steals the show from the outset, opening the album with his signature highlife shuffle before spinning off into a cycle of rock solid soul breaks and jazzman tics. Flea’s full-bodied bass manages to merge their two distinct styles into a series of interlocking grooves and proto-planetary pulses, while Albarn merely fleshes out each composition with an array of keyboard quirks and oddball electronic flourishes.
Yet some of the strongest tracks on the record are the ones that come with outside accompaniment. “Hey, Shooter” is a classic Nigerian step rhythm featuring the smoothed-out croon of neo-soul priestess Erykah Badu and a killer horn line from the Hypnotic Brass Ensemble. Malian songstress Fatoumata Diawara adds a heavenly melody to the beachside samba of “Follow-Fashion” and matches Albarn note-for-note on the spooky tribal chant that is “Benko”. Ghanian rapper M.anifest delivers an assortment of stream-of-consciousness verses throughout, culminating in the sharp Third World street tale that pulls together “The Unfadable”.
To be clear, this isn’t an album in the traditional Western sense. There’s not much in the way of proper songs and each cut seems to fade out just as it begins to set in. Albarn only carries one tune – the slow introspective melancholia of “Poison” – and even that comes off as fairly half-formed and uninvolved.
But it is this sort of inconsequential atmosphere that truly encapsulates the whole Rocket Juice aesthetic. From the tossed-off name to the structure-less sequence of dead-end moods and vibes, this is clearly meant to be music of the moment; a mere snapshot in time of three dudes letting it all out in the studio. These particular dudes may be some of the most influential figures in modern music, but in this case they don’t seem to care, and more importantly, they don’t seem to think you should either.
M.anifest is a Minneapolis-based Ghanaian rapper. Just sayin.