Mahjongg, Live in Chicago

Four men approach the stage- setting up a drum set, keyboards and a sound machine, the lanky lead vocalist straps on an electric guitar behind a standing microphone, setting a loop that skips like a broken VHS tape. So starts the captivating metamorphosis of Mahjongg.

“Rise Rice” comes on slow, the listener very aware of the blaring sound machine, but also spellbound. The beat suddenly turns, with a stew of recordings set under lyrics and electric guitar exceptionally fleshing out the original basic rhythms. “Pontiac” combines funk and jungle, concluding as it falls into itself with repetition. Think Panda Bear’s “Comfy in Nautica.” “Tell the Police the Truth” uses live drum with possible recordings of an 80′s arcade game, somehow making you feel animated rather than irritated.

After the show, I ask the keyboardist to describe their collaboration of sound. He tells me the members of Mahjongg are more like “a network feeding off of a predetermined pulse.” But the wandering, impulsive behavior of scrambled noise is as beautiful as it is spontaneous and unpredictable: unnatural obscurities put into motion against warped tech house, somehow sporadic yet absolutely coordinated.

Combining sounds of nature and alien invasion, the group integrates fragments of any audible value. Who knew the vibrations of unzipping a tent would feel good on the soul? The low grumbles of a robotic murmur bellow from an amplifier and rebound off the nearly empty room. They play “Free Grooverider,” with a bass that picks up quick and justifies their dance music elements, uncontrollably fast paced with Latin flavor. My experience with freak folk and experimentation has rarely triggered an urge to dance (maybe sway lazily in the trance of muffled clamor), but Mahjongg’s bizarre synergy excited spectators in a way they found hard to shake off.

Each melody was arranged running over and overlapping each other, systematically cultivating music that slowly accelerates, reproducing and branching off. The static left the small crowd transfixed, with flailing limbs trying to keep up with the momentum. I am told by members that at least half of the performance is improvised. If nothing else, I find that incentive to see their performances whenever possible. Mahjongg generate a sequence of strange patterns and recordings that somehow join together to form a sound that proves a potent and intoxicating brew, one that is always self-modifying. They have that remarkable ability to present a thoroughly original and eccentric aural experience in a palatable form.

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