- Monstera Deliciosa is the right name for this record. It’s huge and absolutely unrepentant in all its highly confected, grinning ostentatiousness. In some way it seems still larger because, for all that Laneous has been about forever, doing his thing in multiple outfits, in multiple artforms, for a decade, I didn’t really see this coming from Australia's neo-soul mischief maker.
From back in the day, out the front of the slow, funky and soulful Kafka through his years pushing the limits of that sound with the Family Yah and his involvement with the beat craziness of Vulture St. Tape Gang, Laneous, aka Lachlan Mitchell, has always been able to tap into the groove and, increasingly, trick it out like some obscenely bouncing, LED-lit lowrider. Monstera Deliciosa represents the apotheosis of that trend, which took as its starting point the skeletal neo-soul of D’Angelo but makes its splattery end in a fusion orgy fit for Frank Zappa. Is that an awkward journey from something black to white? Perhaps it’s all the guitar work, perhaps it’s the very self-conscious insertion of so much exotica, but what started as inner-city funk is now a glammy, Vegas floor-show, slightly less focused on the funk -though there’s so much of it here- and more concerned with a huge, complex and insane creation orbiting around Laneous at its center, laughing madly.
No time is wasted, kicking the craziness off, beginning with a b-grade horror -or perhaps classic Star Trek- intro, absolutely overloaded with lush, ‘60’s sounding backing vocals (courtesy of Hannah Macklin I think), hammond organ and theremin, not to mention that truly crushing trombone blast. The band have been listening to a lot of Martin Denny and Deliciosa is studded with exotic interludes. Fortunately, it’s all pretty a-grade b-grade. The virtuosity and variation isn’t surprising: Laneous’ core group features members of Hiatus Kaiyote, Cactus Channel and Jazz Party and each of them takes the job of multi-instrumentalist very seriously. What is not at all serious is Laneous’ anarchic sense of humour, always bubbling away, just beneath the surface, or erupting with irreverent glee. There are constant examples, like the conclusion of opener proper, Terms, which shifts from surprisingly sweet, sad and propulsive soul, into a bridge of slurpily seductive French whispering before reprising the intro in all its ridiculous glory.
The Bacharach influence pokes its head up next in the upbeat latin pop of My Song, but for all that Bacharach was a pop genius he wasn’t a comedian and Laneous can’t help but hijack it with a tremendously smug grin: “Whinging about you and the dumb things you do to my heart! / That is my song / Taking responsibility for all the things that have happened? / That’s not my song / If you want some songs that vilify me then you’ll have to write them! ” You can see why I started thinking about Zappa.
There’s a lot of influence from the golden, AM pop of yesterday, skillfully underwritten by the funky rhythm section and just about always played for madcap yuks. As you may have already surmised, that’s pretty much the blueprint for the album, but there’s at least one other highlight, which you’ll have heard if you’ve clocked any of the advance singles. Laneous’ voice is in peak condition, showing off an agility I haven’t heard from him before. The sweet, quiet crooning on a song like Modern Romance is already pretty pleasant and then he shoots for the stars with a high-high-F. “Don’t let the touch linger / Move in separate ways / To keep from falling, to keep from faaaallin’.” It could be the rebirth of the Bee Gees but I don’t think they ever sang a line like, “Romance isn’t dead, it just smells funny.”
If Jordan Rakei is a neo-soul philosopher, then Laneous is its court jester. I think life and love causes Lachlan Mitchell just as much pain as it does Rakei, but it just makes him laugh harder and harder. Monstera Deliciosa is Laneous’ sense of humour writ as large as he can possibly make it. The uncanny exotica and echoing mirth are almost eerie in their rococo rendering. They say that he who laughs last, laughs best; I’m not sure that it’s exactly what they meant, but I think that Laneous will still be laughing when everyone else is gone.
- Chris Cobcroft.