Ezekiel RodofiliThe last time I wrote about Milton Man Gogh, I said that they exist. I’m certain they still do. I’m certain they are not some fabrication found within a dream I had once. Fairly certain. Any claims that they are, I feel, are… fully stretched… out to the point of incredulity anyway.
But what does that have to do with anything? What does that have to do with their noir-hop trip-fusion noodling type of sound, filtered through what could vaguely be called jazz and also clearly be called jazz? What does that have to do with their sharpness, tact, wit and angled stabbing? Well…
Fully Stretched is an album that sees Milton Man Gogh furthering their use of narrative in music, and it’s a good thing that they know how to get one across. Without getting into the details, much of the narrative comes through in the way the trio push and pull, and stretch and compress through progression. Often they’ll iterate on a part, peppering in details here and there, and it helps to paint and describe a scene quite well. There are some moments that feel like frustration building in everyday monotony, some that feel humorously mocking, and some that feel quite serious and heartfelt. It comes together nicely, however, as there’s a natural flow between the songs and their sections. Even when a song moves to something that comes off as jarring, it still feels right.
Milton Man Gogh’s music is easy to write off and dismiss as snobbish, self-indulgent, cacophonous, messy. However, like previous releases Fully Stretched reveals itself as a focused, intentional work. Very precise and deliberate music. and easier to absorb than it seems. Hearing it might reveal some things, but listening to the album reveals a lot about. You hear how each member plays off of and weave in and out of each other, like smoke curling. How the sense of tension and chaos unravels and spreads out from something quite directed. How the moments where everyone seems to be doing their own thing still align well, and don’t feel out of place.
Toward the end of the title track, Milton Man Gogh go into an openly melodic jam. Whilst there’s some relief in it, that tension from earlier remains. But there’s also a kind of sadness. When “Ill Man (on Plane Flight)” begins, it’s unease and tension, and it gradually builds into this tightly woozy, humorously unpleasant thing. Much like the rest of the album, these moments are sweet and satisfying to take in. It’s a good example of two other things that Milton Man Gogh do well; remaining dynamic and knowing when to move forward.
That’s part of what makes Fully Stretched worth checking out, but it’s a rather complete package. It knows when to draw something out and when to be brief. It has a lot of things going on but it’s not impenetrable. It’s abrasive at times, but it doesn’t repel. If you let it, it draws you in. You can groove to it because it’s a damn good album, and that’s all there is to say, really.
But why that laugh?