Marco Fasolo, the man behind Jennifer Gentle, lives and works in the hills of Northern Italy. He writes, records, and mixes alone (after the departure of drummer Alessio Gastaldello) in a house whose previous owner committed suicide. He’s an eccentric in the truest sense of the world, if only the indie-rock world weren’t so full of eccentrics.
The Midnight Room is Jennifer Gentle’s sophomore album with Sub Pop and 4th overall. Attempting to evoke the air and gloom of a carnival at night, stripped down guitar, bass and drums are paired with bizarre sound effects -- from banging on metal to turtle dove keyboards. Fasolo’s voice is one of his best assets which chameleons from a sing-song, favored by twee bands from Australia to Sweden, to a dark, almost sinister baritone. All of these are recorded on rickety equipment giving it a spooky, antiqued feel.
The album begins with the quiet, minimalist and eerie “Twin Ghost.” Using chant, deliberate strokes on the keyboard and silence, it slowly walks listeners into a house of wonders and horrors. “Telephone Ringing” and “It’s In Her Eyes” follow in a similar vein, with more concrete melodies as the album builds.
The album finally swirls up to its potential in the playful “Electric Princess.” On top of a strutting bass line and tinkering keyboard, the nonsensical lyrics and “ha ha ha ha” chorus become whimsical and fun -- finally bringing the funhouse theme to its potential. Listeners walk through a house of mirrors where in every corner lies a slightly varied view of the same simple melodies.
On “Mercury Blood,” Fasolo replaces medieval trumpets with kazoos to announce an arrival. It’s no arrival of royalty however. Instead, the final note hangs in the air, foreboding. It marks the end of the lovable and the beginning of something much more difficult.
“Granny’s House,” the most avant-garde song on the album, falls short. Sparse chords pounded out on an old, creaky piano swirl, almost achieving unity but always fall short. Metallic banging awkwardly separates the chords from interludes of Gregorian chant. It’s a case of trying to do too much -- too many ideas to explore in 4 minutes. Without direction, the minimalist melody seems to wander around in a corn maze until it reaches 30 seconds of silence before entering into the final song.
The album ends in a much like it began, in silence -- a whole minute and a half of it. Strangely enough, it’s a perfect end to a sometimes perplexing, usually enjoyable and somewhat interesting album. It gives listeners a chance to reflect on the last 35 minutes of a ride that is sometimes smooth, sometimes bumpy but after getting off, it leaves you with a feeling that you have ridden this rollercoaster a few times before.
