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These two new releases from Deupree's 12k label have him working in very different capacities. On his collaborative release with Vitiello, his sonic perfectionism is the focus, all hushed melody and introspective expanses of sound. On the compilation, however, he opens up a bit and shares some early versions and sketches, warts and all, that leads to a very different experience.
Captiva, a collaboration recorded near a Florida beach, does not drastically diverge from the approach of either artist, but is another excellent example of both of their rich, yet minimalist approach to sound and composition.Split between two 10" records (an uncharacteristic vinyl release for the label), the oceanic environments are blended beautifully with various instrumentation and ambiguous electronic sound sources.
The first record features "From the Fish House" spread across each sides in two parts.Recorded in the afternoon brightness, the first half alternates between peaceful and moody, via slow melodies and slightly twanging guitar notes within field recordings that wonderfully channel the waterfront environment where it was recorded.The second half strips the guitar away to showcase spectral wisps and an occasionally jarring bust of low end, reflecting the setting of the sun and the presence of a light chill in the air.
The two pieces on the second record were recorded during the evenings, and that shift in external environment is reflected in the sound of "From the Main Studio" and "Last Piano (for RR)". These both take a somber, but not necessarily dark turn that captures night as well as "From the Fish House" did for day."From the Main Studio" has a foggy and disconnected feel throughout, broken up with sparse backward tones and processed guitar that looms in the evening haze."Last Piano" unsurprisingly has the duo emphasizing piano (played conventionally and with an ebow) and at first drifts dangerously close into new age territory, but is pulled back from the brink with some more captivating drone bits.
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Captiva makes for a consistent, organic work that nicely captures its seaside setting, while Deupree's other new release, the Lost & Compiled collection, has a completely different identity.This collection of unreleased sketches and alternate versions of released songs that differ greatly from what was actually released, and sometimes feature warts and imperfections that makes them all the more endearing.
The gentle static and subtle melodies of "July 032013" might not be too incongruous with his recent work, but the plucked guitar notes and percussive thuds are more boisterous than I am used to hearing from him, and as a whole it takes on a jazz direction."So Sleepy," an early mix of "For A Morning When," is another moment where Deupree is a standing a bit out of his comfort zone.A sputtering mix of what sounds like bass, synth horns, and processed music box goes in a jerky direction, resulting in a composition that is looser and more erratic than what I expect to hear.
"Journal (Rough)" keeps his penchant for soft and light organic sounds, but within its deconstructed organ-like sounds there is an unexpected appearance of human voice, something Deupree rarely works with in such an obvious context.The shimmering, aquatic sounds of "Sea Last (06.05.08)" result in another piece that takes some unexpected twists, with an interrupting heavy thud and jittery melody that come out of left field.
Captiva might make for the more comprehensive, coherent experience, but Lost & Compiled feels like one made for Deupree's hardcore fans.It admittedly hangs together less effectively as a cohesive album, and I think it is one of the times where it could be best appreciated by someone with a wider familiarity with Deupree's discography.The pieces never go as far as his early flirtations with minimalist techno, but the unexpected and odd directions are best appreciated by those who can tell how different the material truly is.
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Excitotoxicity is an unwanted process where neurons become over-activated from a surplus of the neurotransmitter glutamate, resulting in cell death and, ultimately, tissue damage and degeneration. Essentially, neurons receive too much stimulation causing the usually well-balanced internal physiology of each cell to become off-kilter and produce excessive levels of harmful molecules that break the neuron down from the inside-out. It is believed to be an underlying part of a number of serious neurological diseases including motor neuron disease, a disease that Graham Bowers has become a victim of. This album is partly a musical diary, an artistic interpretation of neurophysiological processes and a very human response to an unfathomable loss of control.
ExcitoToxicity’s release comes at a time when mentions of motor neuron disease (MND; or amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, ALS) are running like wildfire through social media thanks to the ice bucket challenge. In contrast to the scores of healthy, young people light-heartedly "raising awareness" about a disease that many cannot describe let alone imagine, this release from Bowers and Steven Stapleton is a quiet and lonely call from the other side of the coin. It is impossible to listen to ExcitoToxicity without taking account of all the contextual information that the album carries with it from the dispassionate facts of how excitotoxicity and disease occur in the body to the highly personal journey that Bowers has found himself traveling upon. "Chains and Gates" begins from an ominous silence before building into a beat and guitar heavy crescendo. The rhythms are sabotaged and pushed into the background by sparks of sound and bell-like interruptions, much like the regular firing of the nervous system becomes dysregulated and disrupted by abnormal activity within itself during neurodegeneration. The album continues in this manner, setting up musical scenarios and dashing them upon the rocks of atonality.
Much like the duo’s first collaboration, Rupture, which dealt with the damage done to the brain through stroke, the idea of the brain as a tightly controlled musical engine (due to its inherent rhythmic activity in the form of brain waves) is used here to demonstrate how delicate this system can be. Throughout ExcitoToxicity, noises begin at low volumes and repeat while simultaneously rising to uncomfortable and almost painful levels. This is a fantastic audiological metaphor for the physiological process of excitotoxicity as neurons fire and fire and fire until they physically break down. More specific references to MND/ALS are made through the titles, "Jack Hammer Mutation"referring to genetic factors associated with the disorder and "Broken Symmetry" reflects the progression of the disease, with paralysis usually developing along one side of the body before crossing over to the other.
Taking all this together as a concept album, it is very clever. Add in the fact that the music is a step up from previous NWW/Bower collaborations (which have been brilliant so far) and this makes for a wonderful release. However, just when I become embroiled enough in the album to get lost in its sounds, I remind myself of Bowers himself going through the emotional and physical turmoil of his body closing in on itself as MND/ALS is a neurological disorder that spares the mind; unlike Alzheimer’s or even extreme Parkinson’s, MND/ALS will destroy the motor system but leave the patient fully aware. Therefore, to think of ExcitoToxicity as purely an art project about a disorder does it a huge disservice, it is also the sound of a man coming to terms with his own mortality and how the rest of his days will be spent. Knowing this makes every second of ExcitoToxicity precious and heavy, heavier than any other recorded work I can think of.
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When Sunn O))) first approached Scott Walker about appearing on their 2009 album Monoliths & Dimensions, little did they know what it would actually lead to. Four years on, Scott was back with something even more enticing, collaborating on Soused, a body of work he was writing with them in mind.
Recorded in London in early 2014 and produced by Scott Walker and long-time ally Peter Walsh with the assistance of musical director Mark Warman, Soused is a 5-track 18-minute body of work that cements both acts’ wide-reaching and otherworldly renown.
Out October 20th on 4AD.
More information and a brief trailer can be found here.
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Recently remastered and reissued on their own Geometrik label with radically different cover art and some bonus tracks, this classic 1992 album captures EG in their noisy, rhythmic industrial prime. Like 1991's Sheikh Aljama before it, Arispejal Astisaró flirts with a superficial Middle Eastern influence, but the real draw is its dense and relentlessly punishing machine rhythms. As with many EG efforts, it is sort of a primitive, hit-or-miss affair that largely lives or dies on the strength of its beats, but its highpoints are among the most visceral, bracing, and distinctive works of industrial dance music's brief golden age (and its occasional divergences are even better).
If his albums are any indication, Arturo Lanz does not strike me as a man who is terribly troubled by things like indecision, ambiguity, or nuance.In fact, he often seems more like a machine than a man: a machine that has only an on/off switch (and, at this somewhat early stage of his career, a machine whose settings are all permanently cranked to "10").While that might sound like mere hyperbole, he truly does sound almost inhumanly obsessive and monomaniacal on Arispejal Astisaró.His approach to this album can best be summarized thusly: 1.) devise a compelling rhythm, 2.) execute it with as much brute force as possible, 3.) loop it, and 4.) repeat again and again until there are enough songs for an album.Fortunately, Lanz can be something of a genius within those extremely narrow aesthetic confines, finding many unexpected variations and delivering them all with an appropriate degree of pummeling ferocity.
As stated earlier, the best pieces are almost invariably the ones with the strongest or most inventive rhythms, as Lanz was certainly not concerned with trivialities like hooks, structure, or dynamic variation at this stage in his career.Those rhythms, however, can take some unexpected forms on Arispejal, most notably with the strong opener "Jari," which sounds like an overloaded contact mic recording of a lawn sprinkler taken during an earthquake.Or a recording from inside a downed helicopter during a Blackhawk Down-style urban firefight.I think I will go with the latter.In any case, the most prominent sound is by far the unrelenting sound of the chopper blades (or whatever), but a number of random and mysterious crashes and snatches of garbled voices peak through the stuttering roar to give a menacing and cryptic sense of place.Though Lanz and his collaborator Gabriel Riaza return to similar noisy abstraction again with locked-groove machine noise insanity of the title piece, the rest of the album veers towards significantly more danceable territory.
That certainly does not mean that it would be easy to dance to though.For example, one of the most propulsive pieces ,"Malos Tratos," is frequently disrupted by blood-curdling shrieks, whereas yet another piece ("Felación") awkwardly/comically features some cut-up sex moans.Others are simply just too machine-like, such as the punishing and ferocious clatter of "Bi Bajin," which is also notable for having the most prominent Middle Eastern influence on the album (which is just a chopped and garbled snatch of dialogue).Another dancefloor-killing trait that several sounds possess is a bizarre randomness: while the underlying beat always remains an unstoppable, unchanging force, some of the peripheral noise and percussion stabs seem purely arbitrary and out of time.I am not sure why that could be, as it otherwise seems like EG is a deeply perfectionist project.Perhaps that perfectionism only extends to beat itself, while the roiling entropy above is left somewhat to chance.
Some of the other pieces are more inventive than over-the-top, however, and their presence is what makes Arispejal such a fascinating effort.In particular, I liked "Rab√∫a Aromia," which sounds like a muffled contact mic recording of a telegraph wire during a wind storm.Another stand-out is "Es Inaudito," which combines an oddly timed clanking metallic rhythm with a surprisingly fluid bass line and snatches of breathy female speech.Notably, neither piece is embellished with EG's characteristic maelstrom of blown-out chaos, which makes them surprisingly listenable (and indicative of the direction to come in the future).Then, on the other side of the spectrum, there is the tense and manic bludgeoning of "Ampuchao," which nicely evokes the feeling of frantically running away from a pack of drill-wielding maniacs.
Arispejal is rounded out by a couple of very likable pieces that sound like somewhat muted variations on the standard EG formula."Cataré," for example, takes a slowed-down Latin rhythm and leaves it fairly unmolested except for a distant electronic hum and some occasional thuds and squelches.The closing "Nu Decotora," on the other hand, just unleashes a seemingly basic (but unrelenting) rhythm beneath some moaning, sludgy noise and periodic eruptions from what sounds like downed, sparking power lines.More than any other piece on the album, "Decotora" achieves a hypnotic pulse that remains compelling for its entire duration.As a result, it is deceptively the album's finest piece, as Arispejal's greatest fault tends to be allowing promising ideas to unfold for too long with too little variation: Lanz always does a fine jab grabbing my attention, but does not always manage to hold it.While the obvious, immediate appeal of this record primarily lies in its punishing machine crunch and feral oil-drum rhythms, the pieces that offer the most lasting rewards are mostly the ones where Lanz and Riaza allow their omnipresent veil of crushing density to lift a bit.Consequently, I tend to prefer EG's somewhat more nuanced later work to their work from this "blunt force" period, though I still feel that this is a strong, memorable, and landmark album within EG's discography.
(Note: the 2014 reissue appends four songs from the 1987 Bruitiste compilation on RRRecords, which date from roughly the same time as these recordings: despite being released in 1992, Arispejal was recorded between 1987 and 1989.)
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Protection is a long-gestating synth duo consisting of New Orleans' Sam Houston and NYC's Daniel McKernan, the latter of whom has collaborated with both Coil and Cyclobe in the past. Given that pedigree, it is not surprising that this debut EP boasts a distinct Coil influence, but that nocturnal, hallucinatory thread is wonderfully bolstered by both a knack for strong hooks and a guest appearance by the always charismatic Little Annie.
"Prayer" opens this 6-song effort in an ambiguous, mysterious, and deceptively atmospheric way, combining a slow, locked-groove-like pulse with somnambulant, chanted vocals from McKernan that sound like an invocation.It is not a weak piece by any means, but it is certainly an unusual way to start off the record, evoking a phantasmagoric, gently warped, Coil-esque otherness without quite highlighting many of Protection's strengths.As an introduction, however, it works nicely: Houston and McKernan are merely setting the stage for what is to come and what is to come is almost uniformly great.The first evidence of that is the brooding, minimalist synthpop of "Popcycle," which features a strong, obsessive-sounding vocal hook from McKernan over a simple, yet gradually intensifying, bed of darkly burbling synth and a propulsively clattering and thumping percussion loop.As fine as that piece is, it is very nearly eclipsed immediately by the following Little Annie showcase, "Jack/Rabbit," which treads similar, yet slightly more menacing, musical territory beneath Annie's cryptic, disjointed, and layered spoken-word monologue.While it is not quite as hooky and tautly crafted as its predecessor, it more than makes up for it by favorably recalling the bite of prime Annie Anxiety.
Remarkably, the second side opens with a piece even better than anything on the already wonderful first side, as the McKernan-sung "I Worry If You're Warm" sounds like the best song Cold Cave never wrote..or maybe even Depeche Mode.In any case, Protection manage to deliver an absolutely perfect, haunted-sounding synthpop gem that is every bit as hooky and flawlessly crafted as Depeche Mode's best work, but with more gravity, intelligence, and complexity (the latter of which only becomes fully clear when the layers gradually fall away to leave only Christiana Key’s tense violin).The more languorous and shuffling Houston-sung "Before I Was a Man" dips the momentum a bit, but remains likable.  Though "Man" is the only piece where Sam handles lead vocals all the way through, his melodic and soulful vocals are an inspired foil for McKernan's own deadpan delivery throughout the album, popping up again and again for choruses and harmonies. Speaking of vocals, Little Annie appears yet again for the EP's conclusion: a surging reprise of "Jack/Rabbit" remixed by producer Bruno Coviello, Jr. (formerly of Light Asylum).While I probably would have preferred another new piece, it is hard to complain about getting to hear one of the record's highlights return in a heavier, more tensely jittery form.
If this EP can be said to have a flaw, it is simply that I wish there were more songs, as two of the six pieces are either remixes or introductions.That would not normally be exasperating, but Sam and Daniel started recording this effort all the way back in 2011, so it could be quite some time before the duo surfaces again (that translates into roughly one completed song per year).Still, that time was definitely well-spent and I am glad Protection did not pad their debut with any weaker material, as practically everything here sounds like it was painstakingly crafted to absolute perfection–you only get one chance to burst onto the scene, I guess.In any case, I have been playing the hell out of this EP and emphatically believe that "I Worry If You're Warm" is one of the best songs that anybody will release this year.Houston and McKernan have found themselves a truly wonderful niche, as it is truly rare to find synthpop this tough and subtly hallucinatory and even rarer to find experimental music this tightly structured and hooky.
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This material is a series of soundtracks that Rutger Zuydervelt composed to complement Esther Kokmeijer's short films of Antarctica and Greenland, thus fitting in well with this Italian label's frigid, isolationist aesthetic.  Rather than overemphasizing minimalism and emptiness, Zuydervelt instead works in subtle and understated conventional electronic moments in, giving the album a unique feel rather than by-the-book sparseness that could have been.
The two "(Chinstrap)" pieces are the ones that most closely resemble traditional soundtrack compositions.  The first version balances marimba like melodies over simple electronics, and soon the piece is fleshed out via the addition of droning, expanding string sounds.  The second features piano and nature sounds in addition to the strings and also has a very standard "opening credits" feel.
The five remaining pieces, however, are not as easily classified.  An ominous hum features heavily in "Stillness #1", which would fit in easily on one of the isolationist compilations of the mid 1990s.  When a simple, but forceful, pulsing kick drum comes in, however, the piece sets itself apart from other similar ones.  "Stillness #2" also has Zuydervelt mixing in a fuzzy drum-like track with a vinyl crackle to give a sense of rhythm, balancing out the especially hushed second half.
"Stillness #4" turns the volume up somewhat, having a more traditional electronic sound amid deep bass pulses and echoing reverberations.  The more conventional approach is paired with a dissonant, fuzzy texture and crackling layers to balance out the normalcy, resulting in a strong stylistic pairing.  "Stillness #5" also is a bit more tied to convention in its overall instrumentation.  Gliding bass tones give it a rich, heavy low end, but synth strings make for another more traditional soundtrack approach as a whole.
I was expecting more of a standard ultra-minimalist isolationist sound to Stillness Soundtracks, and I was pleasantly surprised how Zuydervelt mixed in some more conventional elements and rhythms that keep it from being too stagnant or predictable.  The overarching glacial feel is clearly present in these recordings, but through the variation injected into them, it is anything but off-putting.
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The Touch label's extensive roster only has a few artists who would be considered classical in the traditional sense, and Hildur Gudnadottir is one of those.  With instrumentation consisting only of her cello and her voice on some of these pieces, and guest musician Skuli Sverrisson on bass for one of them, Saman is a stripped down affair that excels at what it intends to do, but does not step out of that comfort zone either.
The best pieces on this album are the ones in which Hildur pairs her voice with the cello, rather than just focusing on the instrument only.  "Heyr Himnasmiður," for example, sparingly uses both the strings and her voice, but the dramatic shifts in dynamic from near silence to pure, rich tone is brilliant.  This excellent use of silence to magnify the sound appears again on "Líður," immediately leading off with multi-tracked vocals and cello, but returning into silence throughout the composition.
"Heima," featuring Skuli on bass, benefits from the inclusion of the additional instrumentation, with plucked strings and additional reverb (the cello playing being resonated through two grand pianos) adding a bit more complexity.  The piece is soft, but a bit too busy to be peaceful, which keeps it interesting and helps it to stand out.  The final composition, "Þoka," is the odd one out, with a heavier sound and buzzy, less clean sounding strings, but is all the more memorable for that difference.
Shifting dynamics work extremely well on "Strokur" too, with forceful and deliberate swells of cello that go from loud to quiet and back, with high and low register notes that encompass the full sonic spectrum.Hildur maintains a slow pace on "Birting," filling out the mix with some subtle layering and looping, for the most part the only overt processing used on this album.On "Í hring," however, she pairs the low register drone that a cello can do so well with lighter, more melodic sounds a bit further in the mix.  The dynamic does not shift drastically, but remains light and spacious throughout.
Saman is an album rich with Hildur Gudnadottir's subtle cello and hushed voice, that delicately lingers for the 40 minute duration.  It accomplishes this very well, but I wish there would have been a few more experimental or challenging moments that would stand out.  The pieces where her voice is prominent, or a less traditional approach is used in the performance are the ones that are the most memorable.  The other moments are pleasant, but are not quite as effectively captivating.
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The title of this Australian artist’s latest album is extremely fitting.  Passages of roughly edited tape, collages of indecipherable found sounds, and bizarre production is disorienting at best, and downright baffling much of the time.  It is because of this confusing, jarring, and sometimes frightening nature that the disc works so well.
This is my first experience with Eamon Sprod’s work, so I was not fully sure what to expect past the initial sound clip that I heard.  Of course, the intentionally vague (yet beautiful) artwork does nothing to elucidate things much, something I doubt was an accident.  The first of the five untitled compositions is an appropriately forceful introduction, and is gripping to say the least.Very lo-fi field recordings are paired with white noise bursts and subsonic bass that pummels through a jerky stop/start jump cut editing, and this is just the first 30 seconds.  Mechanical clattering, birds chirping, a passing train and what could be a tape recorder left in an oil drum as it rolls down a steep hill appear in the following five minutes.
The middle pieces are a bit less chaotic, but only marginally so.  The second is largely built upon hollow hums and ghostly scrapes, occasionally interrupted by a razor sharp outburst or crackling texture that builds to an aggressive jet engine roar before pulling back to a dull hum.Sprod mixes subsonic bass and jump cut noise for a chaotic opening of the third piece before scaling back to an ominous rattle that stays more consistent through the remainder of the composition.
The final two pieces are more akin to opening in terms of frenetic noise and pure dissonance.Eamon uses static bursts and digital edits effectively on the fourth piece, mixing up the shimmering harsh noise and crackling textures.  Paired with the unidentifiable junk found sounds, Sprod shifts between pensive ambience and abrasive chaos at a ridiculous pace.  The final piece might begin at a low volume crinkling, but what could be a microphone scraped on a gravel driveway prevents it from being anything but ambient.  Distant talking and cricket chirps might sound peaceful, but violent clattering noise is anything but.
The absurdist, junky noise collages of I’m Lost reminded me of Sudden Infant or Runzelstirn & Gurgelstock’s work, but without the organic, occasionally nauseating component both Joke Lanz and Rudolf Eb.er are fond of exploiting.  The harshness, aggression and unpredictable production is consistent with that scene though. Violent, sometimes unpleasant, and infrequently introspective, I’m Lost is a schizophrenic, but brilliant mass of sound.
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500m beautifully combines Gudrun Gut’s programmed percussion and editing discipline with Jochen Irmler’s meandering organ playing and natural spontaneity.
This album comes from two sessions recorded in the autumn of 2013, at the Faust studio in Scheer. These consisted mainly of Irmler leading, by improvising some tracks for as long as thirty minutes, with Gut providing basic beats and a rudimentary framework and mood. Later, in her Berlin studio, she reassembled, deconstructed, and refined the session tracks into shorter pieces. Irmler kept his distance, hearing the progress of her work via file sharing. This creating-at-a-distance should not have been a problem for him, not at least if the story is true that in the early days of Faust he had a cable run from his bedroom so he didn’t have to come into the studio, and could even play while in bed. Perhaps it is no coincidence that Gut appears to be wearing pajamas on the cover artwork. In any event, the splendid contrast between her whispered, breathy, vocals, and shards of drum programming, echo, clipped and spliced or untreated keyboards, all combine to produce a landscape suggestive of darkness and twinkling stars.
Searching for clues to 500m through attempts to translate the German names of some individual tracks into English, threw up such titles as "Perfume," "Noah," "Chlorine," "Fracture," and the amusing chronology of "Tangerine," followed by "Dream." Listening to the record made me feel as if I were dreaming of walking alone through a series of rooms in a huge deserted factory, hearing the sound of echoing footsteps and machines briefly bleating into life or fade into silence. The title relates to the fact that Gut reported feeling dizzy the whole time - which Irmler explained may have been due to them being 500m above sea level.
 
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As a split release with each artist submitting three pieces, the pairing is perfect.  The two projects share similar aesthetics and aptitude in their own take on modern industrial music.  Even though their individual work is clearly distinct from each other, the two fit together very well into a cohesive whole.
Of the two, Regosphere (Andrew Quitter) leans a bit more towards the rawer, noise tinged sounds on his three compositions.  A pulsing synth and shrill digital noise of "Psychic Surgery (Second Procedure)" are paired with a heavily churning bass line that is not quite harsh enough to constitute power electronics, but certainly leans in that direction.  The harshly processed and destroyed vocals push this even further, even though they are completely indecipherable.
Quitter dials the harshness back a bit on "The Devil’s Icebox," keeping the bleeping electronics but adding in an overdriven kick drum passage.  The monotone thud is offset by dramatic, complex layers of electronic and what almost sounds like prog rock keyboard progressions.  "Coffin Dust" draws more from sound effect bits and an overall messier sound without ever becoming too dissonant.  Compared to the previous two Regosphere pieces, this one feels a bit less focus or structured but still works in its own way.
On his half, Egan Budd (Xiphoid Dementia) utilizes metal and junk percussion throughout, to excellent effect.  The slow build of "Despondency Aquifer" leads in with a rumbling bass drone and dramatic sweeps of noise that, at this point, are more understated than Regosphere’s work.  The piece eventually expands amongst obvious synths and tolling digital bells with overdriven percussion.  The final result lies somewhere between a modernized take on SPK’s Information Overload Unit and the best moments of early Dissecting Table.
Budd strips things down a bit on "Beneath the Foundation," pairing gentle ambience with crunchy, overdriven waves of noise.  With the junk percussion thrown in, it feels consistent with the previous piece, but in a less musical sense overall.  Musicality also takes a back seat on "Mineral Resurrection," as Budd places the percussive clanking and banging in a subterraneous cavern expanse.  Drifting through the heavy reverb, a sense of malignance looms during the more restrained minutes.  Slowly the piece builds to an explosion of distortion and harshness, resulting in an appropriately explosive climax.
Regosphere and Xiphoid Dementia share a lot of commonalities, but each stands on their own.  On this disc the former brings the harsher noise electronic sound, while the latter’s emphasis on junk percussion embraces that Einstürzende Neubauten/Test Department aesthetic, but within a more electronic framework.  It manages to be one of those split releases where two different halves mesh together brilliantly into a coherent and fully realized whole.
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- Despondency Aquifer (Xiphoid Dementia)
- The Devil's Icebox (Regosphere)
- Beneath the Foundation (Xiphoid Dementia)
 
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As one of the major triumvirate of Italian power electronics (alongside Atrax Morgue/Marco Corbelli and Mauthausen Orchestra/Pierpaolo Zoppo), Moreno Daldosso has not released any new material in over a decade, and Der Totenkopf may be his final recording. With his two peers no longer with us, this record serves as an epitaph for this distinct group of artists, and it fits right in amongst the best of those albums.
The three aforementioned artists are essentially the antecedents of Maurizio Bianchi's first period of activity, albeit with different aesthetics.This subgenre has always heavily utilized serial murder, necrophilia, and Third Reich, making for an essentially perfect mirror image to Italy’s contribution to international cult film:giallo, zombie, and Naziploitation.In an appropriate parallel to the films, however, the use seemed to be to invoke horror rather than political ideology.
Der Totenkopf is no different, and Daldosso makes no attempt to hide the theme based on the cover art alone.Unlike Atrax Morgue or Mauthausen Orchestra, however, the two pieces that make up this album are not heavily steeped in harsh analog synthesizers, but instead hollow, cavernous layers of minimalist noise.The undeniable sense of gloom and depression (which can be traced back to Bianchi's earliest experiments) does pervade this record though, another hallmark of the Italian school of harsh electronics.
On the A side, bits of the German marching music that acts as the primary source material slips through in shards, echoes and delays stretching the only recognizable sounds out into the murky, muddy expanse of sound.The flip side showcases the source material more, with obvious fragments of horn fanfare stretching out from a hollow, reverberating electronic din.Throughout the gray monochromatic ambience, what sounds like the stomping of boots create some rough semblance of rhythm via loops and delay that always stays just a bit uncomfortable and off kilter.
Rather than the harsher sound I expected, Murder Corporation emphasizes menace and restraint in his bleakness.The moroseness of this record cannot be understated, just like the best records from this roughly defined scene.It might not be a record I will play every day, but when the mood strikes, Der Totenkopf hits all the right buttons.
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