Looking back on the decade from David Pajo's standpoint versus your own perspective isn't something I highly recommend. The 1990s was a completely different era for Pajo than it was for me. The guy released one of Chicago indie rock's all time classics-- Slint's Spiderland-- in 1991. In the meantime, I was enjoying my heyday as a sophomore at Hopkins High School in suburban Minnetonka, Minnesota. Later, he began recording with the epitome of post-rock bands, Tortoise, while I squandered eight months of my life away in a shitty record store with an even shittier name: Down in the Valley. He went on to form M, who, during my one- year stint at a used computer store, recorded their first 7" for Palace Records. Shortly thereafter, he released a split single with Stereolab's Laetitia Sadier under the name M is the Thirteenth Letter. By the time 1997 came around, I'd been working on Pitchfork for one year, doing part- time telemarketing to pay the bills. Of course, Pajo was way ahead of me now-- he'd just unleashed his full- length debut with M, under the Aerial M moniker.

Now, two months away from the year 2000, David Pajo's returned with the latest incarnation of M. The guy's going by Papa M these days. But why? Why doesn't he just pick a name and stick with it?! Doesn't he know he's making it hard for me to properly archive his albums? Look at this dilemma: do I file this review under M, Aerial M, or Papa M? Where will people look for it? I suppose this is the last of Pajo's concerns, though. He's busy preparing for a world tour, amassing more fans than the warehouse at General Electric.

Live from a Shark Cage is a misleading title, since the record wasn't recorded either live or in a shark cage. Maybe Pajo accidentally brushed up against Tim Kinsella and a dab of pretentiousness rubbed off. I don't know-- I'm just guessing here. But the album's title isn't the issue. What I wanted to talk about was the record. Now, between Drag City, Thrill Jockey and sometimes Kranky, there's one hell of a lot of post-rock being issued these days. It's all pretty indistinguishable for the most part-- some of it's not so hot, some of it's brilliant, and the majority is overwhelmingly mediocre. Papa M shows up somewhere between mediocre and brilliant, in a catagory I term "pretty good."

The record is irritatingly divided into "sides" (sorry, Dave, a CD only has one playable side, and you are not Genesis), each with its own mood. In this respect, Live from a Shark Cage works more like four seperate EPs. On the other hand, the mood never changes too drastically-- it's entirely comprised of mellow guitar fingering and minimalist percussion. The first "side," especially the highly Jim O'Rourke- influenced "Plastic Energy Man," reminds me of relaxed spring days, hanging out on blankets on suburban lawns... just a little breezy... partially cloudy, 71 degrees, and summer on the way. Or maybe I'm just turning into a wistful emo kid.

Things get darker during the record's second part. It opens with the nine- minute long, dark, mid-desert highway jazz of "Drunken Spree," and then hits a bump in the road. "Bups" is just over one minute of dumb lo-fi piano and casiobeat filler that I guarantee Dave Pajo knows was not worthy of inclusion. Granted, it does work somewhat in context to the rest of the songs, but in the meantime, it sounds like something off that abyssmal Music Tapes LP. "Crowd of One," the following track, while clumsy and melodramatic, is still executed fairly well-- it's a run- through of low- volume messages from the fictional answering machine of a guy named George. The messages are a mix of old pals asking if George wants to hang out, institutions that seem concerned for George's well- being, and women sternly insisting that "if I get ahold of you today, George, you're gonna regret it." Very Barry Adamson.

Part three consists of one 15- minute- long piece, "I am Not Lonely with Cricket." The song is relatively impressive in terms of technical proficiency, but it's incredibly repetitive and makes for a pretty tacky centerpiece. Then, things get good again on Shark Cage's final side. "Knocking the Casket" continues the eerie theme we've become so accustommed to by this point before subtly turning its minor chords into majors. The record closes with "Arundel," an extended version of the opening track. This is not by any means a new concept-- Bastro did two different versions of "Recidivist" on Sing the Troubled Beast in 1990-- but it works well for Pajo, mainly because this is a really great song.

could this be one of the greatest albums of all time? i would think so.

http://papam.tribe.net