Artist: The Mars Volta
Album: Frances the Mute
Label: Universal Recordings
Tracks: 12
Running Time: 76:55 minutes

(2) reviews follow:

Review By Peter Veness

First, a minor piece of housekeeping: while there are 12 tracks on Frances The Mute, this work should be treated in five separate yet connected parts made of 15 movements, as the band suggests with their chapter and verse tracklisting.
Now, onward we go. The core of The Mars Volta, Omar Rodriques-Lopez and Cedric Bixler-Zavala, carry preternatural technical abilities, which are on display from the psychotic, Latino influenced rock of Sarcophagi, which bookends the album, through the emotional saturation of the string and brass spined Con Safo but frustratingly absent from the noodling first-half of Miranda That Ghost Just Isn’t Holy Anymore.

Segues are not songs but The Mars Volta occasionally try to convince you otherwise. While they steer clear of the ridiculous, dripping fuzz that threatened to consume their first album, the band flirts dangerously with unnecessary effects and fades. Much of it justifiably adds fuel to critics unable to accept the band’s vision.
However, Flea’s cold, still trumpet solo saves Miranda and signifies the strong step towards free-range jazz and away from any remaining post-punk tendencies the band had been holding on to since their days in seminal punk outfit At the Drive In.
L’Via L’Viaquez encapsulates everything refreshing and important about The Mars Volta. The one movement song never deviates from its winding path. A song so filled with multiple rhythms, lyrical concepts and instruments could easily fall off the mountain pass but Bixler-Zavala’s organic vocals hold everything together. If there is one identifying feature of the band it is the wonderful, yawning voice of the former At The Drive In frontman.

For this writer, the risk and occasional failure of The Mars Volta only adds further weight to the claims of those applauding the band.

The noodling miss-steps on Frances (always outweighed by the triumphs) mean The Mars Volta can lay claim to being one of the few truly risky bands, a band capable of nearly always justifying their uncommon risk with lush, fully realised songs.

Review by: Luke Kruse

Welcome to a world of extreme hair, ambient noise, 30 minute “suites,” dying friends, and bizarre lyrics inspired by mysterious journals.  Welcome to the world of The Mars Volta.  It is hard to write a review on this incredibly talented band that does not rehash what you have likely read countless times before:  Cedric Baxter-Zavala and Omar Rodriguez-Lopez dissolve beloved El Paso, Texas post-punk band At the Drive-In and form a much more experimental band that seems to be influenced heavily by prog-rockers like Yes, Can, and the Mahavishnu Orchestra.  The Mars Volta release their debut album De-Loused in the Comatorium in 2003 to critical acclaim.  The Mars Volta tour the world and garner a huge fan base by blowing the minds of music fans like yours truly with their captivating and dizzying live show.

Fast forward to 2005 and the release of the highly anticipated Frances the Mute, an album so bizarre that it took yours truly many listens to wrap his head around the album enough to write the review you are reading now.  Frances the Mute is a 77 minute monster of an album that band visionary and lead guitarist Omar Rodriguez-Lopez initially envisioned to be released as one track.  Apparently, their record label axed this idea, and what we the listener is left with are five “suites” split over twelve tracks.  If you are a fan of typical song structures and have a short attention span, leave this album alone.  Long stretches of “ambient noises” take up probably a quarter of the album, which have led to many complaints.  Frances the Mute seems to have split the critical community in half, with some calling it pretentious garbage and some calling it a work of genius.  I tend to fall in the camp with the latter half.  The first time I listened to the album in its entirety, I commented to my friend that Frances the Mute is not an “album” in the traditional sense; rather it is an “experience.” 

One commentary I read on the album said that Frances is made “more perfect by its moments of failure.”  Yes, the four minutes of chirping bird noises at the beginning of “Miranda That Ghost Just Isn’t Holy Anymore” can be a bit frustrating; however, it makes the absolutely mind-blowing peaks of this album stand out all the more.  It is almost as if the band knew that the listener would need a bit of a respite after the unbelievable displays of instrumentation on songs like “Via l'Viaquez.” 

When I am asked to describe The Mars Volta, the closest description I can come up with is to take equal parts Santana, Yes, and Pink Floyd and blend them together.  Then add just a dash of Fugazi-esque punk influence and you’ll come close, but not too close.  While I don’t believe this description is too far off, Frances the Mute is an album that needs to be heard and talked about in the music community.  I read a recent interview with the band, and they said that the public release of an album is its “death,” due to all the critical analysis of it taking the enjoyment out of the listen.  While I understand their sentiments, Frances is an album that demands discussion.  Parts of Frances the Mute will leave you singing along.  Parts will leave you annoyed and impatient.  Parts will leave you in awe of their unrivaled talent.  But trust me, when the refrain of the final thirty-minute suite kicks back in and Cedric howls, “There is no light/in the darkest of your furthest reaches/there is no light,” it will make you want to stand up and cheer.  Frances the Mute is not for everyone, but those who take the time to uncover its many layers will be rewarded with a thrilling listen.