Jim Mills has been a fixture on L.A.'s rock scene for years, though his sound has been anything but fixed. A founding member of squall-thrall hipsters Drill Team and sometime amanuensis of harmonizing superheroes Wondermints, Mills has explored everything from power pop to experimental noise; he's one of those musicians who can play virtually any song you can name, whether it's an obscure psychedelic nugget or an arena-rock perennial. Adeptly employing a staggering range of instruments, he has emerged once again with a true solo album, F R Double E (Commune Records), recorded under the name Extra.
Writing, producing, playing and singing every note, Mills salutes such major influences as late Pink Floyd founder Syd Barrett; the tumbling, baroque exertions of The Who's middle period; David Bowie's glam-alien peak; Beach Boys founder Brian Wilson's teenage symphonies to God; all manner of '70s troubadours (Nilsson in particular springs to mind); prog-rockers like Yes and Genesis; and too many others to enumerate, yet he manages to transcend pastiche completely.
F R Double E is a weirdly gorgeous world all its own, a dreamlike terrain of twisty hooks, stacked harmonies, spiraling guitar solos and otherworldly piano that is at once expansive and intimate. "I am music and that's all I know," Mills sings at the end of opening track "Forward to Mono," and this is as good a manifesto as any for the republic of Extra. These creations invariably take wild and unbidden turns, such as the swinging, Zappa-esque keyboard interlude in "The Medley I Warned You About," which segues to a lyrical recitation of the value of Pi before giving way to a blunt "whatever." A personal favorite is the sprawling piano-bar narrative "Do You Know What You're Saying, Eddie?" Over the course of its nearly seven minutes, the composition travels from hushed falsetto-and-baby-grand phrases to soaring, chiming, string-laden pop à la Todd Rundgren. The dreamy "Minutes" pairs acoustic strums, a listless groove and sleigh bells, then eases into a country-fried piano solo of meandering simplicity before launching into a sweet and soulful section that would be called a chorus (or a great chorus) if it were repeated. But Mills is F R double E of the gravitational pull of convention. In fact, his preferred song structure is the suite — instead of cycling comfortably from verse to chorus to verse, Extra's pieces flame out a section at a time, like a spaceship uncoupling.
It may not be your cup of tea. But if it is, you'll want frequent refills.
-- Simon Glickman, Editorial Emergency
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