Review Summary: Christmas Island isn't the greatest thing Andrew Jackson Jihad have created, but it may just be the most important.
Andrew Jackson Jihad seem to have a lot of problems with the world.
In each of their previous albums, they boldly and confidently told the listener everything they thought was wrong. On People Who Can Eat People, they showcased the thing naturally embedded within us. On Can't Maintain, they showed us the problems they had with themselves. And on Knife Man, Andrew Jackson Jihad tied it all together, showing how all of our problems manifest in a broken, skewed society.
But Christmas Island? There's no finger pointing, no huge meta-narratives on the state of humanity. It's an album solely based on dealing with all the problems they pointed out. Ironically, there's no solution given. This isn't a pathway to bettering ourselves or fixing the broken state of what we view as "right" or "wrong". Rather, it's a complete one-eighty. Black out curtains. A box to keep ourselves warm.
This album is an island to escape to, where everything is okay.
Sean Bonnette isn't one to properly face his problems, and he'll be the first one to admit it. When questioned, he'll gladly lash out through song in attacking everything he sees as wrong, including his issues with himself. But when prompted with a way to fix it, when asked just how he would change everything he wanted to, the only proper response is to retreat into the confines of his mind. To use an analogy present throughout the album, he'll use his own personal "hug-box", where he can feel safe, comforted, warm. This idea of escapism manifests itself broadly in the very first song, where Sean sings respectively: "Stevie Wonder to the bull***.", "Hellen Keller to the bull***.", and "Temple Grandin to the bull***.". Blind. Deaf. Ignorant.
On Temple Grandin, she was an outspoken autistic woman who despite being hugely influential in both social and scientific issues, found no way to understand or accept love. To combat this, she created her own "hug-box", a closed in, cushioned device meant to express comfort and compassion to autistic people who couldn't comprehend it from others. This analogy is hugely important in the narrative of this album, as this idea of escaping to somewhere totally isolated but comfortable, is present throughout every track on this album. It's even manifested in the cover art and album title, "Christmas Island", donned with a pleasant, colorful picture of all things wonderful and nice. However, beyond the cute puppy and fairy wands, there's an overhanging feeling of dread, represented by bloody teeth and wandering skeleton arms.
The album art is perfectly representative of the struggles on the album. Songs like "I Wanna Rock Out In My Dreams", "Do, Re, and Me", "Kokepelli Face Tattoo", and "Temple Grandin" are all drenched in thematic representations of this escapism. Whether it's the repeated idea of small, enclosed rooms, or an apathetic nod of all that happens in the world, Sean Bonnette seems to be simultaneously at his lowest and highest. He's realized that there's nothing he can do to fix everything he disagrees with, but can't seem to find comfort in this idea that nothing is fluid or moving. The only place he can be happy is the place where none of these problems are present. His dreams. His disconnected mind. His hug-box. His Christmas Island.
Musically, the band has focused their efforts to create one of their most cohesive sounding albums yet. Overblown baselines and straining vocal melodies, both clearly Neutral Milk Hotel influenced, with more pop-oriented strings and piano tracks work together to create a virtually seamless album. There are no stand out, overblown and over the top tracks like previous releases have seen (a la Big Bird, Personal Space Invader). While that does tone down the memorability of the album, it does keep the tracks extremely consistent and focused on the narrative.
Christmas Island is not contains the trademark Sean Bonnette cynicism, but also shows a different, more grounded perspective to the bands philosophy. It's not about telling us everything wrong with the world, it's about finding a way to deal with it.
The album is best summed up in the final track. Sean describes a multitude of awful things, including the paranoid nature of our country, the way we respect awful people solely because of their religion, the disconnected nature of our military, and worst, the man who eats 50 chicken wings at a buffet. After all of this, just lines after mentioning the nuclear tests that gave his grandfather cancer, Sean's final thought isn't one of a solution, or even addressing the previous problems, but rather an impassioned cry:
"Prepare to die, Bad Lieutenant 2 is the greatest movie ever."
Why worry about anything else, when he can just retreat somewhere where everything is okay?
It's a question that's hard to answer, one that even someone as opinionated as Sean Bonnette doesn't have a response to.
While this album may not be the most standout thing Andrew Jackson Jihad have ever created, it may just be the most important. Not only is it the most realistic, but it's the most human. While we can claim to be all for the things Sean has preached to us, in the end, the most important thing is how we respond to it. It's how we deal with it.
And how do we deal with it?
A one way ticket to Christmas Island, where it's always sunny, where everything is always okay.
