Despite being six years into this project, I have yet to review A Manual Dexterity: Soundtrack Volume One, Omar Rodríguez-López’s debut solo album, which was released twenty years ago today (no Sergeant references: denied). Sadly, neither the film nor the planned Volume Two has ever seen the light of day due to a combination of rights litigations and an unwillingness to progress with a project that featured the late Jeremy Ward, who had the starring role and contributed to the soundtrack.
It could have been an inauspicious start to a solo career, but there has been no attempt to rewrite history: the original name stands on the redesigned cover artwork as per the vinyl re-release of his back catalogue; the image itself is reminiscent of the “Seven Nation Army” video I have never been able to watch in its entirety because it gives me motion sickness. Neither the original nor the updated cover give many clues about the film’s subject or genre, and the info I’ve found has been pretty limited to the soundtrack itself.
But based on the music, which for the most part is instrumental soundscape / interstitial textures that could easily double as part of a film score, psychological horror might be a good punt. Because while there is quite a bit of classic, thick-cut ORL shred seeded throughout, a good deal of the music is actively unpleasant. Contemporaneous reviews appear to have been broadly positive, though coming from Volta stans that’s unsurprising; Sputnik Music was excited about similarities between “Around Knuckle White Tile” and “Vermicide” from the Mars Volta’s Amputechture. But fans were also honest about the difficult noise, while appreciating the creative control and resultant bag emptied of fucks. Allmusic aptly summarised the overall vibe as occasionally aggravating but more often intriguing.
I’m inclined to agree, but it is telling that it’s taken me this long to get around to reviewing it. While I’m still searching for my ideal working instrumental music, there’s way too much itchiness embedded throughout for this to qualify. Which is a shame, because the good parts totally whip. The jams are restrained and avoid extended improv indulgences, but I get the feeling any of them could have gone that way at a live show, spiralling into a 40-minute event that I’m retrospectively jealous of. Plus, as ORL solo records will often have an easter egg aspect for excited Mars Volta fans to identify motifs and earlier versions, (as aforementioned nod to “Vermicide”) there is a lot of nerdly detective joy in listening.
The first three tracks feature lots of gauzy white noise, squally angry machine protests and traditional noodly shred, where the layers are more individuated. But maybe because of the lack of fuzzy edges, too often the repetition swells like a throbbing limb; there’s neither comfort nor progression. This means that although the inevitable tradjam is always welcome, the irritating crunchy bits have been looping too long, and it’s made worse by the volume dipping so low you’d strain to hear without headphones, only to then crash into a noise jump-scare. They are all much of a piece, one which on the whole is mostly pleasant but not memorable.
But they are the best of the instrumentals and suffer the least from being divorced from the visual narrative. “Dramatic Theme” is seven minutes of buzzing grind, nowhere near smooth enough to be background music, before swinging back towards something less experimental, although even this is more akin to an assault. The continual typewriter sound effects in “A Dressing Failure” make it unlistenable, and “Sensory Decay Part II” is the juddering and clicky pecking of some creepy lizard-creature from a hokey ‘50s sci-fi B-movie, except you’re an actual child who’s genuinely frightened. Props to the Jeopardy! approved ‘Before & After’ category title “Of Blood Blue Blisters”, the track with Jeremy Ward’s ‘yelling’ credits and the one even the most devoted apparatchiks struggled with. Although it does eventually start rocking and Ikey Owens’s piano is always welcome, it’s not enough. “Dream Sequence” might be the least objectionable but is ultimately boring.
Both of the tracks that make this album worthwhile were featured on the compilation Telesterion, which up until a short while ago was the only way you could hear them on Spotify. I think I am correct when stating “Deus Ex Machina” is one of only two covers (the other being Ellie Goulding’s “Lights” from Blind Worms, Pious Swine), and it is more than worth the admission price. This is a fuzzy reboot of his father’s song “Reina de Mi Vida” featuring said pa, Angel Marcelo Rodríguez, on vocals. The distant crackle laid over adds an ethereal effect that matches the wibbliness felt across the piece. It’s a textural delight, with fun interplay between vocals and musical interludes connecting plaintive guitar and toe-tapping trumpet, which is undeniably catchy and impossible to hear without needing to dance.
The best is saved for last via “The Palpitations Form a Limit” because two words: HOORAY CEDRIC; unsurprisingly, this song could have been a Mars Volta b-side and for many is the album’s raison d’être. Confusingly sexy and sexily confusing vocals are supported with sensuous, De Facto-esque drums slapping over a thick, smooth foundation. Cedric’s falsetto duets with classic ORL shred, which will always be my favourite kind of Mars Volta this, showcasing the funky lyrical logic that is my second favourite kind (‘can’t you never stay any longer / as long as you still run’).
A Manual Dexterity has some undeniably rocking moments and unique textural interplay, but the lack of wider context from the film means that some of the sound effects are just baffling noise choices. Divorced from the visual guidance of the film, they remind me of the parts I hate most in Cryptomnesia and Xenophanes. But at least on those two, there’s both enough complexity to be able to focus on something else, and also those interludes are generally shorter.
Which is a shame, because I really do enjoy a good deal of the instrumental pieces, and “Deus Ex Machina” and “The Palpitations Form a Limit” are brilliant. But this album is like a house whose beautiful interior decorations are occasionally paired with a stark aesthetic choice, like a plain, concrete floor, which would be fine except also there’s a weird, pervasive chicken-and-stars soup odour you just can’t parse out or ignore.
Track listing:
Around Knuckle White Tile
Dyna Sark Arches
Here the Tame Go By
Deus Ex Machina
Dramatic Theme
A Dressing Failure
Sensory Decay Part II
Of Blood Blue Blisters
Dream Sequence
The Palpitations Form a Limit