Frog Eyes front man Carey Mercer is no stranger to intensity - his work often involves frenzied, unsettling collages of sound and image. But the impact of Mercer's music is much greater than the sum of its strange parts, as evidenced by last year's The Golden River, which spun from its melodies and fractures a timeless mythology that was as earnestly delivered as it was disarming.

Light Flows the Putrid Dawn, Mercer's first solo outing, is less timeless myth than claustrophobic nightmare. Here Mercer rants and mumbles to himself against an ambient swarm of guitars plucked, banged, and otherwise beaten into producing anxious textures. But for all its shifting structure, Light Flows the Putrid Dawn is surprisingly focused. At 24 minutes long, the album wastes no time with unnecessary movements; its songs form a cohesive - if somewhat perplexing - whole, dragging listeners through the breathless ravings of "The Swineherd sings and the Fountain Dwellers grow apart," the warped Palace Brothers-esque folk of "New Soft and Shimmering Motherhood Alliance," and a barrage of murky images and sounds.

All is not dark in Blackout Beach, though, and where the album truly - literally - shines are the few spots of solace Mercer has cleared away. Mercer has proved himself a patient man. It is no accident then that Light Flows the Putrid Dawn defies easy interpretation, instead demanding from the listener a willingness to be patient with one man's dense creation. For the willing, the reward is well worth it.

Adam Rokhsar
August 5, 2004