Pitchfork

Do you think that if punk had never happened, we would all be wearing King Crimson t-shirts? It's often said that history is merely a documentation of the winners of the past, and that the cultural values we take for granted are but the idiosyncrasies of our more dominant ancestors. In another life-- one where angst and dissatisfaction never broke through the status quo-- the idea of bypassing an entire generation's music of rebellion (and subsequent, inevitable dilution into dozens of genera) doesn't seem so far-fetched.

And yet, there's a maligned minority that sees history differently. You know the type: the guy across the street who lives in his mom's basement blasting Gabriel-era Genesis all night; the guy who never realizes most people don't get Roger Dean's album covers because most people don't live in Oz. It would be one thing if this guy was all alone in his quest to defy history, but the more you investigate, the more you realize that there are hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of these guys out there. Given this stubborn counter-culture, it should come as no surprise that there are indeed multiple versions of history.

Oysterhead is something of a regional convention for the Other History. Three basement veterans, each of whom have served time as resident oddball in their respective musical families, converge to compare notes and celebrate the obsessively against-the-grain. So, without further ado, I give you the dirty trio: Les Claypool (bassist/leader of Primus), Trey Anastasio (guitarist for Phish), and Stewart Copeland (formerly the drummer for the Police). And although mainstream history might lead you to believe that theirs would be an embarrassingly insular union, it's not really that out of touch.

I should add that the rock supergroup is not exactly a new idea. Additionally, its reputation as being more of an interlude for the diehard fan than any kind of lasting partnership doesn't lend much credence to Oysterhead's existence. Claypool has long been a vocal fan of the Police, so the Copeland connection seems a natural bond. Anastasio appears to be the wild card here, and though I don't listen to a lot of Phish, I have to admit that his willingness to explore all manner of tone colors and styles in this environment is commendable.

Claypool's sensibilities seem to shine through most brightly on The Grand Pecking Order. It's not just his basslines (which would be almost impossible to seamlessly integrate into any musical scenario, save an orchestra of rubber bands), but also his persistent juxtaposition of strange voices and stranger characters. Of course, this applies as much to the band itself as the songs, and that his stamp seems most evident on the proceedings is predictable in hindsight.

Tunes like "Mr. Oysterhead," "Army's on Ecstasy" and "Shadow of a Man" could almost pass for Primus tunes with their rather single-minded narrative focus, bass-driven grooves and faux-Waits character studies. However, these are the kinds of tunes that benefit most from the trio's collaboration. Copeland plays with simultaneously more subtlety and precision here than anyone who has played with Claypool in the past, and though Anastasio seems to have been underutilized in many places, is nothing if not more tasteful than Claypool. Is that a recommendation? Are you a Primus fan? Let me try again.

Elsewhere, the dynamic shifts towards Anastasio, whose songwriting ability is easily the most traditionally melodic of Oysterhead's three members. He seems to have been the driving force behind tunes like "Radon Balloon" (an acoustic pop song in the vein of Mummer-era XTC), "Birthday Boys" and "Oz is Ever Floating." In each of these instances, melody was placed ahead of the purely groovy, and even though the group lacks any kind of real frontman, vocally speaking, Anastasio's melodies tend to linger in my head longer than Claypool's. Again, it's the playing that will probably get the most headlines for this group, and though I would hesitate to read too much into this music, it's possible Anastasio could ultimately end up with the most to lose by "throwing away" songs here.

And then there was Sir Copeland, and his heavenly snare and high-hat. From a compositional point of view, it's difficult to tell how much he was involved, save an interesting spoken-word/ambient piece called "Wield the Spade" near the end of the disc. Copeland may have been invited to this summit more out of hero-worship from his partners than anything else, but musically, I wonder whom the real leader of this project was. It's obvious he hasn't lost much in the fifteen or so years since we last heard him behind the kit (and Sting, talk about being a "backup" musician), and I couldn't help but reminisce a little for the days when this kind of passion for playing was transmitting from radios everywhere. I'd heard that Copeland had gotten lost in a sea of soundtracks and ballets, and was prepared for the worst. Surprisingly, he sounds great. Chalk one up for the forty-somethings that he governs the pace for musos 15 years his junior.

What disappoints about this album is that the idiosyncrasies of the musicians never actually gel into something other than a sampling of their individual styles. I guess it's a bittersweet truth that the ones who can find a way to fend off contamination from trends and what is or isn't "cool" are often as steeped in their own methods as any punk poet or pop hack. If Oysterhead turns out to be more than a one-off distraction, and one day releases music that ends up being more than the sum of its parts, I guess some kind of historical revision would be in order regarding rock star collaboration. As it is, you get a painless lesson in experimental funk-rock, supergroup dynamics, and that you should never underestimate the influence of the guy in the basement across the street. He's not going away.