What is there to say about MGMT? Two unassuming kids from Middletown, Connecticut met by the guileful hand of fate, as if arranged by the indie rock gods themselves, during their freshman year at Wesleyan University and sprang from the influence of bands like the Talking Heads and Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark. Initially signed to Cantor Records, established by Will Griggs (the nascent label's co-founder), the group went on to sign with Red INK and Columbia in 2006. They were named "Artist of the Year" just a year later in Spin Magazine and were included in the Rolling Stone's "Top Ten Artist To Watch" in a 2008 issue.
Their EP Nothing To Declare released in February of this year and is a sign of the times. It's a short and able-bodied precursor to their latest record, Loss of Life, and a direct reflection of the rampant confusion, jadedness, and frustration evident in the world today. At moments prophetic, relevant, and thought-provoking, the three-song EP created by the dynamic songwriting duo Andrew VanWyngarden and Ben Goldwasser—along with the artistic direction of producer Patrick Wimberly––meticulously expresses the strain of disenchantment that afflicts so many of us, imbued with the glimmer of hope for a more optimistic future ahead. They are an S.O.S. flare that ignites the nitrogen dioxide-polluted sky like an aerial firework shooting straight through the stratosphere. Driving on the battered side of a darkly lit street, this EP is the white heat glow at the end of the tunnel in a post-apocalyptic renaissance era.
As heard in the opening lyrics:
"Nothing to declare, not in the bags under my eyes / I can see you standing there, but still, there's nothing to reply"
There's a certain eschewal of dogmatic beliefs, a renunciation of being defined as "this" or "that", of taking any sort of stance on any topic or ethos, which can be easily mistaken for pessimism or the non-deterministic attributes of nihilism. Although, I see it as a type of detachment from the half-baked platitudes and mantras that are foisted upon society's tennis court day-in day-out. It's a separation from the flimsy gossamer-thin orthodoxies, alternative fact-fueled declarative statements, and opinionated axioms that are supposed to dictate who you are and what you believe in.
"The world's my Fine de Claire, my Spanish castle in the sky / I can see it floating there / but still, there's nothing to define"
In that regard, the ideology stems more from onism, blasé, or neologisms like the word "sonder". It’s a telling reminder as to what this band can do. Yes, they still have the goods and deliver them in a way that only they can, which is uniquely and distinctively MGMT. Their sound is profound, realized by surreal lyrics, intriguing chordal harmonies, and use of polyphony... not to mention, the catchy vocal verses and choruses which are the glue that holds all the separate pieces together.
However, the years that celebrated albums like Oracular Spectacular and their self titled album, which are staples in their discography released off Columbia records and Sony Music Entertainment in 2013, aren’t too far behind. Known for their ontological ruminations and references to the extraterrestrial, MGMT's instrumentation and rural homespun stylistic choices on Nothing To Declare marks a departure from their previous albums like Congratulations, Oracular Spectacular, Little Dark Age, and "Time to Pretend", a hit single which was initially meant to satirize the mythic glamour of the decadent rockstar lifestyle and in turn made the band into decadent rockstars themselves. If you haven’t seen the music video for that track, it looks like Lord of the Flies on acid. Nevertheless, it’s safe to say that these forest boys dressed in ripped tie-dye togas and frolicking with their archery bow and arrows have become men.
They christen the EP with a tudor fair neo-psychedelia style introduction, enveloped by acoustic pizzicato guitar scales and the genuine sincerity, lyrical simplicity, and poetic sub-text of folk-like songwriting. All this occurs while embracing a return to their more electric alt-rock indie origins with songs like "Bubblegum Dog". This is the doyen's swan song, the veteran's sourdough anthem for a battle-scarred war horse that's reached the age where the things that used to accommodate don't seem to qualify any longer.
"For years, I've strung you along / afraid of the bubblegum dog / and it's finally catching up with me / I hope it's a false alarm, but the pain of the bubblegum dog, It's finally catching up with me"
Although Nothing To Declare is only a short three song EP, it does more in the span of three songs than most artists do in a 10-12 track LP. To say that "Bubblegum Dog" is the high water mark peak of the eleven minute duration, "Mother Nature" is the aperitive curtain call, a rhapsodic smoke signal that sums up the indecision and embedded uncertainty of existence in the 21st Century, the complexity of interconnected human relationships, and the perplexed omniscience of animals that strive to augment themselves to become one with the divine and sublime symmetry of nature.
"Unwrap that tourniquet 'round the sun / turn those subtle reds into neon / you'll see the difference when it's done, but I understand your hesitation
The group has made tremendous strides in constantly redefining their sound, whenever attempted to be easily swayed and satiated by critics, or even fans, whom are so quick to pigeonhole them and slap a definitive label on their latest songs. This leaves those who affiliated the duo with the popularity of more commercialized artists, that bank on always giving their audience the same worn renditions of songs we’ve heard a thousand times before, somewhat stranded. Because they aren't a Spotify summer hit factory and they aren't a Superbowl Halftime Show, they're an original band: a commodity that is overlooked all too readily these days.
Their inarguable uniqueness is where MGMT stands apart, as original bands often do, when it comes to harnessing the ever-changing atomized spark of nuclear sonic fusion. Musically speaking, they are each laudable and worthy of admiration on their own but when the two members bind together, something special happens; they form a new chemical element. The hue of a burning glow that we, as listeners, can appreciate from the noise-cancelling comfort of our headphones as we worship the live concert in our minds Is similar to watching the glare of a neutrino bomb go off from miles away and warming our damaged souls in the embers of the afterglow. They are that spark, the mushroom cloud that mere mortals can only admire from a distance to avoid the risk of instantly vaporizing into dust. Like staring into the Iris of an eclipse, hearing these millennial psychonauts is the reflective round-rimmed lens of G-FLY safety goggles to a welding torch.
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