Martin Martini and The Bone Palace Orchestra - We're All Just Monkeys (Album)
Sometimes I think we are all just monkeys. I would call myself an agnostic, but Martini makes a valid case for Darwinist animalism, whether he meant to or not. Under all our soft, squishy skin and distinguishing features, just-right-fit jeans and tailored suits, all we really want to do is eat, sleep, fuck and fight.
We’re All Just Monkeys isn’t a cutesy Animalia-esque Golden Book. Utilizing a quote from George Orwell’s Animal Farm (“Four legs good. Two legs bad”), the whole record is rife with startling realizations of humanity and reality. Sounds a bit metaphysical, but Martini simplifies it down to a rollercoaster of life-affirming sanguinity to alcohol-soaked misery and all those tasty and torturous tidbits in between.
I suppose the only common trait between Martini’s Monkeys and those Little Golden Books is they both speak to me (on different levels, mind: I don’t have much in common with the Poky Little Puppy now, but 8-year old Lisa did, and she still trundles around somewhere in my mind wanting advice from time to time). Martini’s local references- from clichéd ethnic proprietor of hideous furniture Franco Cozzo to fare evasion- call out to my inner patriotic Melbournian and I feel like going on an adventure. The bitter taste of heartbreak sinks into my senses in Like A Knife. The frenetic disarray, good and bad, of the nature of life itself becomes ever more lucid (and more fun, thanks to some impressive horn work from James Macaulay and Huw Dann) in Dusty Love and Bedlam and Were All Gonna Die (which is a good lesson I suppose; were gonna die someday, dunno when though, “so everybody smile” and enjoy the time you have....especially you, emo kids. If you listened to more Martin Martini and less Gee-how-hard-is-middle-school music, you might not be such miserable gits with repugnant hair)
Drank All My Money is a particularly poignant standout; a longing for a simpler life (considering the future we may be looking at; look at the food prices, for dog’s sake!) on a “little country farm, with my wife and two girls, making cheese”. Though the notion of the man pouring his future into a pint glass is somewhat disconcerting, you get the feeling he may be okay. Like the rest of us.
The music itself is hard to pinpoint, genre-wise. Not one to pigeonhole, I shan’t assume, but like a nice glass of wine, we all get a different sensation, don’t we? I get a hefty slice of cabaret, a dash of jazz and a good ration of rock and roll for taste.
I don’t know who has The Answers. But Martin Martini is here, and Jesus isn’t.
