When Earl Zinger first skipped into the dim spotlight of the London underground with a few low-key 7” releases (on Red Egyptian records), he was more mysterious than the moon. A shadowy figure who had allegedly time-travelled through a range of seminal music eras, no one knew whether he was some kind of fictitious alter-ego or an eccentric ego-maniac.
The mystery lasted all of several minutes. After that, everyone knew that Zinger was the creation of ex-Galliano frontman/2 Banks Of 4 don Rob Gallagher. The ‘outing’ did nothing to stop popular demand of Zinger’s tunes however, nor the release in 2002 of his debut album “Put Your Phazers On Stun/Throw Your Health Food Skywards".
The contents of that album (all as whimsical as the title), saw Gallagher applying his own vast knowledge of various music styles to a madcap mash-up aesthetic where jazz and funk snuggled up to TV film soundtracks and acid house did the tango with the foxtrot.
"Speaker Stack Commandments" follows on directly from where its predecessor left off. Once again, Zinger turns up at the party the morning after and proceeds to snort every tiny sonic particle left floating in the air. Then he hits the record button as the assortment spins around his cerebellum and the fun really begins.
Unrestricted by the rigorous methodology of rap, Gallagher’s distinctive urban storytelling weaves dextrously above and around his neatly sewn collages, riding the many dips and arches with a thrilling inventiveness and astute humour.
Full of wry asides and dry skits (many of them in-jokes and localised London ‘scenester’ references), Zinger’s repartee is pure audio theatre. He becomes a club land Fagin, a manic megaphone handler filling in the details for the narcoleptic masses.
The music is pure, gleeful hedonism. "Only The Ridiculous Survive" rides a Stereo MC’s beat while swinging a spaghetti western riff over it’s head. "Who killed Saturday Night?" gets busy with some serious Jimmy Smith-style Hammond. Tracks like "Best Session Ever" are plain mayhem, and reggae ‘n’ dancehall get a decent look in on at least a trio of cuts.
In Zinger world, nothing is sacred. Jokes whizz by at great knots. Music styles switch up with the speed of a Jackie Chan action scene, and a sense of the absurd is never far away. Mystery or no mystery, Zinger remains an important high note in our drab musical lives.
