Pitchfork

In a recent web feature following Jon Brion as he shops at Amoeba Records in Hollywood, the noted producer/songwriter/performer reveals what goodies he picked up that day, including Fats Waller, Liam Finn's solo debut, and a set of Glenn Gould DVDs. At the end of the piece, however, Brion holds court on Of Montreal, picking up two of the band's albums to give to a friend and generally extolling the virtues of Kevin Barnes' project. "I think he's the best thing going these days," says Brion. "There's nobody else I hear that I really have it for in the same way."

Maybe that's because Brion, a musical mastermind by many standards, recognizes a kind of kinship with Barnes. Certainly Barnes is possessed of a similarly manic genius, and as with Brion, he sometimes seem unable to stop the ideas from spilling over. Brion's talents, however, are typically tempered by his own good taste. The unfiltered Barnes, on the other hand, has no such compunctions, which is why the idea of Brion remixing Of Montreal is such an intriguing idea. One idiosyncratic oddball bringing order-- maybe-- to the other's sexy, excessive Id explosion? Bring it on. 

Approaching the ADHD-addled sonic landscape of Of Montreal's Skeletal Lamping, Brion not surprisingly gravitated to two of the disc's more straightforward songs, "An Eluardian Instance" and the disco orgy "Gallery Piece", and also not surprisingly, considering Brion's respect for both song and auteur alike, his remixes are more like refinements. The slightly rearranged and edited "First Time High (Reconstructionist Remix of An Eluardian Instance)" sticks pretty close to the original while giving it a lusher sheen (as well what sounds like some subtle ukulele and possibly some added vocals). The results tone down the Barnes version just enough to help bring its relentless hooks into sharper focus. "First Time High (of Chicago Acoustic Version)" is, as billed, a version of the song stripped down to its simplest acoustic components, as provided by Brion (replete with more uke and some nice guitar embellishments). One can easily imagine this version being close to how Barnes himself began it, before he headed into the studio and started piling on the crazy.

Likely sensing a shared affinity with Prince, Brion also tackles "Gallery Piece" in a way the Purple One might have done in his 12" heyday: with a remix, a long version, and an instrumental. The remix adds numerous synth squiggles on top of the existing Barnes vamp, throbbing up the low end not in an effort to make the track more dancefloor friendly, but, as if it were even possible, to make it more giddy and gonzo. And even if the remix doesn't accomplish that, the extended version-- featuring five extra minutes of synth madness-- does the trick, recalling no less than one of Brion's own infamous improvised and overdubbed live Largo performances. Compared to this, the instrumental version is an aftershock.

As much as Brion may see some of himself in Barnes, he's on even more familiar ground with the soundtrack to Synecdoche, New York, the latest melancholy metaphysical mind-fuck of a movie from screenwriter and now director Charlie Kaufman. Aside from the opening, self-explanatory "Tacky Entrance Music", the rest of the score comprises the usual chamber pieces and quirky cues featuring strings, keys and guitar, and each is informed with a sense of sadness, confusion and menace befitting the film itself.

Few of these cues last more than a minute or two, and several circle recurring motifs, which makes the soundtrack a little too repetitive for casual listening. Still, some tracks, at least those closer to songs, stick out. The slightly discordant guitar meditation "Something You Can't Return To" alludes to Brion's beloved Beatles without any of the bells and whistles, while it's easy to imagine "Transposition" or the three gorgeous "Piano" pieces transformed into complete verse-chorus compositions. The soundtrack does end with two tracks that feature vocals, each co-written by Brion and Kaufman (who surely did a pass on the lyrics, not the music). The heartbreaking "Little Person" (which appeared in the trailer) and "Song for Caden" both showcase singer Deanne Storey, and Brion, on piano, understands to stay out of her way, which is another of Brion's many gifts and the talent he probably ports over from all his serve-the-artist session work.

Once again, as with Brion's previous scores, anyone looking for every last bit of original music composed for the film will be disappointed that not every cue-- or song-- has made its way here. Then again, both the Synecdoche soundtrack and the Of Montreal mixes serve as reminders that very little from Jon Brion ever makes it way beyond his person, period. Aside from his various production credits and live appearances in Los Angeles, the only Jon Brion record to his name to date is 2001's Meaningless, which basically means that when it comes to Brion, a guy that generously spends so much of his considerable creative energies on other artists, you take what you can get.