Rediscover:
Primitive Radio Gods
White Hot Peach
2000
Rediscover is a series of reviews highlighting past releases that have flown under the radar and now deserve a second look.
Four years after Primitive Radio Gods' 1996 smash single, "Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth With Money in My Hand," it seemed they'd forever reserved their shadowy spot on the '90s alternative one-hit-wonder list. The debut album, Rocket, went gold, owing this success to the single; not too shabby for a self-recorded album blindly mailed to record labels by an air traffic controller. But by the turn of the century, word of the band all but dissolved. That is, until they released their sophomore follow-up, White Hot Peach, and then word of the band all...but...dissolved. Even with a free download of the beautifully haunting "Fading Out" through the climaxing popularity of Napster, White Hot Peach remained a cooling jewel not primed for the limelight.
White Hot Peach is tangible evidence of the music industry's unfortunate disparity: while not every song is radio-friendly, the instrumental and vocal melodies are ubiquitously accessible, save for the six-minute avant-garde closer, "Whatever Wakes McCool," a disorienting maelstrom of filtered tape loops and modulations. The aforementioned "Fading Out" could have been as prominent an alternative hit as "Phone Booth" if it were similarly supported; unfortunately, PRG's new parents, What Are Records?, lacked the funds for an effective marketing campaign. The same holds true for the ionospheric "Wayward Pilot's Mission." When its soaring reverb layers give way to its optimistic and ascending bass line, it's easy to envision singer/guitarist Chris O'Connor wailing to a sold-out mountain-top amphitheater.
But maybe the album's obscurity is due to its array of tonal shades. Peach is too adult contemporary to proclaim itself a full-fledged alternative album, and too innovative and psychedelic to appeal to Lite FM listeners. Take the ethereal groove of "Ghost of a Chance." Mellow jazz chords, O'Connor's smooth croon and glossy keyboards mix with Hendrix-esque reversed guitar licks, and reverbed analog sound effects. "Gotta Know Now" juxtaposes a palpitating punk rock rhythm with acoustic major-seventh chords and a melancholy flute solo; arguably, it is Peach's most beautiful song and, not arguably (you can't disagree with physics), their fastest, shattering the mold of traditional soft pop ballads.
True, Peach's median does take a turn for the almost-too-weird. "Devil's Triangle" is the album's only fist-pounding romp. It begins with a distorted guitar lick straight out of a vintage spy film, but then the vocals kick in, modulated beyond recognition. It sounds like a robot trying to sing the opening song to a James Bond movie. Immediately proceeding is PRG's ascent to the outlandish: an aural alien abduction, "First Alien Photo" is probably the only science-fiction folk song sung from an alien's point of view: "I am the alien/ I've come here to take your son/ I'm opening up your chest/ I'm taking the parts you won't miss."
Despite these tastefully manipulated quirks, Peach is, at its pit, an album of pop songs. Its unsung inspiration lies in O'Connor's imaginative palette of clever lyrics and alliterations. It is a testament to the beauty of the universe, ranging from the human anatomy to the wonders of outer space. Maybe in another universe it could have reached the fan base they deserve.
by Jory Spadea