Album Reviews
Portugal. The Man - Censored Colors
Something wicked has come out of Wasilla, Alaska, and it’s not a bespectacled, moose-burger-eating enfant terrible of presidential politics. Instead, it is the sprawling sound of outlandish rock quartet Portugal. The Man. Crafted like an eclectic cathedral of sound, each song on the grandiose album Censored Colors is a keystone. And the sum is greater than its parts: without one piece, the temple will fall. The fuzzy guitars are searing, the choir swoops, and the ivories bang with the ferocity of a carnivalesque revival led by a sweat-soaked televangelist. Think Paul Dano’s sermons in There Will Be Blood. Think a down-home The Rocky Horror Picture Show. But don’t be lazy and catalogue them alongside sonic peers The Mars Volta, Cold War Kids, and Spiritualized. PTM has more in common with the cocksure Guns N’ Roses circa 1980, Smile-era Brian Wilson, and most everything from (dare I say it?) Meat Loaf and his cohort, lyricist and songwriter Jim Steinman. There is no second-guessing in a Steinman song, but a brazen commitment to packing in every idea possible, what’s popular be damned. PTM is no different. They have no qualms saying, “Fuck it. It’s time for a sitar solo.” Because of this all-inclusive creative policy, this record plays like a live show: each song runs into the next, and the pacing alternates fluidly between highs and lows, as in the transition from the psychedelic breakout of “Never Pleased” to the transcendent choral arrangement and slow claps of “Salt.” As the organ exhales a few tremulous notes, singer/songwriter John Baldwin Gourley’s falsetto soars over guitar strums, while strings waft over jazz drums. It’s undeniable that these are epic, orchestrated movements (nota bene: they’re too huge to be just songs). Double takes are demanded. Wait. Is that a muted trumpet? Is that a dub breakdown? A sexy, low-slung guitar strangling? Portugal. The Man is unafraid to be Sizzler’s all-you-can-eat buffet—a packed plate of disparate tastes, colors, and textures that somehow, some way, satisfy all the senses.
-Drew Tewksbury,
Flaunt Magazine, Issue 98 2008
Printable PDF from Flaunt Magazine
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