Standing On The Corner reclaims their gorgeous self-titled project

Well, actually two albums in particular. Standing On The Corner, the multi-faceted collective from Brooklyn, took down their two full-length albums off the music platform earlier this year. I found a lot of joy, and even solace, in their 2017 self-titled album when I first discovered it. The other album, Red Burns, is a two track, hourlong album. I can best describe it as “slam poetry meets WWE,” and I couldn’t keep myself away from its weirdness. Red Burns rewards a patient listener, but this text isn’t about that album.

Since the pandemic, the group’s identity has shifted with four folks pursuing solo careers while five others joined the art ensemble. Their triple single from this year, Baby, can be streamed as you would traditionally. To me, the album take downs read like an economic boycott intertwined with the change in personalities among the group.

Both of the aforementioned albums can be downloaded straight from their website (www.standingonthecorner.com) free of charge. Furthermore, they’re free to listen to on Soundcloud and are buyable off of Bandcamp, if that’s more your speed..

One key difference in revisiting Standing On The Corner is the PDF file attached to the audio download, titled “The Tail (Tale) of the Little Monkey.” The 5-page story reads as if Dr. Suess were to write an adult short story. I mean no insult through this simple comparison, to be clear. The tale focuses on a jungle monkey who learns life’s lesson, through trial and error, and can be summarized through a question asked of him: “... haven’t you learned yet that good things are often paid for with bad?” Highly encourage you to read it on your own time, it connects fantastically with the album’s runtime.

Opening with “BNS,” the track is reminiscent of Childish Gambino’s “Awaken My Love!” but with an uncomfortable twang in your stomach. By the time you grapple with the murky (and sexual) undertones of “In + Out” and “Trouble,” “Girl” punches you in the gut in the best way possible, pushing you to press rewind or loop.

Produced by Gio Escobar and Jasper Marsalis (better known as “Slauson Malone 1”), the arrangement here is definitionally gorgeous. Synthesizers, guitazzr, saxophones, and drum patterns galore, Gio’s vocals croon over an orchestra fittingly representing tears.

As if mid-conversation, Gio tenderly sings, “And I’ve been sitting by my / telephone / And I’m sorry if you’re feeling low / But tell me why-y-y is it so?” Inflecting adlibs bridge each verse together, carrying momentum before a saxophone belts out its own triumph.

The entire song goes on with an all-consuming energy, following highs and lows to a tee. Just after the 4-minute mark, a shrill instrumental bridge brings the song to a climax, as if it was a literal monomythical tale. Long story short, the lengthiest song on the album delivers.

The interludes that interweave with each song keep the pace high while still crafting a narrative. Voice throughout the album is especially coordinated, warping and changing tone as needed.

I end up finding allegories in practically every track. To me, “Vomets” is like a drunken bout with a toilet, the freestyle on “Caleb Just Monkeying Around” is the cross section of jazz, rap, and subversive testimony. The wordless outro of “Splitting Time” is almost that feeling you get when you aimlessly meander, not knowing what to do. For my money, a perfect closer.

The album’s “choreography” of tone, pitch, instrument, and voice are incredibly awesome. The quirky pockets found throughout evoke cheer to what can otherwise be heard as dire or tumultuous. Even on “That Awful Sound,” we get a literal reversal of what can be seen as repellent. Like Elvis claiming blues music as his own. Each track, I think, has their own curious concepts that can be totally up to the listener to decide.

The collective’s view of faith is revealed in “Santa Maria (Dedicated to Churchita),” sailing into our ears on a Spanish ship covered in bright and funky decor. Then we revisit “The Monkey On Your Back” reprises the melancholy of the outro to “Girl” but simplified and restrained to a walking pace.

In totality… this album means a lot to me. Biased opinion, of course, but I think there’s something really special here. The intricacy in this new presentation is what streaming platforms, I hope, will never see the light of day.

A difficult listen for some for sure, but I’m fulfilled to know this work is still free to listen. I hope those on the Corner can deliver another feast sometime in the near future. Until then, I’ll stay with this album, keeping my appetite at bay.