Review: Armistice by MuteMath

It's no secret I've been a fan of MuteMath since the Reset EP days. (Ok, and I also own Earthsuit's Kaleidoscope Superior.) So I guess that gives me the right to be a little critical of their latest release Armistice (2009, WEA/Reprise). First, the good stuff.

Musically, Armistice lives up to the precedent it created with the band's self-titled release. Their sound is still undeniably MuteMath, albeit a bit more accessible. Paul Meany's voice is still amazing and versatile, both rocking and subtle as the mood dictates. The programming is exceptional. Whoever thought up the gritty bass on "Backfire" was on his game that day. The double-time disco of "Goodbye" is spot-on (did I hear a hammered dulcimer in there?) as well as the nearly-monotonic chant of the verses on "No Response" (the band may get some Coldplay comparisons here). The sparse "Pins and Needles" evokes just the right mood, as does the tribal, percussion-heavy "Odds". The highlight of the album may just be the brilliant, brassy "Armistice", but the jury's still out.

Now for the not-so-good stuff. Sorry if I'm the only one, but I think the album's opener "The Nerve" is a real stinker. I expect a little more out of the band than a monotonous anthem of "Set it on fire! Set it on fire!" et al. "Electrify" sucks but for different reasons. Not something I would've expected to hear on a MuteMath album. Then again, the band has been veering in a different direction as of late. Lyrically, the album contains enough defeatism and nihilism to make Nietzsche raise an eyebrow or two and I can't think of a single redemptive line in the whole set. It's just plain depressing. There are too many to list here, but here are some representative lyrics:

Please tell me, why are we trying so hard?
Why worry, it's over,
We always fall right back to where we start

Feeling all alone,
Carrying bottled skies around.
I've been drowning all along,
Wear it out in a faltered sea,
And I give up

And if it all is black and white
Then tell me what is wrong and right
I don't suppose that anybody knows
And maybe when we reach the end
We'll ask imaginary friends
Why no response

I know it's hard to say, we throw it all away,
But the odds are we'll be better off.

we just lie awake in a storm and thought
we lie awake and imagine what we are
we hide and live for some golden star
and hope the dead is wearing off

Perhaps I'm a little sensitive lately, but it almost sounds like somebody's been bitten with the "fame bug". It wouldn't be the first of my favorites this year. I mean, I'm all for self expression, including one's fears and doubts, but the lyrics of this album joined with some of Meany's comments in (semi-)recent interviews lead me to some disconcerting conclusions. And when you compare the lyrics of this album to those of their self-titled effort, it's hard to believe it's the same band. I guess the contrast is the most troubling.

Hike: Mount Belford and Mount Oxford

The colossal slopes of these mountains and their siblings are so enormous and amazingly beautiful, that's about all I can think about when trying to describe the hike. That and getting up at the ungodly hour of 3 AM. And the physical exhaustion of climbing two summits and then the first one all over again. So I'll leave it at that. A headlamp and sunrise over colossal slopes, gold-tinged with approaching autumn's color. Here are a few snapshots of the arduous 11 mile trek.

Sunrise adds alpenglow to Missouri Mountain. I climbed this one a few weeks ago from this side.

Morning light on Mount Belford. Unknown hikers in the foreground.

Mount Oxford from the Summit of Mount Belford. It's two miles from here, and all I can think is that I have to go down, then up, then down, then back up again to stand on this same place a few hours later.

Mount Belford from near the summit of Mount Oxford. (Are you keeping all this straight?) The summit of Mount Belford is that little pointy thing on the right.

Some turning aspens on my back down reminded me that autumn is not that far away.

Hike: Mount of the Holy Cross

August 15, 2009
Mount of the Holy Cross, 14,006'
North Ridge Route

A physically challenging peak to climb, Mount of the Holy Cross is situated near Vail, Colorado, rising above an incredible valley with waterfalls and verdant forests.

The weather was not ideal for hiking; for the first several miles we repeatedly donned and removed our ponchos and rain jackets. Clouds churned over our heads and rolled in and out of the valleys below us. As we got higher, rain turned to sleet and a bit of snow. We passed many hikers descending without having summited due to blizzard conditions near the summit. I believe this is the only time that arriving later was a benefit rather than a detriment because the snow had cleared out before us. (We left the house at 4:30 AM, but we should have left at 3:30.)

There was some fresh snow as we climbed over large boulders to reach the summit. The air was frigid. Even with gloves on, I had to put my hands inside my shell and under my arms to warm them as they were completely numb. My companions had the same problem. (I will be taking my ski mittens from now on!)

We summited under scattered clouds, but dark, ominous ones were approaching quickly. We hurried off the summit and met with some more sleet as we were descending. It was an exhausting climb, but worth every step. We celebrated with dinner at the Red Lion in chilly, picturesque Vail.

Our first glimpse of Holy Cross.

The valley to the west.

For miles, all we could see was the ridge. Climbing higher up the ridge, however, brought Holy Cross into view.

The Holy Cross summit with hikers in the foreground.

One of many views from the summit.

Mount of the Holy Cross as seen during our descent.

Meditation: Happy Trails, Everett

I first read about Everett Ruess in Into the Wild, but things didn't click until my journalist friend wrote a column about him for the Durango Herald. It interested me enough that I purchased A Vagabond for Beauty, a book of Everett's collected letters and his Wilderness Journals, mostly penned while he was exploring the high country of California and the deserts of the American southwest. His mysterious disappearance in this same desert in 1934 at the age of twenty has led to much discussion about his fate. Some claimed he had been murdered, some that he had married a Navajo woman and entered a sort of self-exile from the modern world. His story certainly has provided ample fodder for fantasy.

In June of this year, however, it seems the mystery was solved. I'll leave the debate alone, but suffice it to say that I am reasonably convinced that he was murdered and his body has been found tucked away under an alcove in the Utah desert. (An excellent article can be found on the National Geographic website.)

Much has been written about him and I can add but little to the conversation. However, over the years I have been deeply moved by this misunderstood young man who left the safety of his life in California in pursuit of beauty and solitude with only some camping gear, burros, and an unslakable thirst for adventure. In 1932 he writes:

Adventure is for the adventurous. My face is set. I go to make my destiny. May many another youth be by me inspired to leave the snug safety of his rut, and follow fortune to other lands.

Yes, some can dismiss (and have dismissed) this as a youthful, grandiose weltanschauung, an impractical ideology that only the young and immortal can afford. But I wonder if it is easier to minimize such a creed when one is heavily invested in the status quo of modern society. He writes in 1934:

Beauty isolated is terrible and unbearable, and the unclouded site of her kills the beholder. His only refuge is in insignificant things, in labor that keeps the mind from thought, and in companionship that gives back to the ego some of its former virility. ¶But he who has looked long on naked beauty may never return to the world, and though he should try, he will find its occupation empty and vain...

Everett's short life is a challenge to me. In some ways I am sorry that the mystery of his final days has been solved. In other ways it brings a poignancy and urgency to the words he wrote 75 years ago.

So, Everett, as you liked to say, "Happy Trails". There were--and are--few like you.

Hike: Missouri Mountain

Missouri Mountain, 14,067'
August 1, 2009

I was able to climb Missouri Mountain on a rare and perfect Colorado day: a fresh dusting of snow on the peaks, great temperatures, and no threats of thunderstorms or rain in the afternoon. The hike was a standard Class 2 hike with the exception of a bit of 2+ scrambling on The Crux on the ridge. The ridge was awesome; great views of the valleys and mountains on either side. Fantastic.

I did have a run-in with a rogue marmot, however. Check out the pics below. Somebody has been feeding this fella. Not a good thing for animals that must learn to survive on their own during harsh winters on the alpine tundra. Nevertheless, the little guy first took a liking to my hiking pole, then got friendly with my boot. He licked and licked it. I remained calm during the event until he rose up on his hindquarters and put his front paws on my leg. That's where I drew the line!

These photos are not mine. Once again, I left my camera in the car, so my coworker took the photos and are his property.

Missouri Mountain, straight ahead.

Hikers climbing Mt. Belford, another fourteener nearby.

Hikers descending The Crux.

Yours Truly descending The Crux.

One of the many beautiful views from the top.

Me and the rogue marmot.

*Sniff Sniff*

*Lick Lick*

Ok, back away you crazy beast!

Me hiking back down Missouri Gulch.

Me enjoying the scenery.