INTELLIGENCE - Icky Baby

Pigeonholing Intelligence isn't a straightforward task. The band's leader, Lars Finberg, has been wallowing for a few years now in Seattle's noisy, post-modernist scene; he also has two other projects to his name, both operating in territory not far removed from this one. There are the Dipers, devoted to a raucous lo-fi sound, and A Frames, purveyors of robotic punk-noise. Intelligence sit somewhere along the line connecting both: humanizing the guitars, which go from cutting to scorching, without losing their alien/alienated edge. In practice: garage, punk, noise and wave detritus get shredded into filthy melodic splinters, stinging and howled out.

The expectations surrounding Finberg's return stemmed from his last work, "Black Forest" (credited to A Frames), which finally managed to give full, coherent shape to the whole crew's qualities. It was a divertissement tinged with existential flavor, one that neither adds to nor detracts from the history of music, but which boasts plenty of thoroughly enjoyable moments, even for seasoned listeners. This "Icky Baby", on the other hand, doesn't amount to much, offering only a handful of ideas, often badly unfinished. There's no balance here, and even the talent comes into question (is Finberg only any good as a drummer, and not as a songwriter?).

In short, a real disappointment.

The opener "Nice Tries" (essentially an aseptic nursery rhyme, built on dark bass and metallic percussion) lays out pretty much the whole arsenal (thanks to the raucous interludes of guitars scraped like graters). The result is mediocre, but the record's best (i.e. decent) moments come right after. There's the brisk "Confidence", an anthem riding on noisy bursts of guitars and percussion; and "Garbage in Garbage Out", a performance delivered in a slackly Beck-like tone.

The body of the record splits evenly between small flashes of inspiration and completely pointless tracks. In the first camp: the sharp, dry riff of "White Gloves", the dark hues of "Cheer Up Switch" (all synth and crackle), and the post-wave tableau of "San Francisco". In the second: the irritating summer romp for obsessives "Tropical Struggle" (a triumph of little choruses and pinprick jabs), the flat pulse of "Life Preserver", and the shriek of "Juggle Bubble", as scorching as it is tedious.

If, up to this point, the portrait of "Icky Baby" was unpleasant but not disgraceful, the badly overstretched tail end drags the verdict down further. There isn't really much to say, in truth, because Intelligence themselves seem to have abandoned all ambition by this stage. Fair enough, these are stupid songs by definition, meant only to get bodies moving: but the rock'n'roll of "Oh" and the noise of "This Is a Gift" are just two screams turned into choruses, lacking both substance and structure.

The only upside is that it serves as final permission to bin the record, sparing us any further hesitation.

All things considered: better to spend your time on something else.

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30/04/2026