"It's good to have stop start/It's good to have a start stop." So sings
Tobin Prinz on
Prinzhorn Dance School's self-titled debut album, and it could very well be the band's manifesto. The duo's music is stripped to the barest, most distinctive elements --
Prinz's raspy sneer and
Suzi Horn's girlish yelp; guitar and basslines that usually act as witty punctuation, but sometimes, without warning, pull and bend like taffy; and bashed drums that seem to comment on songs rather than just hold down the beat -- and on all of these songs,
Prinz and
Horn play cat-and-mouse with rhythm and melody to minimalist, absurdist effect. At times, listening to
Prinzhorn Dance School becomes a game of waiting for the other shoe (or beat) to drop; the band does as much with awkward silences and pregnant pauses as they do with the actual music they make. Space, communication, and the lack of both are some of
Prinzhorn Dance School's major preoccupations, particularly on the fantastic single "You Are the Space Invader": it begins with a taunting bassline that sounds like it's wagging its finger at you,
Prinz and
Horn lament Hampshire's air pollution, then a massive, claustrophobia-inducing one-note guitar solo levels the song. The duo plays with miscommunication on "Lawyer's Water Jug," a duet of disinformation where
Prinz's deadpan non sequiturs are made even more disorienting by
Horn's cheeky retorts, and they revel in shifting perspectives on "Realer, Pretender," which seems to follow a logical stream of thought nailed down by a four-on-the-floor beat, then falls down a rabbit hole populated by hobgoblins. Repetition is another
Prinzhorn Dance School obsession, and the one that makes the band polarizing. While "Crash, Crash, Crash" and "I Do Not Like Change" (which could be another
PDS manifesto) come close to monotony, for most of the album the band's purposely limited sounds don't get in the way of them telling a story in their own fragmentary style. "Up! Up! Up!" sketches out the tedium of a squalid hotel bar with a plodding bass and a dingy guitar melody, then captures the rush of getting back on the road with a drumbeat that suddenly snaps to attention.
Prinzhorn Dance School's moods can change just as quickly, veering from childlike tantrums like "Eat, Sleep" and "Hamworthy Sports and Leisure Center" to the more ominous tone of "Crackerjack Docker"'s cryptically creepy "five o' clock shocker" and "Worker"'s social commentary ("Mental health/Pills on a shelf").
Prinzhorn Dance School was written in an abandoned church and recorded in a barn out in the countryside, and it sounds like it -- not because it's quaint or atmospheric, but because its cranky willfulness goes beyond underground and ventures into eccentric loner territory (it's no coincidence that the band named themselves after Dr. Hans Prinzhorn, one of the foremost outsider art collectors).
Prinzhorn Dance School's contrary streak -- not to mention their wit, economy, and penchant for shouting -- put them closer to classic British art-punk than anything else on DFA, and while their single-mindedness may divide listeners, it's exactly what makes them and their deceptively simple music thought-provoking and strangely compelling. ~ Heather Phares