Some critical types opine that the value of art, music, ideas -- whatever -- can be measured in terms of "shelf life," i.e., the amount of time spent in popular use before it "goes off" (that's what British people say when something spoils). Because zeitgeists shift every few months, and because most albums take six months to a year to create, records are often out of style before they come out, so their shelf life is predictably low, if it exists at all. Hence, these critical types, more often than not, end up muttering into their whiskey, seldom pleased. But every few years the Ween cycle arrests this situation. Vocalist/multi-instrumentalists Dean and Gene Ween seem to live in a timeless void, a void where trends and popular taste are as absent as sugar in salt. With
Quebec, Ween distinguishes itself from every band that's ever pandered to critics or expectations. This record is perfectly out of step with everything, bordering on, if not basking in, the absurd -- and this is the source of its soothing, balmy greatness.
As tender insights of nonsense, the album's quizzical, off-putting lyrics both confuse and engage: "You bring the razor blades/ I'll bring the speed," sings Dean amidst the satanic rumblings of the opener, "It's Gonna Be a Long Night." This sets the stage for the album's wide survey, which folds all musical moments into one, from the '50s country of "Chocolate Town" to the mid-'90s grunge of "Transdermal Celebration" to the '80s synthesizer-demo smoothie that is "Zoloft." Like a sonic Salvador Dali, this album will warp and tear the musical landscapes you thought you knew. Quebec exists in the place where the listener and the music melt together like the components of that other all-time favorite: the grilled cheese sandwich.
Wars, recalls, the breakup of Bennifer -- Quebec is the antidote to everything that distracts you from living in the moment, from walking around sleeveless and demanding satisfaction from life. It is the kind of record that never "goes off."
