Bedford Park by The Infesticons
LABEL: Big Dada

An intensely prolific veteran of New York's punk, hip-hop, and poetry slam scenes, The Infesticons' Mike Ladd could be characterized as the Michael McClure to Bill Laswell’s Allen Ginsberg, a slapdash solipsist rooted in the tenacity of the avant-garde yet wholly bereft of Laswell's inimitable sense of groove, let alone the Bunuelian piety of such contemporaries as the Soulquarians. Ladd leans towards the aesthetically obtuse, a complexity that is often belied by his tendency to draw on a hypnotic display of the hip-hop intelligentsia (Saul Williams, Anti-Pop Consortium, and El-P all figured prominently on the first Infesticons release a decade ago) and somewhat mindless tropes that are emblematic of nothing less than watered-down P-Funk.

“Infesticons is primarily concerned with reconciling the divide between their purist couture tendencies and the fragmented, even flummoxed state of contemporary hip-hop.”

But in an era where the forerunner currents of hip-hop are cross-pollinating in a beautiful fashion with rock bands like the Black Keys and Ratatat, not to mention the reconciliation between the falsely diametric spheres of 4/4 dance and more braggadocio-laden beats, Ladd’s conceit is derisively cringe-worthy on the cusp of an even more musically audacious decade.

Infesticons is primarily concerned with reconciling the divide between their purist couture tendencies and the fragmented, even flummoxed state of contemporary hip-hop. The fleeting “Get Along Anthem” (all of the tracks are inexplicably suffixed with “Anthem”) features a sprightly blues riff reminiscent of the aforementioned Black Keys. “Bombs” and “Give ’Em” are valiant attempts to integrate a little of the spaciness that is so prevalent in the underground these days into a more soulful setting; considering their established tendencies, it seldom works.

Still, there is something to be said about the sawed-out dancehall lilt of “Bombs,” while the trebly psychedelia of “Gonna” and “Forever” evince various aspects of the wonderfully assorted output of this year’s man of the hour, Ariel Pink. And the glitchy guitars of “Word Sin” bring the broken beats into the wholesome carnival that is urban Americana.

It’s not a question of survival for Ladd and his confederates—after all, even a figure as historically situated as Anthony Braxton has survived fusion and the toxic after currents that followed, including Wynton Marsalis’s misguided hard bop revivalism. As they continue to embrace their principles while still looking forward to new textures, Bedford Park settles as a limited triumph, a benediction to a sentiment that a group in an similar state once articulated as being “too tough to die.” And that’s not a bad thing at all.


REVIEWED BY SEAN MURPHY
SEAN’S FAVORITE TRACKS: “Word Sin Anthem” • “Gonna Anthem” • “Forever Anthem”



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