Violins in rock music are nothing new; every band that has ever wanted to give their music a bit of texture or a tinge of old-world mystery has a friend who took a couple of years of violin lessons in high school and is eager to score a little cred from the experience. Even the cello is fair game in the any-instrument-goes stakes of post-post-rock. From shepherd's flute to zither to tuba, if it sounds good in little bursts between circular guitar figures, it could be the next big thing.
It's only when the old-world instruments flat-out replace the guitar that things get interesting.
In Tarantula's case, cello and violin take the guitar's place, supported by bass and drums. The New York quartet creates dark, mysterious, decidedly Romany-friendly instrumentals, more structured than Dirty Three's destructive orchestral sprawl and less gratuitously climax-driven than the various Godspeed/Silver Mt. Zion configurations. If you enjoy the most gypsified aspects of Zep's "Kashmir", you'll appreciate Tarantula's tango/waltz tempos, the evocative, textured interplay of the violin and cello, and the subtly dangerous air of malice beneath the music's rippling surface.
Tarantula's material is assembled from the same basic components used in post-rock -- simple musical figures, mixed and matched -- but without the mind-numbing repetition or the intent to hide the players' lack of experience with their instruments. Tarantula's members are confident and passionate; violinist Jamie Reeder and cellist Danny Bensi don't showboat as much as they could, or perhaps even as much as they should, apparently confident in the already-hypnotic powers of their respective instruments. And justifiably so: in "Rail", they carry the melody ever-higher, like a fallen leaf fluttering and spinning in the wind's uncertain grip, while their work in "Opening Theme" conveys all the mystery and excitement of a midnight ride across an endless undulating desert. With Reeder and Bensi showing such restraint, it's up to the rhythm section -- bassist Saunder Jurriaans, who also picks up an acoustic guitar when the situation requires it, and drummer/percussionist Gregory Rogove -- to provide an appropriate context. If you're looking for a reminder that Tarantula's members are rock musicians at heart, look to Rogove, whose generous use of crash cymbal and plentiful fills during "Backdoor Carni" combine with Jurriaans's simple, pulsing bass line to create a (presumably) unintentional reference to The Cure's "Fascination Street".
Tarantula is more about atmosphere than catharsis, but two of the disc's five tracks kick in a little extra oomph. Rather than feeding its own fire for an extended period, "Embedded in Ice" does a quick build to a grand, short flameout in its final segment, stopping dead when the flame is snuffed. It's a marvelous "holy shit!" moment -- an almost entirely unexpected emotional flare-up that fulfills the tune's potential without lingering too long. Because it's short, and unexpected for the first few listens, it seems more valuable than a sustained, stormy squall. Closer "Palo Borracho" telegraphs its intentions a bit more overtly via Rogove's increasingly feisty rhythm, until Jurriaans's fevered acoustic guitar strum leads into a stormy Tango showdown -- thirty electrifying seconds of violin, cello, guitar and drums, all storming away at each other.
Unless you've already joined Tarantula's army of converts, this 29-minute EP will hit you like nothing you've heard before. It's rock action and gypsy passion in a single eldritch package -- a dark and feverish musical crossbreed that'll enchant all but the staunchest of rock traditionalists.
