Mamaleek are a band I seem to be the last to know about.  The anonymous experimental collective predominantly hailing out of San Francisco or Beirut, depending, have been crushing it for nearly 15 years, and let me tell you: whatever you think “it” is, think bigger.  On their 8th full length and their third with a full lineup, the band tie together two seemingly unrelated and yet universal concepts: that of loss and, of course, baseball.  It doesn’t seem like it would work, but remember, this is also the band that made an album called Diner Coffee that was inspired by…well, just that.  And not only did it work, it  excelled.

Vida Blue was that rare breed of lefty that excelled at throwing absolute heat and viciously attacking the strike zone, and was an integral part of the Oakland Athletics dynasty that captured 3 consecutive World Series titles.  He was one of only a handful of elite pitchers who started the All Star Game for both the American League and the National League, and he sadly passed away at the age of 73, in May of last year, not long after Mamaleek collaborator Eric Livingston.  Not just a member of the expanded lineup, Livingston was a dear friend of those in the band, an exceedingly talented multi-instrumentalist whose touch made the last couple of Mamaleek albums as successful as they were, and a close confidant.  It is through the memory of both of these singularly talented people that Vida Blue, the album, is filtered.  Loss is obviously a huge theme grounding the album, be it loss of a person, a place (fitting, since the A’s are officially moving to Las Vegas and have had the most homes of any MLB team), money, pride, glory or even a sense of self.  In continuing with the positivity the band emphasized on Diner Coffee, they speak of their friend and of Vida Blue with the words “Loss is only a test: the glue that holds and erodes each memory, the connection that binds and loosens us all, pitch by pitch, inning by inning.”  Musically, Vida Blue continues the once-black-metal-adjacent project’s distance from anything remotely resembling black metal, this time continuing their exploration of jazz, blues, hip-hop, ambient, psychedelia, pop, soul and just about anything else they can think of to put their instruments to.  To try to pin down one stable genre for Mamaleek is to try drinking a river in one gulp.  It’s a futile effort and you’re just gonna end up along for the ride anyway.  

Not to be the “guy who only listens to Imperial Triumphant” guy, but I think for those uninitiated with Mamaleek, the best touchstone is Imperial Triumphant.  And not because of the jazz thing!  Because of the…well, everything.  Here are two bands who can not only comfortably and confidently play any style of music they want, they can blend them all so seamlessly and effectively and then go off and make something that breaks all the rules they had initially set for themselves, and all within the confines of one track.  It’s about as “post-” and post-anything gets.  It’s, as the band themselves put it, completely deconstructed.  Guitars, drums and growled vocals meet flute, saxophone, harmonica, keyboards, pipes and just about anything else the collective can dream up, all in the name of pulling influences from a myriad of genres together.  It’s not a mish-mash, though.  This album has a very clear purpose, and every stylistic choice is deliberate in service of that purpose.  To me, the centerpiece of the album is “Ancient Souls, No Longer Sorrowful,” a track that begins with spoken word ambience before jumping into a psychedelic stomp before closing with a tender piano movement that pays homage to a dear friend.  Meanwhile, opener “Tegucigalpa” showcases mighty jazz chops, “Black Pudding Served at the Horn of the Altar” slithers through truly evil sounding blues before a huge jump into doowop, and single “Legion of Bottom Deck Dealers” is a sorrowful post-rock stomp to wind the album down.  You don’t have to choose with Vida Blue.  You truly get it all.

Vida Blue is an album that is a lot of things to a lot of people. For Mamaleek, it’s an elegy for a friend, a remembrance of someone (actually, two people) who left an indelible mark on the world, an exploration of just how broad one band can expand their bag of tricks on service of a theme, and an all-around showcase of impeccable chops. For us, it’s a deeply impactful listen that reminds us not to fear loss, or let the threat of it stop us from living our lives and making the connections that are so important to making that life full and meaningful. 

— Ian

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Vida Blue is available now on the Flenser. For more information on Mamaleek, visit their Facebook page.