Boomkat Product Review:
Hyperpop pioneer Max Tundra bridges late ‘70s art-rock, ‘80s synth-pop and contemporary prism-pushers such as black midi or PC Music on his bountiful 3rd album of maximalist complexity at the service of pop and party function - finally reissued.
After giving up a high water mark of plunderphonic, kitchen-sink glitch mania in ‘Some Best Friend You Turned Out to Be’ (2000) and finding his voice on 2nd album, ‘Mastered By The Guy at the Exchange’ (2002), London wunderkind Max Tundra spent the best part of a decade producing ‘Parallax Error Beheads You’ (2008), where his vocals bloomed into ever more complex harmonies, riddled in ravishingly quick and intricate arrangements that firmed up his notion of “mutated pop” in kaleidoscopic form. Brainy as fuck and extremely fun with it, Tundra effectively collapsed preceding generations of adventurous pop music into his filigree structures, leaving no nanosec needing for nuance in a way that patently begat the frenetic productions of A.G. Cook, or even the (frankly annoying) work of Jacob Collier, but perhaps remained more of cult concern than PC Music’s glossy corporate pop thrust.
Depending your state of mind ‘Parallax Error Beheads You’ may match your speed-of-thought or tilt you over-edge, but either way it’s an impressive feat of imagination and passion for pop paradigms. Spanning fluoro harpsichord flourishes and folk-rock cadence of ‘Gum Chimes’, thru to the manic 11 minutes of cascading midi clatter and hi-speed bluesy soloing in the art-pop of ‘Until We Die’, it’s a breathlessly brilliant album reflecting early internet romance in ‘Will get Fooled Again’, ohrwurming synth-pop hooks on ‘Which Song’, and Carl Stone-esque sampler magick in ‘Orphaned’, with a knack for timeless pop chops comparable to “Blue” Gene Tyranny doing donk on ‘The Entertainment’, with a tart twyst of 2-step pop bop in ‘Glycemic Index Blues’.
In the internet-flattened cultural timelines of 2022, ‘Parallax Error Beheads You’ is more clearly than ever a landmark album of its ilk, primed for reassessment or first encounters by all pop-piqued lugs.