“The Perfect Map,” like about half of the songs on the album, is simply wonderful. “We will sing out/all the time/and say nothing/and be satisfied,” sings the singer in his near-whisper; drums quietly roll, a bass rings, feedback yearns and eventually gets what it’s yearning for. It captures the mood of the album, and somewhat of Megalon, perfectly: what’s going on? What’s it all about? There’s not enough information for anyone to say for sure, and besides, there’s nobody to talk to about it. Except you-all, who haven’t even heard this thing yet. Go get it, if you like pretty, interesting, slightly frightening music that plays lovingly with its influences. Meanwhile, I will lose sleep worrying that Megalon is about to ink a six-figure deal with the Bertelsmann group. Because if there’s one thing people who like thinking about record labels like even better than thinking about record labels, it’s thinking about how certain we are that sooner or later our favorite labels are all going to suck. Even when it’s patently not true, as in the present case, we look worriedly for signs that the air is escaping from our tight little balloon. We search for chinks in the armor and get ready to tell people who’ve also noticed our new favorite label that the real glory days came to a crashing halt a year or two back, before the disastrous double-whammy of a good review in Careless Talk Costs Lives and a distribution deal with Midheaven. We look forward to remembering when only we knew how good these labels were. We await such days like vultures circling a wounded peccary. Why? You already know, you’re one of us. We are pitiable. It makes us feel good. |
