Mamba Prism Tats
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- 1Venomous Slang01:53
- 5Ocean Floor03:48
- 6The Liar03:35
- 7Live Like Dogs03:00
- 8Gloom Tomb03:07
Info zu Mamba
Recorded with producer Chris Woodhouse (Thee Oh Sees, Ty Segall), Mamba explores themes of self-inflicted isolation, working-class hopelessness, and the emotional damage of technology addiction. “Most of these new songs came from taking in what’s going on in the world today, and being afraid of the future we’re headed toward,” notes Garett van der Spek, the L.A.-based singer/songwriter behind Prism Tats.
With its sonic complexity and understated emotional depth, Mamba has a double meaning to its title. “It’s the name of a venomous snake, and in my hometown it’s a slang term for the biggest or meanest of something,” van der Spek points out.
As he explains, the word mamba ultimately embodies the sense of fear and defiance threaded throughout the record and especially evident in its epic title track. “The song is partly about letting go of that fear,” says van der Spek. “When I say ‘Give me the mamba,’ I mean ‘Give me the whole experience’: the good and the bad and everything else that might exist in between.”
Growing up in his native Durban, South Africa, Prism Tats’ Garett van der Spek knew from an early age that rock and roll was not only his calling but additionally his window—and rocket ship—to the outside world. He grew up listening to his father’s collection of rock records from the U.K. and U.S.: Beatles, Bowie, Hendrix, Kinks, Sabbath, but the unique influence of his homeland burns deeply, too.
“My earliest memory of being affected by music was when I was six years old, seeing a man busking by the side of the road,” van der Spek recalls. “His name was Elvis, a self-styled African ‘rock star’ who played a hybrid brand of rock and roll on a homemade guitar. I was hooked.”
“But it’s not strictly musical – there’s a strong element of invention and resourcefulness that permeates all aspects of life in South Africa—almost a punk ethic, a will to do it your own way, and if there isn’t a way, invent one. Separate from the music that influenced me growing up, I think I’ve consciously and subconsciously absorbed those qualities and applied them to the way I make my music.”
Van der Spek formed his first band in his suburban Durban high school, and it was clear that he was initially interested in the raw expressive power of rock and roll even more than writing songs or mastering his instrument. At a school talent show, he wore a dress as he jumped and thrashed onstage with his guitar, which he calls more of an artistic statement than an act of rebellion, and he refused to study music formally. “I avoided it,” he says. “I didn’t want to steal the mystery of how music works in my mind.”
In the late 2000’s, he moved to Seattle in a university exchange program, where he promptly fell in love and was married within a year to a Seattle native, whose own interest in art pushed him to continue pursuing what had started as a standard childhood fantasy. A constant tinkerer and whose growth as a songwriter continued to develop as he matured, van der Spek learned to produce his own songs on Garage Band, a program he admires and holds dear for its simplicity and availability. After immigrating, van der Spek worked days at a construction job but embraced the opportunity to see live music any night of the week. He also performed with his own band, a garage-rock trio who stopped playing together just as they were starting to build a local following. Soon afterwards he accepted an invitation that led him on a retreat to Los Angeles, where he found new musical inspiration in the Southern California sunshine, returning to Seattle with recordings of three new songs. Invigorated, he continued writing, naming his new solo project Prism Tats. Van der Spek found the Seattle scene receptive to his new well-crafted tunes and frenetic one-man shows, usually featuring just him on guitar playing along to a vintage drum machine with a manic energy.
“Everything that came out of that drum machine sounded like the beginning of a Prince song,” he laughs. “I’d have to turn it on and off with my face as I played guitar. They were wild, noisy shows, and very liberating, fun experiences.”
In 2014, van der Spek returned to Southern California when his wife, Laura got into grad school at UCLA, bringing with him the beginnings of what would become an album’s worth of self-recorded Prism Tats songs. He would eventually send those tracks to producer, Chris Woodhouse (Ty Segall, Wild Flag, !!!), to whom he was introduced through a mutual friend, who put an extra touch of magic into the mix, resulting in the ten tight, torqueing songs that make up Prism Tats’ surprisingly full-fledged vision of a debut album. Exclusively featuring van der Spek’s extraordinary vocals, drum machine, guitar, and programmed bass synth, the album is a true one-man rock-and-roll machine. It revs its motor on the squealing rubber of that elated sense of discovery all those years ago in stacks of his father’s vinyl, finds its heartbeat in the inward reflections of its maker’s mind, and distinguishes itself from the rest of the rock bands out there via his rare and self-taught sense of structural melodic sophistication.
“The album is about the experiences I’ve had since I moved to America, that total departure from what was,” he says. “I’d taken on this completely new life, in a country which in some ways was familiar, but in others was completely foreign. So these songs are all about that experience of evolving.”
Prism Tats is the culmination of a creative life spent on the grind, honing instincts and eventually going all-in on a singular dream. A riveting performer who gets the same feeling of elation and release from writing and playing as he did from demolishing rooms of drywall with a sledgehammer back at construction sites in Seattle, van der Spek’s tunes bristle and hum with electric energy while carving out unique emotional territory all at once. “Never Been Shy,” “Weird Guilt,” and “Excess” speed along with steam and heat, while the comparatively-meditative “Make the Most of the Weekend” and drum-machine-driven chime of “Midnight Mountain” slow the pace just a step.
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