The Mystery Moose





DISCOGRAPHY (with free downloads)

VIDEOS


The following is a career retrospective of the Mystery Moose written by one Charles Magma around the time of October's Argument:

The Mystery Moose is in every way unremarkable. Its songs lack polish or even raw vigor. Its albums meander listlessly through barren landscapes of canned beats and overwrought vocals that rarely, if ever, hit the right notes at the right time. Its lyrics veer from pretentiously obtuse to embarrassingly melodramatic.
 
Its members are unremarkable: awkward, distant men and women whose faces are somehow interchangeable--a night spent in conversation with the Mystery Moose is remembered as a confused jumble of half-articulated and half-conceived thoughts, a nightmare in which an indeterminate number of similarly-clothed human beings blend together into a gray and undifferentiated mass. To know the Mystery Moose is to doubt the existence of personality.
 
Its ugliness is unremarkable--the songs divide and multiply and wander in different directions; beats change abruptly and without purpose; order and disorder cancel each other out, yielding a numbing blankness. The "singer" mumbles through meditations on war, his difficulty with human relationships, and some nonsense about being hypnotized by giant cats. All the voices seem to come from the bottom of a well, an appropriate place for the obsessively self-absorbed lyrics to have been written. The outside world is a vague and frightening apparition flitting past the tinted windows of this man's cathedral of self-regard. He seems embarrassed by every word he says--and rightly so: the rhythm and imagery of the lyrics flail around blindly and regularly fall into precipices of vocal gibberish. I met this "vocalist," but I can't remember which one he was. Or maybe they all sing.
 
The Mystery Moose is nothing more than a footnote in the utterly ordinary lives of its members, a story to tell their snickering grandchildren about the time "Grandma was in an internet band," a reservoir of memories that will be forgotten until their minds regress into the velvet darkness of senility. Then their world will become their mirror--a dull and formless blur of sensation. And the soundtrack will be The Mystery Moose.


Subpages (1): Discography
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