Vintage Review: Max Vague's The Field (1996)

Rock ‘n’ roll has fielded its share of starry-eyed dreamers, insane geniuses and dedicated fools throughout the past four decades. Said artists have covered just about the entire gamut of available subject matter, from the usual lyrical staples like life, love and intoxicants to topics too disgusting for even these jaded ears. Precious few poets have really turned their eyes to the skies, however, and wondered aloud what might lie beyond this earthly dimension. The few who have usually tend to dance on the fringe of commercial acceptance, tagged forever with "cult favorite" status. For every Peter Gabriel, there's also a Roky Erikson or Nik Turner.

Whether Max Vague is a madman or a genius is not up for me to say. I suspect that there's a little of both residing in the man and artist – a certain musical genius, to be sure, but also a little foolishness for thinking that an album as lyrically vital, intelligently introspective and musically daring as The Field could find a receptive ear among the great gurus of radio and records. The Field is Vague's third album, following an impressive debut, Love In A Thousand Faces, and 1993's excellent S.O.S. The Party's Over. Vague is, perhaps, Nashville's most daring and adventurous artist. Although the home of country music, rhinestones and twanging guitars holds the promise of many rock & rollers who tend to walk on the proverbial edge – talents like Self or the Floating Men – Vague is not content to merely balance frightfully, preferring instead to crawl out and see just how far he can get on that branch before it snaps in two. With three albums under his belt, he's yet to take a tumble...  

A concept album twenty years past its prime and a good decade ahead of its time, The Field is a masterful collection, a song cycle that tells an unusual and haunting story about alien abduction. That it's a true story, told by an individual close to the band and filtered through Vague's mighty songwriting pen, makes The Field and its songs all that much more powerful. There are a lot of familiar musical elements that The Field shares with its predecessor, S.O.S. The Party's Over, but they serve as a connecting lifeline rather than a simple rehashing of material. S.O.S. is, indeed, an introduction to The Field, the two serving as bookends to frame a fantastic story.     

The Field begins with a disconcerting "Fever Dream," a low rumbling and jangled chiming leading almost immediately into "The Face In Your Window." Punctuated by a constantly repeating, wire taut guitar riff, "The Face In Your Window" launches the cycle, with our protagonist beginning their unearthly sojourn. From this point, the songs roll right by, a captivating, seemingly seamless composition made up of fourteen songs that sit separate and yet are melded together by a shared storyline and recurrent musical signatures. Among The Field'’s many moments, several nevertheless stand out.
    
"Epiphany" is an ethereal cry for sanity, the traveler captured by their own fear and growing sense of distance. "I will make it out of this 2x6 foot box," sings Vague, the line opening and closing the song with a distinct sense of terror and determination. "The Trade" illustrates the abductee's feelings of persecution and paranoia, with repeated abductions from childhood through adulthood not uncommon, creating in the individual a sense of disconnection and uncertainty: "Why do you keep coming back to me, haven't you had enough?" sings Vague in harsh, distorted vocals. "What is this preoccupation with me, haven't I suffered enough?" The disconnected "Rapture," with its echoed, dreamlike chorus of "we fall" repeated endlessly, creating a sense of floating while a gently strumming guitar supports Vague's lofty vocals.  

By the closing of The Field, Vague has brought our traveler full circle, through a myriad of thoughts and emotions, to a final confrontation with themselves. "I'm O.K." is a reaffirmation of life and purpose, a four minute musical struggle for identity in a psychological sea of confusion. "You sucked away my energy, you took the things that made me really me," sings Vague, "you roughed me up against my will, now tell me who the fuck I'm supposed to be." By the closing of the song, and the album, however, our protagonist has faced their demons and won, delivering a hearty lyrical 'piss-off' to those forces in the universe, both mundane and otherworldly, that seek to rob us of our dignity and individuality: "no compromise, no pity, no self help, no revelations from now on," Vague triumphantly delivers, just above the razor-sharp and repetitive riff that runs through the song and appears throughout The Field. "I made it all come out the day I faced your eyes and then refused to run. So you can take your fucking lights and your tables and your eyes and go away."

Musically, The Field mixes the familiar influence of a half a dozen artists – I won't insult the artist by making comparisons – you'll just have to get the disc and figure it out for yourself. I will say that there's plenty to discover musically hidden beneath these lyrics, the multi-layered and complex soundtrack of The Field yielding something new with every listen. The music is mesmerizing, an alluring combination of deceptive electric ambiance and passionate rock & roll fury. The guitars are thick and omnipresent in the mix, the percussion understated and purposeful while a consistent bass line supports the entire process. The band that Vague put together for The Field is top notch, with all of the players – guitarist Steve Green, drummer Robert Kamm, and bassist Ross Smith, a seasoned Nashville veteran of local legend Aashid Himmons' various bands – have an undeniable chemistry and a cohesion that belies their brief time together. A relative neophyte in the studio, Vague has grown as a producer over the course of three albums; his work on The Field is quite impressive given its complexity and dimension. 

The Field is a carefully-crafted piece of art, a heady tale of trial and redemption told through the eyes of an alien abductee. Although Vague has created a specific story, he has also unwittingly delivered a wonderful metaphor for life itself, the traveler of The Field representing every single one of us who views life from the outside looking in, with all of the attending uncertainty, doubt and psychic obstacles that accompanies such alienation (whether chosen or imposed). Released under Vague's own MetroLord Records imprint, The Field is a triumph of form over fashion, of honesty and sincerity over trite trendiness and musical pretension. At some time over the course of the past few years, I stated publicly  that Max Vague was too damn good to get signed by a major label, too unique to receive significant radio airplay. I stand by that statement today. It still remains to be seen whether or not anyone will prove me wrong. Until then, I can only sum up The Field thus: fucking brilliant! (MetroLord Records, 1996)

Review originally published by R.A.D! Review & Discussion of Rock & Roll zine, 1996