(Post-Punk, Indie Rock, Avant-Garde) [CD] This Kind Of Punishment - A Beard Of Bees - 1993 (1984), FLAC (tracks), lossless

A Beard Of Bees is such an apt name it should have been used for everything its innovators released. Perhaps this isn’t the freshest statement to make, but considering the title’s bizarre nature, its still such a vivid representation of the Jefferies brothers; assorted string instruments that never stop humming, avid distortion, and all tightly woven into a four-track environment that physically sticks to your face (maybe). And in actual fact, the one album the New Zealanders decided to unleash their very own dictionary definition on was the album that attempts so heartily to defy it. Unfortunately for them, bees are one of the very few things they can’t quite work out how to shake off.
Still, from any given sample of A Beard of Bees, things turn around for the Jefferies brothers. It’s easy to assume that yet another post-punk collaboration from the two would be usually tepid (their outings with decadent Nocturnal Projections are a steady nod to Joy Division), but here their ideas investigate as much as they realistically can. The most interesting pattern to the siblings’ mini-experiments, though, lies in its own simplicity; how come no one else ever thought of tangling up the globe in a way the briefly brilliant “East Meet West” does" Even amidst this mix of oriental strings and sudden squeaky ambience, the band allow their brand of New Zealand weirdness to get the better of themselves, with an eerie whisper I’m sorry filling the room with more clutter. This weirdness is actually extracted for any given moment on A Beard of Bees, even when they remain backed by nothing other than a tuneless piano and a couple of lifeless string arrangements; this becomes welcomingly familiar as the album runs its course, but thoroughly justifies itself ending on the slow, seven minute march of “An Open Denial”.
While all their bundled anti-song sounds fundamentally become the set-up for their own little secluded adventure, the brothers still pack together an album that captures their catchy prowess – it’s just more provoking than it ever was on any given previous foray. Even when the band takes up the tentative new helm of experimentation, “The Horrible Tango” is hammered out in a way it was never meant to be; its spooky piano remnants left behind for fuzzy guitars and the band rewarded for actually thinking inside the box (and making the album’s finest track while the task is at hand). And since mentioned, fuzz is what makes these circulating moments of captivation; “From the Diary Of Hermann Doubt” is the first showcase of the lo-fi fondness the brother’s maintain as throughout their discographies, and why not" Resonant of the lazy playing of the in-your-face Beat Happening, it’s just impossible to miss a line of guitar in the enclosed buzz.
It’s hard to know exactly what (or where) the brains of 1984’s A Beard of Bees have in mind with their sophomore creation, but in the end its hard to shun the unpredictable nature they bring to it; for as many times as they throw in their idiosyncratic ambience and a total disregard for tuning their instruments, their voices remind gentle enough to guide you through another song or eight. For all their first real shifts through music on the record, the biggest compliment that can be paid is how attuned to it they already sound. But even better – even when hurling in chamber music, psychedelic and all their favourites – this remains a fun loving slice of post-punk from a country nobody knew it came from. They’re trying harder than they should, but by the time you’ve experienced A Beard of Bees, you’ll probably realise they’ve been doing that for quite some time.

Spare yet astonishingly powerful at the same time, TKP's second full release remains an unjustly ignored highlight of post-punk rock, building tension in ways not far removed from the likes of Joy Division and the Comsat Angels, but too, building with their own distinct, restrained qualities, heightened by the instrumental variety throughout, from mandolin to electric viola. The recording's claustrophobic feel resulting from its four-track origins could earn the album a 'lo-fi' classification if it weren't for the fact that TKP relentlessly avoid the sloppy clichés that such a category might call to mind. Beard avoids conventional drum rhythms at many points, relying instead on odd percussion boxes and Peter Jefferies' careful, imposing piano to support the low end along with the bass. Beginning with the ominous instrumental "Prelude," with Peter handling keyboards and brother Graeme on plucked violin, the album wends a haunting way through fractured lyrical portraits of existential dilemmas, eschewing "grand statements" in favor of intimate portraits, like the ex-party goer in "The Horrible Hour," well-sung by adjunct member Chris Matthews. Though the Jefferies brothers perform just about everything on most tracks, with Peter taking the lion's share of the vocals, various others add contributions from time to time, including "smashing of beer crates" on "East Meets West," which starts calmly enough but has a frightening, though low-key midsection with sudden screams and other buried noises. Quite wisely, not everything is completely awash in gloom. "An Open Denial" for instance, while not a knee-slapper by any means, captures the ear with its flat-out beauty, Peter's deep yet wistful vocals matching well with his piano as Graeme adds shading from violin, guitar, and bass. It could almost be something from Bark Psychosis or even late Talk Talk years before its time -- one of many ways Beard stands clearly apart from the era of its creation.