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The latest installment in this duo’s quest to pervert well known forms of music may be its most difficult album yet. On the surface it seems the most conventional: a live performance of Anders Bryngelsson on drums and Mattin on guitar with the assistance of some backing tapes, but the way in which these two interpret the blues is anything but.  It is one of those records that is rather unpleasant to listen to, and that is exactly the point of it.
First of all, Regler's interpretation of the blues is a very loose one, but is still faithful to the basic nature of the style.Latching on to the genre’s cyclic repetition, the main musical portion of the album is a plodding, repetitious blast of distorted guitars, primitive rhythms, and the occasional guttural growl.The resemblance to Swans’ earliest recordings is undeniable, and fitting, given that Michael Gira himself has discussed numerous times the influence of Howlin’ Wolf and the like had on his band.
The second blues connection is, however, more thematic.This record was captured live just over a year ago (September 23, 2016, in Berlin), foreshadowing the political turmoil that was soon to plague Western Civilization as we know it(hence the title).Accompanying the music are multiple recordings from the news, European and American, and even when the language may not be familiar to these ears, the anger and frustration conveyed is universal.
Over the doomy throb the two create with their instruments, the aftermaths of terrorist attacks, police shootings in the United States, and pre-Brexit, pre-Trump protests are all captured here.Besides just chanting, yelling, and speaking, there is more than a few instances of emergency sirens, police radios, and gunfire to really ramp up the tension and hammer home the unsettling nature of the music.At times (and surely intentionally), the tapes are distinctly louder than the music being played, making the intent painfully apparent.
All the while, Bryngelsson and Mattin pound away, a dull throb that shifts and evolves as the performance goes on, but never loses focus.On the second half the rhythm shifts up a bit, and the guitar alternates from low end sludge to shrill, metallic and feedback-laden.Towards the end of the performance, the playing gets even more unhinged, fitting the tension that builds to a head, before collapsing on loops of sirens and an abrupt conclusion.
Regler #9 is admittedly a very unpleasant record.Throughout I was definitely feeling the tension that was constructed as the performance went on, both from the tapes played and the music itself.At this point though I feel as if performance has an even stronger impact, since those worst-case scenarios that are channeled via the protests and television news broadcasts have largely come to pass.It is rhythmic, repetitive, and depressing as all hell, and I cannot think of a more fitting interpretation of the blues on such a macro scale.
samples:
- Blues for Western Civilization (Part 1)
- Blues for Western Civilization (Part 2, Excerpt 1)
- Blues for Western Civilization (Part 2, Excerpt 2)
 
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This six disc box set is a nice time capsule for the extremely prolific Drumm's work from 2013 through 2016. Which means, of course, by now this stuff is old hat and there is likely to be another 15 or so albums worth of material available to download at this point. However, Drumm's work is something to be digested slowly and methodically, and with Giuseppe Ielasi ensuring a top quality remastering, it makes for an essential collection of work that is fitting for both new listeners and those who have been there for a while.
Elapsed Time is clearly a compilation, and one that culls from a multitude of digital only and extremely limited releases.This also means that the approach Drumm uses for these works can differ greatly, from pure sine waves to computers to simply "found" recordings, though oddly enough none of the guitar he was initially recognized for.Even pulled from these widely varying sources, however, there is a sense of cohesion to these recordings, even if they are unified only by Drumm's adept hand at composition and sound design.
The three pieces that make up much of "Equinox" (Disc Five) represent Drumm at his most minimal.In this case what was used to make the recordings is unclear, but the result is a very sparse series of tones, mostly frozen on the first segment but more spacious and evolving on the second and third.The tones rise and fall in pitch slowly, shifting around and conveying some dynamism as basic as they are.For "The Sea Wins" he utilizes just sine, sawtooth, and pulse waves, but from that he constructs some beautiful, pure organ-like tones that grow and evolve as the piece develops for a bit over a half hour.
At other times, Drumm's focus shifts towards the more abrasive, distorted end of his art.The five segments of "Tannenbaum" (a limited double cassette issued with the CD of the same name) begins with the same sort of tonal purity, but with an unquestionable bleakness that just gets worse as it goes on.Eventually a buzzing synthesizer is expanded to a full on noise abyss, mixed with a bassy hum that feels like an early MB record stripped to its barest, darkest essentials.Much of "February" is quiet, but leans very heavy on the lower end, preventing it from fading too much into the background.It is sparse, but still commands attention via the rumbling electronics."Bolero Muter" is another harsher work within this set.Via computer spectral processing, there is a buzzing, distorted sheen to the electronics that eventually builds to a full on wall of metallic noise before slowly mellowing back out.
Disc 3’s "Earrach (Part 1)" is one of the standout pieces here if for nothing else its sheer oddness compared to the rest of the set.Consisting entirely of randomly selected pre-recorded tapes, Drumm mangles them as they play, capturing the sputtering motors and incidental noises that are inevitable with such a performance.It has a more traditionalist "noise" feel to it, and is appropriately dense and jerky in sound and structure.The set ends with the two part "The Whole House", created simply from a cheap hand-held tape cassette from Radio Shack and capturing the ambience in Drumm's home.What begins as a sparse buzz eventually evolves into insect-like chirps and mangled tapes, building to a jet engine-like roar.I am not sure exactly what goes on in Drumm’s house, but this makes it sound absolutely terrifying.
There is a lot to take in throughout Elapsed Time.With six packed CDs, it amounts to nearly seven hours of Kevin Drumm experimentation.As an artist who at times is a bit difficult (to say the least), it can be a challenge to absorb fully.However, the vast array of styles and works to be had here makes it an engaging challenge, one that can differ widely from disc to disc, but never lacks the cohesion and touch of a master craftsman and composer working at the top of his game.
samples:
 
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![cover image](/brain/images/philippe_petit-henry_the_iron_man.jpg)
This is one of those faux soundtracks that doesn’t require any familiarity with the conceptual source material to enjoy, but the characteristics of both films shine through in the composition. The opening "Salaryman’s Dream" jumps in immediately with mangled and flanged string tones, rustling static and the occasional random percussive crash. Over the clicks and deep, pulsing bass assaults, the electronic wreckage begins to resemble industrial presses crushing metal garbage into cubes, and one can almost visualize the metal fetishist from Tetsuo looking on in a sexual frenzy. Swirling harsh alien ambience envelopes almost everything, while mutant horns sound like lost radio transmissions from Sun Ra still traveling through space. The long piece closes on banging, almost traditional industrial rhythms.
The second track, "In Tokyo Henry Spencer is Fine" brings in more of Petit’s vinyl fetish, layering complex surface noise and sped up guitar spinning off vinyl. The collage of noise is more restrained here, but still menacing, with blown out feedback tones blasting through. The sound oscillates between noise and softer sounds, but the overall sound is alienating industrial chaos. Petit throws in the a bit of the FM3 Buddha Machine as well, but under heavy treatment and processing.
The closing track, "Lady in the Radiator Meets the Fetishist" again lays on the surface noise heavily, while adding stuttering vinyl scrapes and rising guitar feedback, invoking a sense of lurking dread that gets more and more intense. The track moves at a limp, like a slow moving lava flow destroying everything in its path. Through the flaming muck I can hear more brain damaged jazz horns with tremolo-ed fragments of techno synth, and the track becomes an unending battle between jazz, techno, and pure noise.
Even without using any of the original source material, Petit combines the schizophrenic noise chaos of Eraserhead with the abstract industrial dystopia of Tetsuo, and the combination works out very well. The symbolism is wonderful here, though as a listening experience, it’s almost too intense. The sense of dread and menace never relents, there are no quiet or introspective movements, the darkness just continues on and on. Perhaps that’s the point, though!
samples:
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![](/brain/images/music_for_mentalists.jpg)
Psychic Circle
The title Music for Mentalists offers up the premise that only a mind reader could guess what record executives were thinking when they released these efforts. But a cursory glance at the songs which actually made the UK pop charts over the last forty years reveals that great singles were rare and many pitiful efforts sold significantly. So it makes sense that someone tried to cash-in by selling a pop song to those television viewers charmed by David McCallum as the cool U.N.C.L.E. agent Ilya Kuryakin and David Carradine as the mystical and reluctant martial arts wanderer in Kung Fu. And given the horrific chart violations by (so-called) easy-listening band-leader James Last, it might have been thought reasonable to have Al Hirt and Joe Loss take their respective stabs at the TV theme tunes from The Monkees and Steptoe and Son (remade in the US as Sanford and Son). It doesn’t even seem too long a shot to have let boozy newsreader Reggie Bosenquet go disco or have Jim Bowen, host of cult Sunday afternoon game-show Bullseye (part general knowledge part darts match) record a suitably down-to-earth “rap.” Bowen’s piece is actually a hilarious self-depreciating culture shocker, mocking his hair loss, painful jokes, poor singing voice, dead-ordinary contestants and on-screen mess-ups.
Compiler Mick Dillingham has done sterling work in locating Linda Jardim’s “Energy in Northampton,” a laughable song on the topic of aliens in a damaged spacecraft being drawn to the middle-England town by its go-ahead energy. Funded by the Northampton Development Corporation I am pretty certain this overblown oddity had at least one spin on the truly legendary John Peel radio show. Equally, “Tina’s Song” by Tina Harvey is a brief but genuinely bizarre foray through such mind-numbing topics as living in Slough and being a Gemini. Harvey deconstructs the song out of existence using a deceptive voice that is half sung and half spoken; wry and understated enough to have caught Peel's ear, I think.
There are also promo-ditties by various businesses. Of those, Swingin’ Thom’s “The Weakling in Thom McCann Shoes” is marginally more amusing than John Collier’s “Saturday Night Suit” and Cadbury’s Singers’ “Come into the Warm” beats The Barclay Supergroup’s “Barclay Girls" hands down. Maybe that’s because Barclay’s Bank was notorious for their investment in apartheid-era South Africa, but also as chocolate is obviously better than banking. Hylda Baker was 73 years old when she recorded “Substitute” and it is worth hearing, once. The wild take on Lee Hazlewood’s “Boots” by Balsara & His Singing Sitars, though, is something to which I expect to return more often.
Unfortunately, Max Bygraves shows up, and there’s a dreadful version of “The Music Man” by Rusty Goffe, who happens to be a dwarf. However, a brief speech by Aldous Huxley’s daughter provides a nice introduction and Xaviera Hollander (author of The Happy Hooker) is also included, with “My Attitude to Sex” a suitably raunchy effort. Actor Michael Elphick’s “Gotcha” is a creepier listen. Taken literally it might be a paean to rape and imprisonment but, more likely, is a poorly written, disturbingly chauvinist take on relationships. Elsewhere, depths of taste and dignity are well and truly plumbed: “Song for Sefton” (dedicated to the household cavalry horse who survived an IRA bomb) is pathetic, devoid of musical interest and even lacking in sentimentality. Even worse than "Sefton" is an appalling Yiddish version of “Rock Around The Clock.”
If this is the most interesting Psychic Circle compilation yet that’s because the ones I’ve heard so far have been raw and spirited but also uneven and quite repetitive. A thread of the current zeitgeist seems to be that any music ever released should be repackaged under a snappy title and be written up as containing either a forgotten gem or two, or an overlooked legend. Sadly, that is just not true. Yet Music for Mentalists does have the very worthwhile track by Linda Jardim and Tina Harvey's brilliant effort and if you feel you simply must learn how to pronounce the Welsh village Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch, then look no further.
samples
- Balsara and His Singing Sitars - Boots
- David McCallum - Communication
- Linda Jardim - Energy in Northampton
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Crow Eye Hint is a drone record. One track which uses the noise and resonance of
a piano when sustain pedal is relaesed and depressed.5 minutes into this there is
a few second burst of two tone riff, than the piano innards soundscape returns.
After reaching a climax it gives way a single note on the same instrument develops
through repetition into a pleasant drone inviting strings. At a precise moment
tonality of texture lifts by a semitone and develops further.
From depths a permutation of the original theme returns adding an extra element of
forward propulsion until a natural conclusion is reached after 54 minutes
and a few seconds.
Handmade cover.
price 15 Euro including shipping worldwide.
you can get it from: www.aranos.org
There is an mp3 of the whole record there, but it seems to load very slowly, as it is 54 minutes long!
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![cover image](/brain/images/mudboy-mort_aux_vaches.jpg)
Mudboy is an organist and installation artist based in Providence, RI. As there are not many working organists in the experimental music underground, he pretty much had his own niche claimed the moment that he started releasing music roughly a decade ago. However, the uniqueness of Mudboy’s aesthetic goes far beyond his anachronistic choice of instruments and permeates absolutely everything he is involved in: his performances, his installations, his general vision, his sounds, and his cover art are all pretty uniformly bizarre and unique. In this case, he uncharacteristically did not seem to have had a hand in the album art, but Staalplaat’s three-panel wooden case is quite nice in an elegantly minimal way regardless.
There are five distinct songs collected here, lasting for roughly half an hour. I do not have a comprehensive command of Mudboy’s complete oeuvre of limited edition vinyl, cassettes, and CD-Rs, but it seems almost certain that the session was totally improvised on the spot with a minimum amount of both preparation and gear. That is the only logical explanation for the opener “Ntro,” which completely falls flat and goes nowhere for over four minutes (it basically approximates a muttering goblin repeatedly sounding a tuning fork). The following piece (“B.O.G.”) initially yields similar dire promise, as it sounds like that same rasping, gibbering goblin has now begun fiddling with the presets on a cheap Casio.
Unexpectedly, however, “B.O.G.” quickly evolves into the session’s clear highlight, as Mudboy plunges into an utterly mesmerizing organ solo atop the cheesy, carnivalesque vamp. I don’t know quite what he did to his organ to get it to sound like it does (he is an avid circuit-bender and instrument modifier), but I have never heard anything quite like it. The notes seem to be almost solid, like they are hanging in the air and slowly dripping to the ground. Sadly, that snatch of heaven is all too ephemeral and the remaining three pieces (while not bad) fail to recapture much magic.
The best of the remainder is probably “Beebbub,” a buzzing and throbbing noise piece built upon treated field recordings of bees. The aural apiary is gradually populated by a barrage of deranged and incomprehensible speech snippets that echo and bounce all over the place, evoking the feeling of a disturbingly psychedelic funhouse. The other two songs are fairly one-dimensional and unmemorable: “Osandways” is essentially a prog-rock organ solo without a surrounding song, while the accordian-esque “Shantysea” resembles one of Terry Riley’s more annoying and dated-sounding excursions.
The central problem with this session is that each piece seems to consist of one idea that is flogged away at until Mudboy loses interest in it. Some of the ideas are good and some aren’t, but there is very little in the way of progression in either case. Essentially he creates a loop, makes some sounds over it for a few minutes, then stops. While I realize that may be a somewhat inherent problem with one-man live improv, it doesn't make for a compelling listen when divorced from the performance itself. Obviously, there is a lot to like here from a pure sound perspective, but those sounds get dull quickly when there is little structure and movement surrounding them. This is definitely not Mudboy’s finest moment, but thankfully it is also not a particularly representative one.
Samples:
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![cover image](/brain/images/joseph_bertolozzi-bridge_music.jpg)
On the first listen I was surprised by the cleanliness of the sound. It wasn’t as distorted or as jarring as I had expected. Although the source material was recorded in the field, to say that it is made up of field recording of a percussionist on a bridge would give the wrong impression. I originally thought that songs were somehow performed and captured live, but for a single person to play all the different sounds in real time would have been an impossible feat. The last track though features the composer talking about how the project was executed. Listening to him talk sounded a bit like being on a field trip or a tour—in fact the packaging of the CD looks like something found in a museum gift shop—but was nonetheless informative of his process. All the sounds except for one were recorded using a contact microphone. Every available surface was used from signs, to metal grates, to the thick and tightly wound steel of the suspension cables. The only sounds recorded with an open air mic were of small round objects like BBs and air gun pellets (among other things) poured down one of the bridges shafts, transforming it into a gigantic rain stick. After all of the source material was recorded it was assembled in the studio. Like a jigsaw puzzle the pieces fit together perfectly.
The notes derived from the bridge may not have the widest of range, but the rhythms bewilder with their compact variability. This is high energy music. Even as the tempos vary, speeding up and slowing down, deep thunderous pulses continue to pound into the brain. “The River That Flows Both Ways” begins with a low rumble in the background, and the sound of banging hammers. Overlaid atop is a melody that could have been played on a kalimba but it is not. “Rivet Gun” is Bertolozzi’s answer to slick electronic dance club music. Rapid fire machine gun pulses take the place of the hi-hat, and cacophonous smashes of iron girders stand in for the 4-to-the-floor bass kicks. There are even staggered thrums and throbs that create a time stretch illusion harkening back to the hey-day of drum ‘n bass songs where every other phrase contained a time stretched beat. “Dark Interlude” is a muted piece mainly in the lower register without sharp noises or the reverb laden clanging that features on other songs. Without keeping a steady beat, it reminds me of a broken metronome or a clock whose gears have shifted into keeping an alternate time, a freeform experiment in non-linear drumming.
The composition of “Bridge Music” has also culminated in an installation located at the FDR Mid-Hudson Bridge itself. It consists of two listening stations where pedestrians crossing the bridge can listen to any of the eleven tracks featured on this CD. The other element is a continuous stereo broadcast of the music on 87.9 FM available in the two parks that abut the bridge, Waryas Park in Poughkeepsie, and Johnson-lorio Park in Highland.
samples:
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This latest Folklore Tapes collection is a perfect illustration of why they are possibly the most unique and fascinating label around, assembling 31 different artists to create free-form sound art based upon their research into a specific plant. I certainly like the concept and appreciate the depth and breadth of their commitment to it (there is accompanying literature, a film, and a pack of seeds), yet none of that would matter all that much if the music was underwhelming. As it happens, the music is absolutely wonderful, as the many brief and varied vignettes form a wonderfully surreal and kaleidoscopic whole. A few of the participants were familiar to me beforehand (Dean McPhee, Bridgett Hayden), but most were not and nearly every single one brings something delightfully bizarre, hallucinatory, or enigmatically esoteric to the table.
It is quite hard to conclusively pin down "the Folklore Tapes aesthetic," as it can shift significantly from release to release, depending on both the theme and the participants involved.However, there are definitely several fertile strains of subterranean music that tend to frequently find a home on the label.Obviously, any label devoted to folklore is undoubtedly going to have some folk/traditional music, but even that is rarely presented in its expected form, instead embracing the magical unreality of a folktale.The sole exception to that rule here is Jennifer Reid’s a capella performance of "Let No Man Steal Your Thyme."More typically, Folklore artists opt for a more illusory vision of "traditional music" that feels ancient and ritualistic, such as the haunting drones and rattling strings of James Green's "False Shamrock."The other threads, of course, are considerably more outré.Naturally, no UK folklore-themed collection would be complete without a bevy of half-kooky/half-creepy retro "library music" artists, best represented here by Belbury Poly's gleefully blooping "Hawthorn" (the unexpected jaw harp is an especially nice touch).The dominant aesthetic on this particular release, however, is collage.That form lends itself quite nicely to the unpredictable and hallucinatory atmosphere of the album, also lending itself quite nicely to the occasional spoken word performances.That said, there is also another harder-to-define category, which is can best be described as "batshit crazy."In that regard, Hugh Metcalf steals the show, muttering and jabbering about jasmine over some clattering that sounds like a bucket and some random kitchenware.Also, his piece definitely sounds like it was "composed" on the spot and recorded on a boombox.While definitely a piss-take, it is quite an endearing one and does not feel out of place amongst the other efforts.Part of the beauty of the collection is that everyone is essentially on the same footing: an accomplished musician, a lunatic in his kitchen, and an herbalist all have roughly a minute to make an impact however they can, which brings out a lot of creativity and ingenuity.The scholar and fool each have an important part to play in this strange tableau, as do children and animals.
While there are many individual pieces that stand out as particularly inspired, the real magic lies in how the pieces flow together as an absorbing and deliciously phantasmagoric whole.An album filled completely with people reciting recipes or describing the properties of nettles probably would not be very good, but in the context of The Folklore of Plants' deeply lysergic flow, those moments appear as beautifully disorienting oases, like flicking snatches of actual memories creeping into a singularly bizarre and shifting dream.Of course, much credit must go to the handful of artists that devoted themselves wholeheartedly to making this collection such a mind-warping plunge into a half-sinister/half-blissful funhouse of unreality in the first place.My favorite is probably the duo of Carl Turney and Brian Campbell, who celebrate the virtues of robert geranium with a deranged fantasia of pounding drums, odd beeps, chopped and distorted speech, and a child listing the herb’s various other pseudonyms ("death comes quickly" being one of them).Elsewhere, Folklore Tapes mainstay Ian Humberstone salutes red bog moss with something that sounds like a crackling field recording of a séance with a supernatural cat.Magpahi’' ode to mugwort is similarly haunted, as Alison Cooper quietly sings a melancholy melody over a sickly and brooding bed of thick analog synth tones.Less unnerving, but similarly striking, is Mary Stark's "Lavender," in which a pretty Siren-esque voice floats through a shifting collage of nature sounds, city noises, and random radio transmissions.David Chatton Barker’s "Elder" is yet another sublime plunge into the unearthly, weaving together uncomfortably harmonizing drones, strangled feedback, and a host of grinding and crackling textures.
My sole critique is simply that extreme brevity suits some artists better than others, so an artist like Dean McPhee (who specializes in slowly shifting extended pieces) is not able to play to his strengths.Necessity is the mother of invention, of course, but there are certainly some pieces that feel like mere glimpses of something more substantial rather than a self-contained and discrete soundworld.Lamenting how an individual piece in a perfect mosaic could have stood out more effectively completely misses the point though: Folklore Tapes have crafted quite a singular labor of love here and it is an absolutely beautiful thing to behold.As a compilation, The Folklore of Plants is certainly a deeply inspired collection of divergent and compelling artists, but it also offers something far more transcendent than that, stripping away all the noise and empty distraction of the modern world to reveal a window into something considerably more timeless, haunting, and ineffable.
- James Green, "False Shamrock (Oxalis triangularis)"
- Mary Stark, "Lavender (Lavandula angustifolia)"
- Magpahi, "Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris)"
 
 
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Few artists continually push their art into strange and unfamiliar new places quite like Jan St. Werner has been doing with his Fiepblatter series.  Some installments have certainly been better than others, yet St. Werner always brings a unique blend of bold conceptual vision, rigorous craftsmanship, and playful experimentation.  With Spectric Acid, he continues that noble trend in supremely vibrant fashion, taking inspiration from ceremonial West African rhythms to weave a dense tapestry of dynamic shifting pulses, dense synth buzz, and squalls of electronic chaos.  At its best, it sounds like a particularly visceral blend of exquisite sound art and an out-of-control train.
St. Werner opens Spectric Acid with quite a powerful statement of intent, as "Acideous Welsh" is a sputtering eruption of squelching electronic chaos over a broken, yet pummeling groove…of sorts.  The "groove" never quite feels like anything other than a percussive attack though, despite the occasional appearance of a densely buzzing bass throb that ultimately proves to be just a tease.  More than anything, "Acideous Welsh" sounds like a ferocious, futuristic laser battle experienced from a trench near some of the heaviest artillery.  Oddly, it does not evolve much from its explosive beginning, as St. Werner seems more than happy to just unleash a strafing sci-fi cacophony.  The intensity remains roughly the same with the following "Victorian Trajectory," which marries slowly flanging, massive slabs of synth drones with a wild percussion foundation that sounds like excerpts from a free-jazz drum solo that are constantly shifting in tempo and fading in and out of focus.  It is probably the most perfect distillation of what St. Werner is doing on this album, as the spacey drone thrum provides an immersive and relatively consistent headspace to get sucked into, giving me enough of a "song" to grasp onto as he unleashes skittering and clattering percussive mayhem all around me.  That is, more or less, the essential difference between Spectric Acid's best pieces and the rest of the album: a virtuosic show of force (albeit an inventively polyrhythic one) only makes a big impact once–there needs to be something deeper happening for it to hold up with repeat listens.
Fortunately, St.  Werner manages to hit the mark quite convincingly a few more times over the course of Spectric Acid.  My favorite piece is "Insuline" which sounds like the smoking wreckage of a great dub techno cut that somehow overheated and went haywire.  There are ghosts of chords and melodies floating above the ruins, but the foreground is all stuttering, overloaded bass throbs; squiggling and gnarled electronics; erratic kick drum stomps; and a viscerally unpleasant escalating whine.  It feels a lot like having a complete psychotic breakdown at a rave while pointedly ignoring a shrieking teapot, which is not a vibe that a hell of a lot of other artists would shoot for.  St. Werner perversely reprises that "teapot" aesthetic again with the shorter "Solo Winslet," which feels like an even more sickly and jabbering version of the same material (perhaps the unexpected final death throes of its predecessor).  Elsewhere, "Gourd Skin Particles" takes a comparatively understated approach, taking the howling and stuttering electronic maelstrom down to a gently simmer, but compensating with an inventive textural leap into something that sounds like digitized and burbling viscous liquids.  For his final piece, "Bata Punch Bird," St. Werner creates something that sounds like the unholy coupling of a woodpecker and a sentient, yet mentally unstable modular synth.  That is certainly an unnerving and perplexing final act for an unnerving and perplexing album, but St. Werner cannot resist throwing in one last contrarian and wrong-footing surprise in the final seconds, completely abandoning all electronics for a cathartic flurry of trashcan lid percussion.
Discussing my perceived faults with Spectric Acid is something of a futile endeavor, as Jan St. Werner seems like an prodigiously talented iconoclast who does exactly what he wants to do and does it convincingly: there are certainly elements that I like and do not like, but I never feel like St. Werner made a misstep or fell short of hitting the mark he targeted.  Basically, I just need to accept that St. Werner is a deeply idiosyncratic artist who gleefully plunges into whatever rabbit hole fascinates him the most at a given time with no concern about whether there will be an audience for it.  Also, this is art, not entertainment.  As a fan of challenging music, I am delighted that he keeps finding new vistas to explore.  I would definitely like Spectric Acid more if St. Werner had used his explosively blurting electronics and unpredictably rhythmic experiments as a jumping-off point for deeper compositions with a bit more of a melodic or harmonic component, but that probably seemed like unnecessary window dressing to him: the experiments themselves are the point, not whether or not he can make them pretty.  As such, Spectric Acid is a fundamentally difficult and abstract album, but it compensates quite a bit through its bold vision, raw power, and sheer unpredictability.  More importantly, St. Werner is boldly and single-mindedly straining to redefine what is possible and push electronic music into uncharted new territory.  Other people can popularize these ideas when they catch up–for now, St. Werner is the one doing all the heavy lifting.  While it is a bit too prickly and obsessive to be one of my personal favorite albums of the year, it is very easy to imagine Spectric Acid being a significant influence upon some of my future favorites.
 
 
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While I suspect Thomas Meluch will always be best known for his more traditional albums, he has quietly become one of North America’s most consistently compelling ambient/drone artists over the last few years.  On this, his first full-length for Portland’s Beacon Sound, Meluch returns to roughly the same territory that he explored on 2015’s gorgeous Sonnet and his self-released Stanza series: lush, slow-moving, and gently undulating drones drifting through a haze of tape hiss.  There are some intriguing small-scale transformations to be found, however, as Meluch's focus has subtly shifted away from structure and melody into an increasing deep fascination with the textural possibilities of weathered and distressed tapes.
The seven songs of Lignin Poise are all very much of piece, essentially unfolding as a series of subtly different variations on single strong vision.  The opening "Hawk Moth Mirage" is probably the strongest articulation of that vision though, feeling like a massive cloud expanding and billowing outward in slow-motion, yet diffuse enough to allow some dazzling and ephemeral flickers of sun to shine though.  I have probably used similar language to describe similarly hazy yet dynamic drone albums, but few artists can make it feel as effortless and organic as Benoit Pioulard.  "Hawk Moth Mirage" feels like a vaporous living entity that Meluch simply conjured into being.  That, more than anything, is the genius of Lignin Poise: a master illusionist has artfully blurred and obfuscated his compositions so skillfully that they feel more like a natural, elemental phenomenon than a painstakingly layered and produced collage of synth tones.  It essentially feels like Meluch astrally traveled into a radiant, rapturous, and light-filled alternate dimension, made a bunch of stunning field recordings, then accidentally left all the tapes in his yard for a few days: glimpses of absolutely sublime beauty abound, but it feels like the struggling tape deck is having quite a hard time getting the speed the just right and the signal to noise ratio errs heavily towards the latter.
While that general description could almost be cut-and-pasted to apply to any song on Lignin Poise, there are a handful of stronger pieces that Meluch allows a bit more time to unfold.  "Same Time Next Year," for example, is essentially a reprise of "Hawk Moth Mirage" in almost every respect, but with the see-sawing pointillist synth motif replaced by a glacially unfolding melody that swells out of the underlying chords only to quickly dissolve.  It is quite lovely and understated, unfolding like a warm and bittersweet dream.  As usual, Meluch’s genius for texture and detail does a lot of the heavy lifting, as the shivering, decaying notes appealingly fall somewhere between "spectral" and "sizzling."  The atypically brief "Vesperal" is another gem, largely eschewing instrumentation in favor of layered, blurry voices.  It sounds like a warped VHS tape of an angelic choir, yet gradually becomes something a bit darker and more mysterious, as the voices sound increasingly dissociated from one another and the surrounding grit takes on an almost grinding texture.  Similarly brief, "On Form" is another divergent experiment, gradually building up to a muted crescendo that sounds like churning, overlapping loops of string ensembles emerging from a thick fog.  Elsewhere, Meluch returns once more to his "hissing dream cloud" comfort zone with the album’s closing pieces. "Rook" diverges a bit from the formula with the addition of a wobbly repeating melodic line, however.  In fact, it sounds weirdly like an abstract, hallucinatory, and monomaniacally obsessive cover of Julee Cruise's "Falling" (better known as the original Twin Peaks’ theme) that just endlessly fixates on the ascending melody that leads into the chorus.  The 10-minute title piece heads in the opposite direction though, blurring its underlying structure and its buried melodies so effectively that it just feels like a warmly enveloping multi-colored fog rolling across a field or floating upward from a twilit harbor.
While a few of the other pieces sometimes feel a bit like Meluch is treading water, it is extremely hard to find fault with Lignin Poise at all.  Within the realm of ambient music, Benoit Pioulard shares a lot in common with Andrew Chalk: both artists make extremely lovely, instantly recognizable music and rarely release a weak album.  It would certainly be cool if each new release marked an unambiguous leap forward, but art does not work like that.  Instead, Lignin Poise is kind of a lateral evolution, noticeably tweaking some elements, but not so much that a casual listener would find it conspicuously different from, say, Stanza.  As such, Lignin Poise is significant mostly for just being another great Benoit Pioulard album that deepens an already wonderful body of work.  Admittedly, this is probably the most uniformly strong of Meluch’s ambient releases to date, but Sonnet and Stanza both pack enough moments of transcendent, gently hallucinatory heaven to make choosing a favorite an impossible and unnecessary endeavor.
 
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Coldkill is the duo of Rexx Arkana (FGFC820) and Eric Eldredge (Interface), and was created as an attempt to get back to the roots of EBM and 1980s industrial music, an era from which both musicians have drawn influence throughout their careers]. With the use of vintage gear and a more minimalistic aesthetic when it comes to construction and dynamics in these songs, they do an exemplary job of being forward thinking, yet still clearly acknowledging their past.
Arkana especially has been one of the unsung heroes of the genre.Working as a promoter and DJ since the 1980s, as well as helming EBM supergroup Bruderschaft, his contributions to both the industrial scene and its antecedents has largely been overlooked.Which is a significant oversight, because his dedication to the style and his skills in creating it shine through distinctly on Distance by Design."In Here" makes this abundantly clear, with his intentionally flat, disconnected vocals capturing the early days of synthpop and new wave perfectly, as a steady 4/4 beat and tight sequenced layers dominate the song.
"Black or White" is another standout from the first moments of metallic synth and analog bassline.The additional keyboards added and cheap drum machine also go a long way in capturing the 1980s vibe, as do the vocals.Here Arkana's approach is just the right amount of off-kilter in delivery, sounding not unlike Al Jourgensen during Ministry's transitional period from With Sympathy to Twitch (which is, as far as I am concerned, far and away their best era).The chintzy drum machine reappears on "Fables", but here in a slower, more depressive context overall.With strong melodies and nice outbursts in the chorus, there is a great shifting dynamic throughout.
For other songs here, the duo bring out some more modern sounds, while still keeping the nostalgic elements fully in play."Angel Unaware" is a mix of classic stiff beats and modern sounding synth melodies, but rounded out nicely with a bit of undeniable FM synthesis sounding bass towards the end of the song."I'm Yours" again has more of a contemporary sounding synth lead throughout, but the mix and production is sparse enough to capture that vintage feel the duo embraces throughout.
Some of the other standout moments for me were where Arkana and Eldridge seemed to step furthest out of their comfort zone."Memories" is all robotic voice samples and showcases traditional pop sensibilities, made all the more compelling by a Kraftwerky chorus that is extremely memorable."Leave It All Behind", on the other hand, is more of a percussive beast, with programmed drums and percussive synth leading the way.But around this is some Latin/House tinged layers and even a bit of piano at the end, culminating in some very disparate, yet somehow complementary styles.
Two remixes also appear on the album, with stalwarts Assemblage 23 reworking "In Here" and Covenant taking on "I'm Yours".Thankfully, the approach to remixing is thematically consistent with the rest of the record, because unlike many of today’s modern remixes, both retain most of their original elements.They are reshaped to be somewhat more club friendly, but neither are significant departures from the source material.Assemblage 23’s version of "In Here" is particularly the standout, with the chorus expanded even more and the addition of orchestra hit samples really driving the vintage feel home.
As I have stated in other reviews, I tend to not follow the current industrial scene too closely, preferring some of the genre's outliers that are making music more consistent with what I grew up listening.Which is exactly why Distance by Design worked so well for me, since Rexx Arkana and Eric Eldredge not only channel those early days so well via Coldkill, but also knowing Arkana was an actual participant in the genre during its earliest days.The album stands strongly on its own, but having that genuine old school credibility is a nice added bonus as well.
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