The very first track of Toby Goodshank’s Helmic Regulator begins thus: “Shot a cop in the face / because I motherfucking had to.” The second? “Staple my penis shut / and nail it to the wall.” If you’re going to have anything to do with Mr. Goodshank, this is simply something you’re going to have to get used to. The title track, true to its innuendo, is a five-minute collage of penis dialogue, including a detailed description of a neurological disorder called “blood-cock.”
“Helmic Regulator” skews slightly weirder than Goodshank’s norm, and thus the rest of the record is a slightly (I stress, slightly) more conventional showcase of the beautiful melodies, subtle guitar lines, and peculiar lyrics that made his last record, Put the Devil Where You Hang Your Hat, such a pleasure to listen to. This disc joins a crowded catalog for the prolific ex-Moldy Peach, who has already released another one in the time it has taken for Regulator to get reviewed. Here, he displays with particular grace and style his unique talent to make even the most violent and depraved images beautiful. Genital mutilation, excrement, abortion, and murder all receive equal attention in the lyrics, and yet with an entrancing ease, all are crafted into heartfelt ballads worthy of tears.
The particular plus of Regulator is that its creator has fully embraced creative collaboration; many of the disc’s highlights employ friends of Goodshank’s from the New York anti-folk scene, hence the splendid three-part harmony on “Gravity,” whose sound repeatedly borders on ghostly. The most successful team-ups are those with sister Angela Carlucci and her partner in crime, Crystal Madrilejos, the two halves of subversive girl-pop duo The Babyskins. The two provide a welcome vocal counterpart to Goodshank, as well as backing tracks featuring cello, xylophone, and on the infectious “Posed Nude,” pan flute. The collaborative tracks add to, but certainly do not replace, Goodshank’s solo work—“Beautitul Morning,” which incidentally boasts unassailably cute lyrics, features him playing guitar, drums, banjo, keyboard, and recorder.
The record does include a few dark and cloudy tracks, whose murky melodies which do not do proper justice to Goodshank’s splendid voice—Devil’s latter half was partially guilty of this as well. But the sheer wealth of wonderfully imaginative material on the disc, which clocks in at over 70 minutes, makes the very few problem tracks barely worth getting upset about. This album, this magnum opus, is Toby Goodshank’s epic. (Olive Juice)
