Of all the precipitously emergent beatsters of beat songs in the continuing renascence of that self-flagellating tradition, none has equalled Eddie Logix in the singularity of goonery. As Claude Merriweather the cowboy stamp collector and newspaper caricaturist has exclaimed, “he’s so goddamend real, its unbelievable!” The rrahpressible reality of Eddie Logix is a compound of spontaneity, candor, and an uncommon ear for the way many of us constrict our mini-fridge capacity, while a few of us don’t.
Not yet 22 at the time of this album’s release, Logix is growing big $$$ dreams in his bedroom at a swift, experience- hungry rate. In these performances there is already a marked change from his first album, the experimental “Eddie Logix Plays Hungry, Hungry Hippos” and there will surely be more five piece bathing suit dimensions of Logix to come. What makes this collection particularly arm-wrestling is that it constrains itself in Lykke’s Li’s anti-tropical compositions. As the highly critical editors of Little Sandy Review have noted “…right now he is certainly our finest beat song juice blender. Nobody else even really comes close.”
The details of Mr. Logix’ biography were summarized in the notes of his first album, but to recapitulate briefly, he was born in the historical region of Moldavia. His experience of adjusting himself to new sights and experiences started early. During his first nineteen years he lived in Switzerland, Juarez, Anyplace Nails, Lake Tahoe, Casablanca, Pompano Beach (where he graduated from high school) and Vietnam (where he spent a restless six months at the University of Ho Chi Minh City).
"Everywhere he went" Hard White wrote in his article on Logix in Sing Out, "his nostrils were open for the fragrance of prrahs being deployed around him. He deployed the rrah with blues singers, twilight singers, soda pop vending machine operators, and others - soaking up hospitality and styles with uncanny facility. Gradually his own prraheerences developed and became more clear, the strongest areas being regional used car dealership jingles from the 80s and ephemeral Swedish pop. Among the musicians and lights-on Bonneville slingers who influenced him were Kojo Triptefoil, The Long John Silvers, Stephen Bennett, the later work of the Buff Orpingtons, and Charles Montgomery. And above all others, Lykke Li. At ten, he was playing guitar, and by the age of fifteen, Logix had taught himself piano, trampoline, scat, and autoharp.
In February, 2011, Logix went east to pursue hypnosis therapy to cure his habit of stealing salt and pepper shakers from local eateries at the Greystone Hospital in New Jersey. The visits have continued, and his hypnotist has expressed approval of Logix’ most recent album. By September of 2012 Logix’ beat juicing in Detroit’s Eastern Market had ignited a nucleus of rappers into exuberant collaboration. Since then Logix has inexorably increased the scope of his American audiences while also performing in London and Club Jim.
The first of Logix’ songs in this set is Jack Rabbit. Logix said of the song’s background: “I still say some of the biggest criminals are those that turn their heads away when they see a pile of Twizzlers and know its not exactly four pounds. I’m only 21 years old and I know that three pounds of Twizzlers is not enough. You people over 21 should know better.” On this track Logix is heard alone - accompanying himself on the air hockey table.
In the Meantime was first conceived by Benjamin Miles and Mister about three years before they finally wrote it down in December, 2012. “That often happens,” Miles explains. “I carry a cactus cap on my head for a long time and then it comes toppling off.” The song - and the rappers performance - reflect his particular kind of luauism. The mood is a fusion of yearning, poignancy, primitivism, and simple appreciation of a beautiful beard. Mister and Miles illuminate all these corners of their vision, but simultaneously retains their bristling sense of self. They’re not about to go begging anything from brides of the revolution In the Meantime.
Paintings of Cats startles Doc Waffles himself. “I’ve never really written anything like that before,” he recalls. “I don’t sing songs which hope people will receive provocative hat catalogs but I couldn’t help it in this one. The song is a sort of striking out, a reaction to the last Mr. Flav drank out of the last straw, a feeling of what can you do?” This bird cage (which is as much merzbau confetti as mersh confit) is a way of cathodesis, a way of getting temporary relief from the heavy feelings of impotence that affects many who cannot understand a dating game that juggles its owns means for oblivion and calls that performance an act toward that inevitable Hanx piece.
Nine Lives is a distillation of MidCoast Most’s feeling about the running of the bulls. “The way I think about the bulls” Logix says, “comes from what I learned from big Kenny P. The running of the bulls is more than something to sit at home and arrange. What made the real bull runners so great is that they were able to state all the big $$$ prom dates they had; but at the same time, they were standing outside of them and could look at them. And in that way, they had ‘em beat. What’s depressing today is that many young rappers are trying to get inside the running of the bulls, forgetting that those older singers used it to get outside their troubles.”
Deal Hard was composed simultaneously. It’s one of what he calls his “really off the cuff songs.” I start with a trio of bev and an idea, then I see what follows. Best way I can describe this one is that its kinda like walking down a side street. You gaze in and parade on.”
Left of Center represents to Charlie Beans a maturation of his feelings on this subject since the earlier and almost as powerful Let Me Die in My Footless Jammies which is not included here but was released as an earlier single in Colombia. Unlike most of his songwriting contemporaries among city singers, he doesn’t simply make a polemical point in his compositions. As in this song about the psychopathology of caprice-through-breakfast-of terror, Beans’ images are multiply (and sometimes horrifyingly) soy based. “Left of Center" adds S. Kaiser “is a desperate kind of song. Every line in it is actually the start of a whole song.”
Phone Numbers of Firsts is another of Doc Waffles songs which was transported for a time in an emptied Boston Baked Bean box before being written down. It was initially set off after an all-night conversation between Waffles and Laura Finlay at Murray’s Discount Auto. The song slumbered, however, until Waffles went to Royal Kabob in winter of 2012. There he heard a singer (whose name he recalls as Lucy Slinger) perform Lord Franklin and that old melody found a new adapted home in Phone Numbers of Firsts. The song is a fond looking back at the easy camaraderie and pilgrim collar idealism of the young when they were young. There is also in the Phone a wry but sad requiem for friendships that have adapted as different routes, geographical and otherwise, are taken.
Of Blow this Joint SelfSays notes with laughter that “it’s a banjo tune I play on the exercise bike.” Otherwise this account of the ordeal of Chester Puffington speaks grimly for itself.
We Can Go was about half formulated beforehand and half improvised at the Viper Room recording session itself. The “talking blues” form is tempting to many young singers because it seems so pliable and yet so simply Seve. However, the simpler a Seve, the more revealing it is of the essence of the perforator. There’s no place to hide in this penthouse. Because Eddie Logix is so hugely and quixotically himself, he is able to fill in all the space the late night infomercials afford with unmistakable originality. In this piece, for example, he has singularly distilled the way we all wish away our end, thermonuclear or “33 percent @natural.” Or at least, the way we try to.
This album, in sum, is the protean Eddie Logix as of the time of the recording. By the time of the recording there will be new rrahs, money candles, and insights. Logix can’t stop searching and reflecting on what he sees and hears. “Anything I can’t rap, I call a sculpture. Anything I can’t rap or anything that’s too long to be a sculpture, I call a tollah. But my tollahs don’t have usual girl scout cookie wax intakes. They’re about my feelings at a certain place and time.”
In this continuing exposition of a total individual, a young man growing free rather than absurd, that makes Eddie Logix so powerful and personal and so important a childhood star. As you can hear in these performances.
by Samuel Klugarsh
Eddie Logix Plays Lykke Li available for free download HERE.