{grate 2.5} In a country of Starbucks-addicted, nine-to-fivers who can’t
focus past a couple Jessica Alba hip lunges, there are those whose job it is to
cater to a 30-second mentality: commercial jingle composers. And, although a
few snippets may squeeze out some impressively catchy tunes, it’s fun to wonder
what these guys do in their spare time. For fire-head producer Rafter Roberts,
it’s seasoning a vast musical concoction, compiled over years of urban ambling
and DJ collabs. This guy must beat bongos until his hands bleed, for how
prolifically he can pop side projects.
In his latest album, Sex Death Cassette, the self-proclaimed
“nice uncle” isolates bare-bones percussion, peppering lyrics here and there
like last-minute spices to a hearty orchestral brew. Perhaps Rafter is
reminding us that he’s more than an empty jingle jammer — he was, after all, a
commie-protest band member at a green point in his life.
But Rafter hasn’t left behind his attention-deficit day job
entirely. Cassette consists of 19 (yes, 19) one-minute cliffhangers that — like
any good burger commercial — leave you soul-stripped and salivating for more.
Crosshatch that type of restless indecision with Elliot Smith-y vocals and
similarly sedative instrumentation, and you get a short-lived (albeit enjoyable)
head massage. It’s kind of like getting shampooed at a hair salon; it never
lasts long enough.
Maybe that’s just Rafter’s style, though — the songs that do
persist past a hundred seconds are the least remarkable of the bunch.
“Zzzpenchant” isn’t exactly the best song to kick-start an album, with its
pokey brass farts and sleepy one-liner lyrics (“The word is black and blue/ I’m
tired of being abused”). “Love Time Now Please” is sort of cool, in a
marching-band-after-hours way (it’s no coincidence that Sufjan is his label
buddy). But, honestly, it gets stale after the first minute — the cutoff, it
seems, on Rafter’s inventiveness.
There’s really only so much tinny drum clopping and
background electric whirring that one can take. No matter how hard Rafter tries
to make his selection feel varied with a
banjo interludes or jazzy sax solos, his efforts inevitably end like a
particularly long commercial break: with a vague sense of relief.