tUnE-yArDs: "Bizness"

Lo-fi has its limits, and on tUnE-yArDs’ first LP BiRd-BrAiNs (2009), innovative multi-instrumentalist Merrill Garbus sounded stifled by her own aesthetic. While the record boasted some intriguing sonic and thematic ideas about sex, violence, and tape loops, its force was blunted by an overall lack of focus and skittish, kitchen-sink eccentricity. But onto the good news: w h o k i l l, tUnE-yArD’s forthcoming second album, is a monster-step forward. The production is cleaner and (despite what the above punctuation leads you to believe) the self-editing is more apparent, but none of this robs Garbus of her eccentricity; rather, the newfound sense of clarity only sharpens her edge. The record is full of songs to get excited about, but it’s “Bizness” that is my early pick for single of the year. History tells me that “Bizness” and I will outgrow this present honeymoon stage or that a better song will snatch my affections before year’s end, but that seems hard to believe right now. Even twenty-five listens later, these goosebumps don’t lie.

“Bizness,” to crib a phrase from Walt Whitman, draws inspiration from respiration. It’s percussive pop as biorhythm: a tribal banger made out of breath. Garbus’s soulful wail is commanding, as she punctuates her lines like she’s having an conversation with herself. The track explores thematic ground familiar to Pat Benetar and Jordin Sparks—the inherent connection between love and violence—but “Love is a Battlefield” feels like a vague metaphor in comparison to the percussive immediacy of Garbus’s message; this—the seething sensuality of the opening lines, “If I represent the one that did this to you / And cut away the parts that represent the thing that scarred you”—is love as an open wound. The chorus finds Garbus once again embracing doublespeak and wordplay: “I’m addicted, yeah” subtly shifts to “I’m a victim, yeah.” Are they one in the same? Is there any way to separate the two? Is love also its exact opposite, an endless identity swap between victim and oppressor? It’s a song asking heavy questions, but that doesn’t mean it’s not trying to make you dance. Midway through, the percussion builds to a sublime saxophone solo, and the whole thing starts to sound like a wedding reception where Dionysis is the hired DJ and he’s spinning some deep Fear of Music (1979) cuts. Or, as our own Dave Goldstein said, “There’s a crazy woman throwing a drum party in my ears, and everyone is invited.”

More than just a step forward in Garbus’s oeuvre, I’d call w h o k i l l one of the most dramatic and unexpected displays of inter-album game-upping in recent indie rock memory, on par with the leap from Horn of Plenty (2004) to Yellow House (2006). But whereas Grizzly Bear’s Ed Droste added depth to his one-time-lo-fi project by adding a few more sonic personalities into the mix, w h o k i l l finds Garbus delving even deeper inward and producing a fearlessly articulate celebration of individuality. All of which is to say that this record has the potential to be huge. If Lady Gaga’s meat dress has taught us anything—it certainly wasn’t a Sinclarian moral about the politics of meat-packing industry or the importance of smelling nice on the red carpet—but rather that now is as good a time as any for a toast to the weirdos. So, world, meet Merrill Garbus, by way of the outstretched hand that is “Bizness,” the irresistible song of herself.