The Comedy Stylings of Max Tundra

Max Tundra is the natty musical handle of one tiny little London electro-prankster named Ben Jacobs. Jacobs' label describes his music as "cosmic glitch-pop R&B"; the one-man-show using archaic computer-programming and methodical modes of assemblage to construct incredibly complex, stupidly-catchy pop-songs that oft go by in a hyper-manic, sped-up blur.

His way-of-working is so labor-intensive that his third Max Tundra LP, Parallax Error Beheads You, took no less than six years to complete. A lyrical study of life and death, it's Jacobs' defining Tundra album; marrying ridiculously busy melodies, cheeky wit, and often oddly-moving themes into an enjoyable whole.

In celebration of Parallax Error Beheads You's long, long, long-awaited release, Jacobs recently unveiled his kooky plan for Max Tundra Kosher Soup Cans. He also took time out to have a jolly old chinwag with me, last week. In interview mode, Jacobs shared the secrets of his lyric writing:

“We’re continually bombarded when we’re on hold, waiting for someone to service our mobile phone, with extremely bland, chart-based fake-indie, or just really, really hideous stadium melancholy rock with the most appallingly clichéd rhyming couplets and moronic repetitions that you could possibly imagine. Whenever I was thinking ‘I’m not sure if that lyric quite works,’ a Coldplay song might come on the radio, and I’d think: 'actually, my stuff is fine.'”

Indeed!