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Much of the music on Oaks gives the illusion of simplicity. In fact Ethan Rose took around 18 months to fashion this album by recording and manipulating the sound of the 1926 Wurlitzer theater pipe organ in Oaks Park, Portland. The result is unobtrustive, calming, and has an immediately familiar feeling reminiscent of ambient tape loop experiments. This is not, though, a disc to put on and ignore while doing something else. From the first distinct notes, which cut through the silence and hang like crystal stalagtites, Rose's attention to detail is palpable. Not everyone will care about his methodology but he achieves an undeniable air of nostalgia and yearning.
The Oaks Park was built by the Oregon Water Power and Railway Company and opened on May 30, 1905. The park homepage describes it as often used as a business retreat and for weddings and holidays but being "rather uncrowded at other times." Suitably then, a pleasant loneliness pervades the entire record, especially on "Mighty Mighty" with high notes suggesting flickering sunlight, and distant low tones booming like the heartbeat of a sleeping giant. As the world becomes more crowded and peaceful isolation rarer it is no wonder that memories of the past take on a rosy hue. Fittingly, there is an aura of precious melancholy throughout Oaks, and "Scenes From When" is a very apt track title.
Oaks Park has amusements such as Looping Thunder (a rollercoaster), Rock-O-Plane (like a Ferris wheel but with enclosed seat) and Big Pink (a large slide that is now pink, yellow and blue). However, the best feature of the park is commonly accepted to be a wooden roller skating rink. Every Thursday and Saturday skaters are "serenaded" by the pipe organ—the largest in any skate park in the world. I doubt they will ever hear the organ produce anything more ethereal and transporting as Rose manages on Oaks.
The rink is close to the Willamette River it is traditionally prone to flooding. To counter this the rink floor was set on floating pontoons and, when a flood advisory is issued, the floor is separated from the rest of the building foundation. Two tracks refer to this threat and its solution. "Rising Waters" drips and crackles with faint sounds which vaguely resemble raindrops and lightning. "The Floor Released" has bubbling low and sparkling high notes which mutate into an intricate swell. The track also features a wheezing sound which accentuates the overall sense that Oaks is proceeding at the pace of steady, deep breathing.
Elements of repetition in the music are appropriate, given the circular paths taken by skaters going round a rink. Rose manages to balance a light atmosphere with an intimate intensity which, as aforementioned, comes from his attention to detail. As well as computer and electronics he benefits from the many pipes, instruments, and sound effects on the organ itself. These include gamba, vox humana, viol celeste, horn diapason, kinura, tibia, chrysoglott, chinese block, sleigh bells, tom, boat whistle, and telephone bells. The mood-defining opener, "On Wheels Rotating," is my favorite example of this and contains perhaps the broadest palate of sound; deep resonant tones and peaks of gorgeous spinning sound—like I imagine the lovely humming of a gyroscopic dervish ensemble.
To confuse matters a little, Ethan Rose's music is featured in Gus Van Sant's skateboarding film Paranoid Park, whereas Oaks Park has been featured in the films Untraceable (2008) and Breaking In (1987). I haven't seen any of those but I have seen Blade Runner, though, and am happy to report that—barring a couple of very briefly similar moments—Oaks avoids the heavy-handed saccharine sentimentality which now makes much of that soundtrack unlistenable.
Back in January, 2009, skaters at the Oaks Park roller rink were treated to Rose playing the whole album for a release party, along with a set by the resident organist, Keith Fortune. I am still returning to enjoy the disc six months later. With Oaks, Ethan Rose taps into the individual experience of considering or gazing at a beloved place or physical emotional landmark: willow tree, deserted ballroom, still pond, crumbling cliff, neglected castle, or even roller rink.
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![cover image](/brain/images/gavinbryarsensemblesinkingtitanicltm.jpg)
The reissue of this particular recording comes at a particularly poignant time both in light of the history of the Titanic, recent air disasters and for personal reasons. Last month, the only remaining survivor of the Titanic disaster passed away aged 97. Although Millvina Dean was only a baby at the time, it is an important milestone in the history of the Titanic as its last human link has now left us and Bryars work now becomes musical archaeology. Equally, it is hard not to think of lives lost in the recent air disasters involving Air France off Brazil and Yemenia Airways off the Comoros Islands which have both resulted in so much loss of life. In particular, the Yemenia Airways disaster has a touch of that Titanic myth with its sole survivor being rescued despite the totality of the destruction.
On a more personal note, I lost my grandmother earlier this year after a long battle with illness. We used to watch movies together and one of the last films we watched together was her favorite, A Night to Remember. In the film, when the Titanic goes down the band play the hymn “Nearer, My God, to Thee.” At her funeral, we requested “Nearer, My God, to Thee” to be sung and in the weeks after, I found my own solace in the The Sinking of the Titanic. Of course, the music Bryars based his piece on was not “Nearer, My God, to Thee” but on the hymn “Autumn” as this is the most likely swan song according to the accounts from the last survivors who abandoned ship. In the sleeve notes (as interesting as the music), Bryars discusses how different hymns became tied up in the myth surrounding the Titanic but equally how important each of these myths are to the nature of his piece.
Out of the four recorded versions now available of The Sinking of the Titanic, I will admit that this one is the least satisfying. The performance starts too hastily for my preferences (the first few bars sounding a little forced) and its length (an hour) is not justified when compared to the superior short version and the better developed long versions that were recorded afterwards. However, aside from these frankly minor reservations there is little here to fault. Bryars' utilization of violas instead of the usual violins gives the music has a softer feeling. It is fascinating to hear the introduction of new elements like marimba, bass clarinet and the bell which are used so effectively in later recordings.
The edges are further blurred by the resonance of the water tower in which it was performed. Out of the three storeys of the tower, the ensemble played on the lowest storey (after having the water drained out) while the audience were placed on the middle floor. In order to further link the music to idea of an orchestra playing as they submerge, all the music was channelled through the empty top storey before reaching the audience; in essence the music was filtered by the water tower. In the sleeve notes, Bryars relates an incident of art imitating life as he reveals that shortly into the performance, the drained water started to leak back in and fill up the water tower as they played. Finding himself in the same position as the orchestra he is so fascinated with, his ensemble risked their own safety in order to finish the piece (although in more danger of electrocution rather than drowning).
Overall, there is so much tied up in Bryars’ The Sinking of the Titanic that I find it hard to be in any way objective about it. Even without the knowledge of the thinking behind the piece, the music is so startling in its beauty and its sadness that it is essential listening on that level alone. Combined with the conceptual side of things (and for me, its emotional baggage), it is a devastating work of such magnitude that I cannot begin to convey how vital it is. This reissue may not be The Sinking of the Titanic in its most perfect state but it shows how the piece evolved from its 1975 recorded debut on Obscure Records to the masterful and definitive 1994 recording on Point Records; further reinforcing Bryars insistence that this be a continually evolving composition.
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![cover image](/brain/images/bohrenundderclubofgoremitleidlady.jpg)
While I would have loved for another couple of pieces, I can forgive Bohren for coming up with only one awesome track due to the limited working time in Southern Record’s studio (where all the Latitudes releases are recorded, usually in a day). Although this is the first release they recorded since Geisterfaust, it seems the band had returned once again to the more accessible style perfected on Black Earth and later on Dolores.
There are no surprises here as to how “Mitleid Lady” sounds; extended notes on the electric piano punctuated by stabs of gorgeous nocturnal jazz melodies, all the while conjuring up images of beautiful women, shadows and intrigue.
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![cover image](/brain/images/musica_elettronica_viva-mev_40.jpg)
By continuously extending their musical vocabulary, the sound world of Musica Elettronica Viva (MEV) has remained on the cutting edge of improvisational praxis. The prospect of remaining in a comfortable niche is not something I imagine these musicians would relish. Instead they have made a habit of pushing on the boundaries, of going into domains of practice that test the limits of their abilities, allowing them to expand on their already formidable technical proficiencies. Each member of MEV functions as a tributary bringing in a diverse range of skill sets to their collaborative river of song. The core group consists of Alvin Curran, who has seemingly embraced the entire spectrum of contemporary non-commercial music; Frederic Rzeweski, composer and virtuoso pianist; Richard Teitelbaum, electronic aficionado and pioneer of brainwave generated music; and Garret List, trombonist extraordinaire. As a collective they have amplified their power by bringing in an extremely talented cast of characters that included, among others, saxophonist Steve Lacy, whose presence and influence is heard on a number of these tracks.
The first disc opens with “Spacecraft,” an exemplary noise piece. Highly atonal and asymmetrical, much of the sounds consist of non-traditional instruments like amplified glass plate with attached springs and contact microphones, a move that in 1967 set a precedent for what groups like Matmos and many others do today: amplifying the minutiae of sound. Mixed with a synthesizer self built by Alan Bryant from electronic organ parts and the tenor sax of Ivan Vandor this music has much of the same shrill cacophony that can be heard at any given contemporary noise show, with a notable difference: the players seem more in touch with the ability to be silent and make room for each other than much of what I hear on nights out. As such this track is my least favorite of the set, though it does have some brilliant moments. Finding those moments within its 30 minutes is what makes it problematic for me.
More nuanced than the power chords of punk rock in their strategies of opposition to the state, the socio-political concerns of MEV are a constant thread of connectivity running through their work. Collective musical improvisation is by its very nature a form that embraces egalitarianism. A traditional band set up on the other hand tends towards the hierarchical—with lead singers and lead guitars—which is possibly one of the reasons why many of them never have an active lifespan anywhere close to 40 years. Improv is open-source, free from the dogma of playing songs by rote, making intuitive leaps of the imagination the norm; and when expert players are involved their responses to each other don’t sound sloppy. Their revolt against the military industrial complex is evidenced by more than just their collective structure and approach, and can be heard on songs like “Stop the War” (a live broadcast from WBAI in New York on New Years Eve, 1972). Speaking out against Nixon and the Christmas bombing of Hanoi, Vietnam, this number contains snippets and phrases from traditional war time standards like "When Johnny Comes Marching Home" and "Taps," and carries an emotional resonance that is made all the more powerful by the gorgeous interplay between delicate piano lines and electronic squelch burst from the moog. “Mass.Pike,” from 2007, sends the anti-war message out once more, quoting the above mentioned songs again, but in a different sonic context, along with a conversation of sampled voices saying, “bashing the federal government/I’m not bashing the federal government I’m bashing Slick Willie because he deserves bashing. This is a democracy is it not? We do have a first amendment do we not? Do we not have a first amendment?”
Listening to the entire set is a substantial investment of time, and though it certainly can be enjoyed as background music, attentive listening offers deeper rewards and a more lasting impression. The songs themselves are, for the most part, presented in chronological order; most likely they all would have been if half of them were not over 40 minutes long. “Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam Pt. 1” and “Pt.2” are thus separated onto discs two and three. It is in the two parts of this performance that some of their most wild playing occurs, as they range out into nearly interplanetary, diverse musical territories. Rzewski plays electronically processed prepared piano on this outing, giving his instrument a nearly alien timbre, well matched with the wheezing soprano sax of Steve Lacy. The group moves easily from slowly churning quiet moments, full of groans and creaks, to insane time signatures that make my mathematically incompetent mind spin with delirium. Throughout the entire set the electronic elements are expertly mixed with the acoustic, each accentuating the other without domination. In each performance there is something new and surprising. Frequently, when I think I have pinned a song down to its constituent elements, to its overall mood and feel, it shifts gears, and spins off on a new trajectory. This is a labyrinth, a musical version of Jorge Luis Borges Garden of Forking Paths, a place where each choice is met with further endless choices and where infinite possibilities hide behind every corner.
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![cover image](/brain/images/hugo_filho-paraibo.gif)
While the album will certainly not be a revelation to those already attuned to the likes of Os Mutantes, Gilberto Gil or Lula Cortes, it is a valuable document of the era's ripe musical scene. The opening title track's simple melody and stripped back production blend Byrds-like fluidity with a distinctly Brazilian sound. The song seems well aware of its strengths and, conversely, its limitations, making for a wholly mature sound whose restraint is as notable as its flavor.
At just under a half hour in length, the album has little time to waste, so each of the eight songs stick closely to the qualities of the opener, representing concise, almost sketch-like frameworks whose material alludes to an even grander potential. Yet the bedroom intimacy of songs like "Quem Me Viu Por Ai?" have a charm all its own, calm, relaxed, and distinctly summery.
Elsewhere the group does display some edge, albeit in a highly sun-splotched manner. The wah'd guitar line of "Meu Sol" hints at the underlying culture from which this album was born, but again it keeps its cards close to its chest. "Quero Voce, Voce" sprawls out a bit, drawing the pop elements out and combing them into a subtly psychedelic, tempo-shifting feel-good romp.
The understated mastery of form is again apparent on "Medu," eschewing the tpyically busy ornamentation of the time for sparsely accompanied, yet equally colorful and playful, melodic lines whose emotional depth is sincere without being cheesy, exciting without being intimidating. The snake charm line backing "Arcozelo" provides grim, prog-rock shadows to the otherwise buoyant backing band.
Considering the widespread love of Brazilian music from this era, it is little surprise that an album originally limited to 500 copies would fly under the radar. And while many releases are far more psychedelic or adventurous or overtly exciting, few are as consistent in material and realization. The closing "Valsa Para Fabrici," with its opening mournful guitar line, flute whisps and stuttering bird-like synthesizer, is as restrained as anything Mutantes ever released, but in this context the result is as surprising as much of that group's output, moving into gliding, surf's up guitar before simmering along into near circus theme fare. Again, the excitement here is in its material, not necessarilly its construction, and with material this good how can you blame them?
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![cover image](/brain/images/kevin_tomkins-loss.jpg)
Loss opens with "Dignity for a Dying Man," a 15-minute piece of noisy chaos over gliding violin loops and low register murky guitar. The combination of the noisier guitar and scatter-shot sound collage with Tomkins’ snarling, disgusted vocals give the track a rambling, manic feel, though the looped violin keeps it somewhat reigned in. The violin also appears on "I Cannot Loose the Thing I Never Had" and also provides a more gentle counter-balance to the rawer noise collage elements, but its calmer opening, paired with gentle guitar, starkly contrasts the industrial collage that ends the song.
The backward loops and wheezing sounds of "See Her Disappear" make it perhaps the most dissonant piece here. Never really reaching into the land of noise, it instead cradles a creepy sense of isolation, from the random looped sounds and nasal vocals that appear feel like the sonic equivalent of a madman’s ranting. "Fucking Loss" and "Double Dare" go the other direction, being equally traditional guitar playing and fuzzed out chaos, the latter’s soft vocals and random violent guitar outbursts give a good sense of the alternating depression and rage that comes with any form of loss.
Kevin Tomkins’ vocals, especially in the late 1990s incarnation of Sutcliffe Jugend, have always worked best while in a rage: the SJ material managed to be disturbing and sound truly deranged even when the lyrics occasionally delved into near self-parody territory, and his screaming in Bodychoke complimented his more quiet passages well. Here it is a bit more of a mixed bag, considering most of the pieces are built upon dramatic, disgusted snarling, which is sometimes TOO over the top. Occasionally he channels a bit of Nick Cave with his angst, but never quite reaching the same levels of technicality, instead moments feel more like the angry ramblings of a shut-in. Which, given the concept and motivation behind the album, works well in that capacity.
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The other album is split down the middle into two distinct parts. The first four pieces date from 2003 and 2004 of collaged vocal noises. The first of the four layers cut up fragments of voice that sound like they’re speaking an alien language over drawn out and pitch shifted ambient passages of voice. The second segment mixes frog-like guttural groans and falsetto like gibberish singing, not far removed from some of Mike Patton’s work or Yamatsuka Eye’s vocal spasms with Naked City. There is a more musical quality here, with occasional bits of jazzy scat singing and lighter moments that resemble an army of gnomes running around a field.
The third segment’s deep grows and breathing are pegged out volume wise to the point of overdriven distortion and the rhythmic elements and processing makes it feel like a capella power electronics, only eventually lightened at the end by layered chanting and more vast open soundscapes. The tracks that follow, "Attic Songs," all were recorded in one day in November 2008, take on a different quality that feel less like sound collage, and more like traditional music with voice as all instruments.
"Gentle Teather" takes buzzing loops of voice fragments and places actual soft vocals on top, the actual words counterbalancing the random phonemes and syllables nicely. "Shock and Tease" musically takes a rhythm made simply from repeating the track title over and over, but has a lighter, open quality to it. "River Fog" makes Tomkins’ voice sound like electronic percussion and droning synths that are rhythmically sequenced, with vocals on top giving it a much more "song" like quality that the first half of the disc doesn’t show.
The closing "The Third State" is the only track that incorporates other elements: Tomkins adds clarinet while his long time musical partner Paul Taylor works a vocoder and the result is a piece of marching like rhythms and clarinet squeaks that give a lighter, almost jaunty feel while the others had a more pronounced element of darkness to them.
While the Between Silences label has been releasing a lot of material from these two, it doesn’t feel excessive or overly indulgent. Each work has been distinct and extremely different from one release to the next so any attempt to combine albums would easily result in a great deal of disparate and unrelated sounds alongside each other. While I would assume many people are frustrated that these aren’t all manic, angry rants against women and prostitutes over hellish feedback, I find this greater openness and experimentation far more engaging and multifaceted than just the harsh noise they do so well.
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![cover image](/brain/images/golden_sores-a_peaceable_kingdom.jpg)
Like Locrian, The Golden Sores lean heavily on synthesizers and electronics, though the two projects are quite unique in their own way. For the most part, even with the occasionally harsher moments of this disc, it never leads into metal riffing, and when it does begin to encroach on harsher sounds, there is usually a softer ambient underpinning that keeps the dissonance reigned in.
Opener "Double Gyres" begins with organ-like opening tones that slowly drift on, an opaque wall of sound that stays static as shrill guitar feedback cuts around. The guitar tone and texture is extremely raw, but not overly harsh or aggressive, but instead provides a great counterpoint to the otherwise peaceful electronic ambience. "The Awful Rowing Toward God" is similar in its presentation with the jagged guitar shrikes, though here with lower end buzzing amp noise and a simple, but buoyant bassline that keeps the song drifting along, occasionally resembling the more electronic dub oriented Main tracks, though here the guitar slides into raw noise territory about midway though before retreating back to a more purely ambient coda.
Living up to its title, "Klonopin" is a more subdued affair. There is the cutting guitar buzz here, but it is more mellow and a bit lower in the mix. It never fully disappears or becomes ignored, but it definitely allows for more of the ambient textures to shine through, and is at its core a more subdued work than the previous two, but never falling into overly boring or mundane territory. "Ondine" also keeps the fuzzed out guitar noise reigned in, focusing instead on slower gentle notes and slow-motion sheets of sound.
The closer, "A Vision," distills much of the album down for an appropriate conclusion, combining the brittle guitar shriek with drifting synthetic ambience, though here it remains a relatively sparse mix that, while not harsh, instead has a cold, dark sense of isolation about it. The guitar swells to a buzz-saw level of noise before retreating, closing the album on a somber, restrained note.
This duo has created one of those kind of works that manages to maintain that tenuous balance between reflective ambient soundscapes and grinding, coarse guitar noise in a way that never feels like an unnecessary contrast, but instead mutually inclusive extremes that captivate for both the whisper and the roar that appear.
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![cover image](/brain/images/es_kesamaan_lapset.jpg)
The title of the record alone alludes to this intended effect, translating to "The Children of the Summerland." While this is certainly the case however, this is far from a naïve foray into elven territory. Indeed, much of the disc's strength lies in the ample inhabitance of less desirable realms, evoking a balance between tender forest traipsing and, simultaneously, a sense of the deeper mystery just behind the foliage.
The album opens on a glistening and undulatory note with "Ennen Oli Huonommin," whose backing drone grasps at the fluttering bussle of notes emitted atop. The track has the same toying playfulness of labelmate Tomutonttu's output, albeit with a real sense of direction. This forward thrust continues on the brief "Kesa Ja Hymyilevat Huulet," a mix of tinkertoy Casios and a lofty, folkloric vocal line, clarifying the album's role as a collection of songs, albeit highly abstracted, even distracted ones.
The centerpiece of the disc lies in the back-to-back efforts of "Sateet Sun Sielusta" and the album's title track, the most extended efforts here and the ones on which Sanpakkila's constructions are able to fully blossom. The former opens with a brief piano excursion whose increasing density mounts into a full blown meteor shower of trickling lines and hovering drones. Reaching far beyond the skies of many of his contemporaries, the piece is a truly momentous one whose forward thrust continues the consistent sense of trajectory runnning throughout the album.
Following in its wake is the 21-plus minute title track, whose opening vocal lines sway atop a writhing lullaby line before building into a veritable orchestra filling memories of sand castles past. The immense reach of the work is staggering, but never without a sense of intimacy or proximity; this is a series of small moments conjoined by their inherent connections, not a vast singularity too overpowering to remain relatable.
The album's closing track, "Haamut Sun Sydamesta," has a chorus of voices bounding between speakers, rendered foreign by their proximity to the psychedelic mash-up atop them, which I suppose is the idea here. A singer-songwriter album at heart, each piece takes its own path, unfolding without bounds to become a true achievement and one of the most beautiful records of summer.
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![cover image](/brain/images/robin_guthrie-angel_falls.jpg)
The most glib and simplistic (yet extremely accurate) way to describe Angel Falls is “this sounds exactly like some of the better Cocteau Twins songs, but with Liz Fraser’s vocals replaced with guitars.” Of course, I was never a particularly huge Fraser fan, so that is perfectly fine with me. However, the absence of a vocalist does have some negative consequences: pop instrumentals are kind of a hard sell. I suppose perhaps a vocalist humanizes music and creates a stronger connection with the listener, or maybe the presence of lyrics just adds more information and variation to the melody (which makes multiple listens more rewarding), or maybe there is some intangible third possibility that has not even occurred to me yet. I suspect it is a riddle that I will never truly solve. Regardless, I hope this EP finds a suitably receptive audience somehow, as this is some great summer music. It would also be great music to soundtrack a shoegazer barbeque, an alternative prom, a montage of bittersweet romantic memories, or an epic heroin binge. To his credit, Guthrie has presciently and decisively filled those niches before most of the world was even aware that they existed.
Angel Falls consists of four short songs, all of which are quite enjoyable and adhere very closely to the sound that Guthrie is known for: layers of chiming arpeggios and hazy heavily chorused chords, melodic bass lines, and an atmosphere of blissful melancholy. “Camera Lucida” kicks off the EP with all of these elements in maximum abundance and gradually builds from a gentle ringing melody into something that approaches a rock song, while the following track (“Love Never Dies a Natural Death”) is a sleepy gem of slow-motion, quavering beauty. The somewhat darker closing track (“Delicate”) is probably the best piece on the album, as it shimmers, glistens, quivers, and chimes with an elegant, spidery beauty and spacey bliss that one can only get from the guitar of Robin Guthrie. The whole thing is over in less than twenty minutes, which makes this EP a very effective teaser for Guthrie's upcoming new album: rather than overstaying its welcome, Angel Falls left me wishing it hadn't ended so soon.
While I certainly enjoyed Angel Falls quite a bit, it is nevertheless a clear example of why Guthrie has always been a bit of a puzzle to me: it has been over twenty-five years since the Cocteau Twins' debut album was released and there has been very little deviation from that original formula since. It seems strange to me that someone who heavily influenced My Bloody Valentine and played such an integral role in defining the whole shoegazer genre would be so reluctant to expand his very narrow sonic palette. I wonder if Guthrie is in a creative rut or if he just a victim of his own prolific output: it is hard to imagine Kevin Shields being as revered as he is if Loveless had been followed by half a dozen more albums in roughly the same vein. Then again, perhaps Guthrie just has a very specific vision of how he wants to sound and has spent his entire adult life trying to perfect it. Or maybe his more adventurous impulses are vented in his filmmaking and soundtrack work. Or maybe he has been saving up all of his wild and brilliant ideas for next Violet Indiana album (if it ever comes out). Yet another possibility is that I need to stop overanalyzing his creative arc and just be happy that he is sitting in France quietly amassing a large body of great songs- it’s hard to say. Regardless, a new release from Guthrie is always welcome and 2009 is packed full of them: he has a new full-length (Carousel) dropping in August and another EP (Songs to Help My Children Sleep) slated for October.
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