BR Wallers has, over the course of his musical career, employed a good many styles and aliases—none of which have proved as enduring or prolific as The Rebel. Through all of The Rebel’s billion-or-so tapes are two contradictory feelings: that of oversharing, or slipping up; and of withholding, revealing very little of what’s behind the curtain. This balancing act is impressive. What’s even more impressive is Wallers’ ability to sustain the illusion throughout his entire career —early work in Country Teasers balanced on the same knife-edge. The resulting tension is perhaps what feeds Wallers’ quasi-mythical status among fans; the intimate inscrutability of looking at something through a microscope.
REMEMBER YOUR FAILURE IN THE CAVE is, unsurprisingly, full of contradictions. As the cover might have clued you in, the album is domestic and playful (at one point featuring enthusiastic guest vocals from what I assume is Wallers’ infant daughter). But it’s also anxiety-inducing, and sometimes apocalyptically terrifying. This uneasy juxtaposition makes me think of 70s kids’ TV. The people who made those shows had it hard—you can only be so jovial when you’re staring expectantly into a Cold War sky. Opening track “And Now” sounds like soot-covered CBeebies presenters blasting from a set in the nuclear wasteland of what was once a living room. “Baby Chick Went Down To The Fayre” is another beautifully mangled track, and sounds like a Texas two-step refracted through the prism of the (fantastic) show Roobarb and Custard.
Another commonality with kids’ TV, Oliver Postgate sort-of shows, is a blending of compositional sophistication and an affected naiveté. There is no question that Wallers is a formidable musical talent (and there’s strong case to be made for his genius). Without this as a known quantity, REMEMBER YOUR FAILURE IN THE CAVE would probably make me say “is he doing that on purpose” or “is this supposed to be funny”. Wallers’ work is confrontationally odd, and most listeners eventually get to a breaking point where they realise how silly both of those former questions are, and just start enjoying themselves. Large sections of this album sound like the blissful few minutes when you’ve given a child one of those Yamaha PSR keyboards and they haven’t discovered the fucking DJ button yet.
For some reason this album keeps making me think of kids, of childhood. Only in gathering thoughts together two write a review did I realise this. A catchy, kiddy charm and instant likeability have throughlined Wallers’ career—even stretching back to the days of the Teasers and their ‘hit’ “Golden Apples”—but this new album finds its compositions, with a couple of exceptions, unmoored from venomous and mucky lyrics. Consequently the album, gnarled and misanthropic as it may be, finds an explicit kind-heartedness. It’s a strange feeling. Imagine watching a dog who’s finally caught a mouse or bird they’ve been chasing for ages, and is taking infectious delight in shredding it to bits. You can’t help but cheer the little pooch on.
REMEMBER YOUR FAILURE IN THE CAVE is available for purchase and streaming here.
Words: Andrew O’Keefe