RFBX: ‘It’s Genius, I Swear’ Special – R. Taylor of Sparky Deathcap/Los Campesinos! on Ben and Brunos ‘100 Grim Reapers’
By: R. Taylor
I first discovered this record a couple of years ago after opening for Tiny Vipers and Jason Molina in Manchester. Good story, actually. Kind of. My set had gone down more or less with the same effortless inevitability as Buster Bloodvessel, Shaq O’Neil and the cast of Rosanne on an ice-fishing holiday on the North Sea -in May- and having nowhere to go afterwards I was taken in by Bernie, who happened to be putting up Tiny Vipers. Bernie is a legendary figure in Manchester and her house, casually collaged with grovelling thank you notes from major US indie bands, is a glowing testament to this. Within half an hour I was strangling my sorrows in continental beer and Bernie’s world-class vegan curry as she spun Ben and Bruno’s 100 Grim Reapers on the record player.
Dear reader, I am an appalling cynic who is for the most part incapable of loving anything, but I was near moved to tears, so beautiful and quietly emotive this record is. To make a vague swing at describing its sound, if you imagine Jason Lytle fronting a Phil Elverum/Will Oldham/Campfire Songs era Animal Collective collaboration, you’re in the right territory. But there is such a striking originality to this record, a real confidence of voice that allows it to stand alone in whatever genre it would be.
Ben and Bruno, it turns out, is the project of Grand Rapids resident, Peter J Brant. “Ben” is a character that Brant inhabits, a young medium channelling stories from an old timer in the autumn of his life; “Bruno” is Ben’s dog. 100 Grim Reapers is a minimalist affair on the whole, most of the songs employing just vocal harmonies and acoustic guitar with occasional strings, harmonium and
pedal steel shuffling around in the background. In fact it’s the vocal harmonies that really fuel the distinctive warm glow of the album, a choir of friends beneath Brant’s wistful recounting of the life, love and mortality of Ben. The second track, ‘New Friend Song’, is a childlike eulogy to a female companion. “She is a girlfriend but not my girlfriend/we have agreed not to kiss or hold hands,” recounts Ben atop a kind of rough-hewn choral evensong. There can be few more affecting, uplifting songs than this.
I like my records like I like my women: unpopular and difficult to get hold of. Also: great rack. 100 Grim Reapers appears to fulfil the first two requirements, although it would probably more accurately be described as ‘unknown’ than ‘unpopular’; hardly anyone I have evangelised about it to has heard of it, but to those who have I am preaching to the converted. It is more widely accessible
now, thanks to Emusic and Last FM, and I would urge anyone and everyone to get hold of it.
Well, to return to that “good story” I promised all those words ago, I fell asleep with the last few tracks of 100 Grim Reapers and Bernie’s cat on my lap. Before I knew it I was embroiled in a vivid dream where I was peeling all of the fur off the cat. Just to clarify, it wasn’t really my fault; it was actually only Velcroed on in the first place [what do you expect?]. And who’d have guessed that beneath its fur, the cat would have the body of Kermit The Frog? The difficulty came when
I tried to reattach the fur and it wouldn’t go back on so I hid the cat in a drawer. I suppose, in the end, curiosity disfigured the cat. So I am more than eternally indebted to Bernie for a handful of reasons, but most of all for not hitting me with her frying pan the next morning as I told her about my weird dream over breakfast.
R. Taylor
Artists in this article: Ben and Bruno, Los Campesinos!