Album Review: 200

With 200, Yurt Party burst back in through the barn-doors with a sophomore effort that electrifies, pulsates, and captivates right to the last note. And boy, are there a lot of notes. The virtuosic 6-piece from Ōtautahi speed through alarmingly fast flurries and melodies with such precision, that being floored by the sheer talent of the group is the only thing that could stop you grooving to the multifaceted mastery on display.

In the opening Ding Dong Swing we’re re-introduced to how in sync the band really are with syncopated notes and ferocious horn and violin lines that strike you like a deer in headlights. The transition from such an explosion to the more straight forward Gigue Odyssey seems to only trade the impressive complexities from one section to the another, with an incredible swing drum line that leads to a well-earned reprieve and time change barely a minute in, before leading the group neatly back to the original tempo.

Like most tracks on the album, they are clearly made for a live-setting, and the power that the group would hold on any audience that’s not fastened to a seat is clearly well considered. You can’t help but visualize your own participation in the frenzy, moving with every tempo change with total obedience. This is especially evident on tracks like City Cat and Turbulence which take a more modern jazz approach, but blend with reggae and electronic influences amongst the Baltic/groove staple sound of the group. The latter introducing voice with choral chants that sit pleasantly within the fusion, evoking a kind of nostalgic awe that I remember feeling upon hearing Kamasi Washington for the first time.

Finalized in Ōhinehou Lyttelton, 200 is a class act of music prowess and careful production, especially in regards to the flurries of fast-paced instrumentation and ensuring that no player takes away from the other. In the vibrant, sly sounding fourth track, Hoi Polloi, the blending lines of saxophone, strings, and rhythm create a near four minute piece full of varying dynamics that I can’t not envision as a top-notch reinvention of the Crash Bandicoot soundtrack. Speaking of rushing critters, Pocket Weasel provides an explosion of a violin-led frenzy as the albums lead single, and certainly a statement of the bands “bar-stomping” status. If you can imagine a room romping to this, your thought alone is sure to exhaust you.

Recorded across multiple winters, this cozy effort from the band appears to be a fine balance between artful ferocity, and breezy living. Recorded in bassist/producer Josh Logan’s home studio, the albums eclectic contents are products of time spent, mulling, moulding, and living. Many of the works are brainchildren of various members, and have sat shelved or not-fully realized until the later stages. Whether conceived abroad or at home, the songs on 200 move with the lives of the members, illustrative of eras, and, as the grooves command moves, clearly void of stagnation. I find 200 to be quite illustrative of Ōhinehou itself; bustling, vibrant markets and class eateries. Electrifying local nightlife and artistry. Serene imagery. This reviewer from Te Whanganui-a-Tara has no qualms proclaiming Lyttleton Aotearoa’s coolest little harbour town. It’s a place that rallies and nurtures what it has, and that very much extends to some of our finest musicians.

The intrigue steps into a new direction with No Numbers and The Gambler, both utilizing an unexpected, tone shift in laid back exotica and psychedelic influences. Both tracks welcome points of downtime among the frenzy that makes up the bulk of 200. As the runtime for either clock in as some of the longest on the album, I can see this lending itself to the calm of the recess, letting the tracks breathe with us through tranquil saxophone and violin solos, before building up again gradually through the colourful, chatty layers of Truculent to earn and embrace the lush vibrancy of the excellent Fela. Steeped in the afrobeat flavour of its namesake, Fela captures the essence of one of the genres pioneers with grace and originality in a brief tribute (at least in comparison to the runtime of the average Kuti gem). Intricate, hypnotic beats à la Expensive Shit serve as the backdrop staple, while the prominent, twirling Shakara-esque horn section and rippling keys constitute another particularly exuberant character in the record.

Keeping us guessing until the very last, Uncle Bolland closes off the album with another twist in style. Instead of returning to the familiarity of the albums first half, the tracks rocksteady backbone bounces through a honky-tonk, carnival-like rhythm akin to The Beatles’ Don’t Pass Me By, through lines of elegant saxophone and piano flurries. It’s a gentle end that winds things down in such a way, you could visualize the concluding night; the shuffling out crowd. Chairs on tables. The sweep of the punished dancefloor. The rolling credits.

With a labour of love, devotees to patience, and a special mention to the heartrate of those that dare to dance all the way through this party, we’re in good hands with the host.