Vocalist Priya Carlberg formed Birthday Ass five years ago when she was a student at the New England Conservatory, but the band members’ backgrounds in jazz and improvisation shouldn’t be cause for concern. The sextet has sufficient attitude to back its name, as evidenced by the Bandcamp bundles for their new album which include purple vinyl and band logo undergarments (panties and boxers).
And Carlberg is dexterous enough of a singer to realize her quirky ideas: Annie Ross cleverness to levels of sass worthy of Akron legends the Waitresses work their way into her hyperkinetic songs. The band includes saxophonist Raef Sengupta, who released an album of heady compositions by boundary-pusher Anthony Braxton with the group Tropos while still at NEC, and guitarist Andres Abenante, who has recorded with Latin jazz legend Eddie Palmieri. But despite the chops, they’re still a pop band.
Head of the Household (out April 23 on Ramp Local) is Birthday Ass’s second album, following the 2019 cassette/download Baby Syndrome. “Every day I don’t know how but my feet don’t ever leave the ground,” Carlberg sings on the opening track (and lead off video) “Blah,” her lyrics punctuated by repetitions and vocalese permutations of the title. The fast freneticism continues apace, with her la-la’s and plubbage-blubbages bubbling up through another eight tightly crafted, slightly crazed tunes, bouncing joyously across a slightly nervous, 32 minutes with moments of mariachi, surf and marching band and no end of memorable melodies.
While it’s not an album about spotlighting showmanship, the band isn’t above pushing themselves to impressive limits. Again and again, they push tempos to points that should cause them to dissolve into mayhem, but they stay on point and snap back. Even when they do break meter, they keep a firm grip on the through line. Birthday Ass is a band, not just a group of soloists, and the complexities and intricacies work in service to Carlberg’s odd, endearing songs. All told, Birthday Ass isn’t exactly a party. It’s more like the soufflé fell and there’s no rum left for the cake, but somehow it’s still a good time.
