a n e m o n Me as a r o h p a t Me for e v o L
In October of 2010, Menomena, my first girlfriend, and I were all in Atlanta together. Back then, they were a three-piece, and we were building love in spite of our contradictions. Three years and a few days later, Menomena, my second girlfriend, and I were all in Minnesota. By the time we met up, they had lost one, and we had lost one another. Menomena formed early in the third millennium in Portland, part of the Northwest’s amorphous indie scene. They stand out for their mathy arrangements and eclectic musical structures. Since the first note of the sonically huge debut, I Am the Fun Blame Monster, Menomena have reveled in explorative modes of composition and instrumentation. On top of the complex love affair of guitar and bass, there are the nontraditional vocal hooks, hip-hop pitter-patter percussion of massive dynamic scope, twinkly keyboard lines, and the sporadic ejaculation of baritone sax. My first girlfriend and I met the previous summer on a school trip to Ireland. In a few very long, pastoral days, our relationship rapidly gained dimension — entirely scriptless but with more role-playing than I was used to … and more sparks than I’d ever known. In those first misty months, she gave me the strong urge to express all of my good traits for her behalf and probably my own as well. One such trait was my infallible music taste, and I soon learned we shared eerily compatible sensibilities. Much like my girlfriend, Menomena entered my periphery from an unexpected place — randomized Internet radio. I quickly shared the discovery with my new companion. And so it was decided Menomena would be our first concert together. It was the first time I’d been with a lady, in most senses of the word, and confusion and enticement burst from every orifice in equal parts. A few months prior to the show, Menomena released their fourth studio album, Mines, from the plural possessive word, “mine” and probably also the popular explosive. For Mines, Brent, Danny, and Justin recorded hundreds of instrumental loops and vocal clips and meticulously pieced them together like a jigsaw puzzle. The whole process was a mess. As drummer Danny described, “Just when a song became familiar to one of us, the other two members broke it apart again, breaking each others’ hearts along the way. We rerecorded, rebuilt, and ultimately resented each other. And believe it or not, we’re all proud of the results.” My first girlfriend and I did things in a similar fashion. It was a testament to power of the individual’s contribution — contributions from which we created a beautiful and coherent work from disparate and faraway parts. Through the craggy
Words by A. Noah Harrison
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