John Maus – We Must Become The Pitiless Censors Of Ourselves

John Maus has a lot of ideas. This much must be evident to anyone who has seen the thirty-one year old Minnesotan being interviewed. You can watch as his brain races; he stammers and tumbles over his words in his effort for clarity, hedge phrases such as ‘y’know’ ‘or something’ and ‘aaaaaaaah’ being delivered with equal pace and frequency as his fascinating, insightful profundities on music, philosophy and culture. It’s rare to see an interviewer get much more of a word in; such is the aggressive power of his intellect. It’s an incredibly arresting thing to witness, and I urge you to check it out for yourself via youtube or Fader. I’ll wait.

John Maus - We Must Become The Pitiless Censors Of Ourselves

How much of a contrast this makes to Maus’ artistic vision. While his speaking voice is nervous, fastpaced and highpitched, on record he sings in a slower, deeper, almost hymnal register. The declarative title of this third album, We Must Become The Pitiless Censors of Ourselves, is something of a statement of intent from Maus, as while his outside self clamours with nuggets of brilliance, underneath that is a conviction that, in this world of teeming data saturation, purity and focus are a vital pathway to truth in contemporary art. While Maus’ synth-heavy, atmospheric pop songs may seem quaintly nostalgic to a superficial ear, it isn’t his aim to be modish or arch. Through his strict aesthetic of cavern-reverb vocals, film soundtrack ambiences and church-organ progressions, he strives to make a truthful and heartfelt statement of who John Maus is and what place he has in the modern world.

These statements work best when they take a stab towards the dramatic. The widescreen ‘Cop Killer’ comes in like the closing scene of a dank ’80s thriller; an abandoned warehouse is the scene of a last-ditch shootout where the only light comes in arpeggio stabs of synth. Opener ‘Streetlight’ strobes through the fog and spray like the embattled lighthouse of the album sleeve, while the gothic vignette of ‘The Crucifix’ rumbles with medieval menace. These high-drama moments also take several turns for the lovely, with the ghostly duet of ‘Hey Moon’ and the clanging, triumphant climax of ‘Believer’ both being heart warming album highlights.

Elsewhere, however, Maus’ vision leads him slightly astray. The jaunty ‘Matter of Fact’ soon grates with its repetitive refrain and playground melody, and something about ‘Head For The Country’ just plain doesn’t work, with the keyboard work taking a stumble into cheesy that isn’t even approached on the album’s other tracks, and Maus’ vocals foghorn through tunelessly as if in some fruitless attempt to compensate.

That said, these few low points don’t even begin to detract from the virtues of this work. We Must Become The Pitiless Censors of Ourselves is a hugely accomplished album, and while it, and the man himself for that matter, can seem convoluted and high-concept on first exposure, this belies an accessible, heartfelt effort that strives for a truth and purity it finds lacking in contemporary culture. Maybe Maus could’ve done with being a bit more pitiless with his own censorship, but I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt; this is a man with a deep artistic vision, and that is something to be very much admired.

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