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![cover image](/brain/images/khanatecleanhandsgofoul.jpg)
“Wings from Spine” has been long available on James Plotkin’s website as a work in progress and to finally hear the finished song is immensely satisfying. Alan Dubin snarls the lyrics like a feral demon. The erratic and frenetic music moves away from the slow pacing of old. This adds a ton of menace to the band’s sound but at the cost of tension. While tension is Khanate’s strongest asset, its lack is made up for by the power of “Wings from Spine.” However, the absence of any tangible dread on “Clean My Heart” makes it the weakest track on the album. It plods along aimlessly and creates no feelings of despair; it is a pale shadow when matched against Khanate at full steam.
One of the group’s biggest influences is Fushitsusha and, on “In That Corner,” this influence comes through clearly. Stephen O’Malley’s usually thick and bass heavy guitar splinters into shards of glassy notes as sharp as anything Keiji Haino can muster. Out of the four pieces on this album, “In That Corner” is the only one that truly captures the cosmic horror that is central to what made Khanate so magnetic and strangely, it is the one that sounds least like what they have done before. Hearing this brought back the same sensations as hearing those opening feedback wails on “Pieces of Quiet” on their debut album. Yet when I hear the blueprint Khanate sound of “Every God Damn Thing,” it is obvious to these ears that they called it quits at the right time. Not to badmouth this track, it is good but these guys have done this before and they have done it better. The CD version of this last track is over half an hour long (compared to just under 9 minutes on the LP) so it may be better when it has three times the space to develop but it is not out until next month so I cannot compare.
Like any tombstone, this last album serves as a reminder but not a replacement for what was. Clean Hands Go Foul does not maintain the same psychological intensity that previous Khanate albums were full of. Yes it still sounds heavy and yes all the stylistic hallmarks are present and correct but at times it feels hollow. The sense of impending doom that the group could create with their geological timing and masterful control of volume is not as apparent on Clean Hands Go Foul. Out of the four pieces, two of them are fantastic and the remaining pair do not match up to the high standards I expect. The weaker tracks could easily have come from one of the many Khanate clones that now exist and I cannot help but feel that this would have been better as a two track EP. However, I am delighted to finally be able to hear these last moments of one of my favorite bands but I do not think I'll be revisiting it as often as I have with the rest of their catalogue.
This review is from the vinyl version of the album so unfortunately no sound samples at this point in time, apologies!
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![cover image](/brain/images/dredd_foole_ed_yazijian-lonesome_road_between_hurt_soul.jpg)
Of course none of this points toward a disc like this suddenly ringing significant to the average consumer of "freak-folk." While genre stars Devendra Banhart and Joanna Newsom (especially Newsom) do indulge in their fare share of extended ruminating, nobody does it quite like Foole and Yazijian. Case in point can be found on the album opener, the lengthy "You Feel." A 20-plus minute excursion into the open structural framework surrounding Foole's spare lyrical content, the work requires little in concocting its increasingly distorted take on the quirky energy wrought by precursors such as The Fugs and Holy Modal Rounders. Delta guitar slides, plucks, and Foole's thick and emotive vocals drift endlessly into a strange space of punk attitude fed through folk styles and extended motions on variations.
"Buzzin' Fly" follows a similar format, stretching out over 15 minutes as the two seem to craft the piece on the spot. Foole's vocals are sincere to the point of intimidation, and the work is unabashedly pretty, not afraid to stick with its own guns and counting on those to keep the work interesting. It's a refreshingly unpretentious take that is neither hyper-aware of its own coolness factor nor unaware of its influences.
It is this stripped down honesty that ultimately makes the record as worthwhile as it is. Too often this sort of record either comes across as schmaltzy or self-indulgent, but the relationship between these two is long and well traveled, so it's easy for egos to be left at the door. On "Freedom" Foole sings and strums about, you guessed it, freedom, singing that, "someone said my freedom is gone." Meanwhile Yazijian's broad fiddle strokes push on the outer bounds of the form as his tones swirl in instrumental proof that such is not the case whatsoever.
"Love in the Basement" is likely the most amorphous work on the record as the two tap and twist wah'd lines around strange vocal incantations that stretch the Yardbirds classic "For Your Love" beyond recognition. Meanwhile a droney line and poetic discourse is undergone on "Charlestown Blue," further delving into the basement punk roots that are so deeply engrained in the duo's sound.
Ultimately, it's this extended sense of discourse and the raw honesty which is most effective here. These are pop tunes at heart perhaps, but they are folkier, rawer, and stranger than so many who seek to be. There is no posing necessary here though, and there is nothing more exciting than that.
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![cover image](/brain/images/jozef_van_wissem-it_is_all_that_is_made.jpg)
The conceptual basis of these works seems to, at least on the surface, be a major restriction on Wissem's compositional potential. While some of the works here consist of reworkings of 17th-century pieces and others are entirely Wissem's own, each work undergoes the same process by which it is played forward and then reversed. This palindromic approach essentially makes for twice the material out of half the composition, but Wissem's works are bare enough that even a reversal doesn't feel like a rehashing of stale ideas. Ultimately, it would seem that the approach is intended to infuse the pieces with a circular narrative whose form is removed from the very classical forms most often associated with Wissem's instrument.
As aforementioned, these ideas, however, are largely lost due to Wissem's compositional style: a fact that ultimately lends credibility to the lutenist's compositional talents. The disc opens with the gentle and spacious "Darkness Falls Upon The Face Of The Deep," a soft and sad progression that achieves the folky feel of a skeletal Fahey work. Each note is treated with respect, each chord used to further the emotive resonance of the piece.
Elsewhere, Wissem does busy his playing a bit more, as on the title track, whose finger-picked elegance has a descending bass line that lends a depth of emotion far more complex than the seemingly happy-go-lucky high-end. "In You Dwells The Light Which Never Sets" manages to sound almost banjo-esque as Wissem works and reworks the deceptively simple sounding melodic line, first with a pointillist approach and then with a sparer, more obtuse treatment of the material. The reversal is clearest when given stylistic markers such as these.
Either way, it is ultimately Wissem's compositions that shine through most strongly here. He is both a fantastic player and writer, and his reverence for his instrument's history—and thus its future—is commendable. Rarely is such an archaic sounding instrument used with such open and organic respect.
The closing "Sola Fide," a work commissioned by London's National Gallery, is meant as an aural depiction to "The Ambassador," a painting by Hans Holbein from 1533. The lively delicacy of the work breathes new life into a painting that is otherwise largely irrelevant to today's lifestyle, and it is this that Wissem does throughout with his own instrument. His work is vibrant and beautiful, but more importantly it meshes the old with the new, poising Wissem as, ironically, an ambassador for the future of a far underused musical tool.
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![cover image](/brain/images/calcination-calcination.jpg)
The opening track "Shadows" begins the album with a roar, a harsh blast of guitar noise and overdriven low end scrape, along with a bit of punishing white noise above everything just for good measure. Through the fog of noise the occasional overt guitar tone rises to the surface, and what could be a tortured horn blast somewhere in the muck and mire. Not until around half way through the track does a layer resembling a chugging guitar riff come to the forefront, giving the bleakness a rhythmic underpinning while the noise continues to swirl up around it.
The shorter middle track, "Chystka" begins with a somewhat more conventional sound, a bit of lo-fi raw guitar noodling that sounds like a 1980s metalhead screwing around in his bedroom before everything rapidly descends into distortion hell. Everything becomes consumed by overdriven analog low end crunch, with violent noise elements cutting and out. One thing that separates this track from so many others though is a lot of subtle, sometimes imperceptible sounds scattered throughout. While the focus is clearly the fuzzed out stuff, the slightest change in volume, EQ, or possibly even speaker placement can reveal something different that was seemingly not there just a moment ago.
The longer closing "Let 100 Flowers Bloom" has a similar approach, but rather than opening with the harder stuff, it is more of a slow transition. It leads off with more open space, though an ominous hum stays looming throughout. What sounds like fragments of chimes and little twittering notes scurry about. The hum becomes entwined with a harmonium drone and stays with this atmospheric vibe for about ten minutes. Then, the noise blasts back up to the surface and devours everything, bringing the track closer and closer to what is traditionally labeled noise, even with the somewhat-less treated sax roaring up painfully.
The best part of this album is that there is a lot of subtleties scattered about that pull it away from simple noise drone and into a more nuanced work that builds in complexity the more I listened to it. Rather than just being cranked up to annoy neighbors (like many similar projects can be), there is a lot more to appreciate here rather than just the physical elements.
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![cover image](/brain/images/yves_de_mey-lichtung.jpg)
The dance this was initially composed for was based upon the concept of a sustained physical state, with unique physical elements slowly added to the performance, which the sound matches perfectly. The opening of a quiet, yet very high register digital buzz remains as the basis of the piece throughout most of its 30+ minute duration. Clicks and glitches play a role throughout, but also serve to represent that initial sustained status.
Early on even some of the unique sounds become noticeable: low end guitar tones occasionally arise to compliment the static, a much more dominant and forceful sound contrasted with the otherwise unobtrusive buzz. These prominent, but still dulcet tones increase in intensity and duration, but never feel out of place.
Other nearly identifiable sounds, such as what could be looped and reversed guitar feedback become the focus, as does some distant repeated digital pinging sounds and insect like static interference that clicks and clatters away. The static is met with another droning element, the sound of high-tension power lines on a windy day.
The piece builds up in complexity from here, the sustained elements become more prominent as the static and powerline hum gets upgraded with some consistent low end bass rumble, and the still-appearing guitar notes increase in frequency along with rhythmic fluttering textures, like the sound of digital hummingbirds circling the area as the sound swells, and then pulls away to a more spacious mix.
At this point the melodic elements disappear, leaving the remnants of pulses and electric swells to become the focus, as more subtle pings and watery blasts of static come back in, dissolving into erratic, reverb-encased clicks. A lower frequency melody eventually appears, along with some deep, dark bass synth like notes and a slowly spreading menacing drone. Finally, this drone is the only thing that remains, a slow and distant rumble that subtly ends the piece.
The variation on this single piece is almost dizzying, as just when it seems to lock into a consistent set of sounds, something new and different comes in and upsets the balance, but in a good way. I first played this while doing other (non-music related) activities and rather than fading into the background and just acting on the subconscious level, I caught myself not being able to aim my attention away, which rarely happens with music of this ilk. The amount of variation in this one piece is fascinating, I just wish there would have been an inclusion of the dance performance for comparison purposes.
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![cover image](/brain/images/andrea_parkins-faulty_broken_orbit.jpg)
It's an exciting place to be, but a precipitous one as well, and success in this scenario is often judged largely as nothing more than an avoidance of potential disaster. Yet Parkins puts this tendency to rest with ease, breaking the work into six tracks that each explores her immense hi-fidelity electronic swathes interwoven with aurally tactile amplified objects. This can be seen from the get-go, as "i" opens with a series of gentle scrapes that sound like a comb run over a table. Soon electronic washes glide in, adding to the alien trajectory of the work whose overall organizing principles feel more like a Cagean experiment with chance operations and "small sounds" then the contemporary electronic works most prevalent today.
To some extent, it seems to be this distinction that best sums up Parkins' sound. In the environment Parkins sets up, no sound is uninteresting and each detail is worth the attention afforded it in such an open sonic space. It is music whose visual accompaniment might well change the entire effect (as one sees the contact mic'd brushes--or whatever she's using--run across some metallic sheet). Instead, the disc provides only the aural imprint of the work, and the result is refreshingly abrasive without being overtly harsh. This is hyper-reality, not sur-reality.
Elsewhere Parkins uses her processed accordion, an instrument the timbre and effect of which is barely recognizable among the clicks and nearly sterile screes of data breakdown. This is perhaps clearest on "ii," as the accordion tones wheeze and wooze against a noisy field of sound that could well be a recording of some microscopic insect world. Each tone is clear and concise, but barely any sound is decipherable.
Ultimately this means that barely anything on here approaches any kind of groove in the typical sense. Sure, there are drones, patterns, constructions and even notes, but the overall build leaves little to hold on to, making each second as surprising and intriguing as the last. It's refreshing to hear someone who sounds as though even they are discovering the material as the piece is underway, adding to the genuine sense of new that emanates throughout the work. This is not "experimental" music, but what it is is far more intriguing. It is a genuine example of sound exploration that raises an eyebrow in that unique space between curious discovery and terrified intrigue, and that is too rare a thing in a world that so frequently bestows the title of "experimental" upon itself.
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Kentucky's Vestigial Limb is not likely to emerge from the endless, faceless hordes of the harsh electronics tape underground anytime soon, but Ray Shinn is intermittently really damn good at what he does. I did not expect Kentucky to be a particularly fertile bed for avant-garde electronics.
 
905 Tapes
Vestigial Limb's Ray Shinn creates extremely dense and complex noise collages using tapes, a record player, and electronics.Notably, it is surprisingly listenable stuff- more noise-damaged ambient than harsh noise.Unfortunately, he can be maddeningly inconsistent, despite showing flashes of brilliance and inspiration.
The first of the five untitled tracks on Sour Gas Kills is unquestionably my favorite: a deep and engulfing roar with subtly shifting melodic swells buried in the maelstrom.Occasionally it is punctuated by stutters or strangled feedback squawks, but the oddly soothing and wavering avalanche continues unabated for nearly nine minutes.There is a staggering amount of stuff happening, which makes for enjoyable repeat listenings, but none of it detracts from the engulfing wash of sculpted entropy.
The very brief second track is lurching and spacious and built upon a very dense blurt of looping feedback. It works quite well, but it is over far too soon.In fact, the sustained inspiration and crushing awe of the first track is never repeated again, sadly.The side ends with a somewhat off-kilter white noise blowout built around some mangled-sounding string plucking.It coheres into fairly heavy tsunami of low-end white noise, but that particular niche is already oversaturated and Shinn doesn't bring anything particularly unique to it.
Disappointingly, the second side picks up right where the first side left off- another low-end static-y roar (the only real difference is that an occasional stutter has been added).Thankfully, the final track comes a bit closer to the mark.While not as stunning as the opening track, it approximates the feeling of being trapped in a howling, electronically treated, arctic windstorm that is intermittently broken by fleeting flickers of music or radio sounds.It is a bit too one-dimensional to go on for ten minutes, but it is undeniably intense and visceral.Oddly, something that sounds vaguely like human vocals appears near the end, but they manage to sound surprisingly like a confused cow.I haven't decided whether that is a good thing or a bad thing yet, but it is certainly noteworthy regardless.
Overall, I'm a bit disappointed and frustrated by this release, as the first track is inarguably great and shows enormous promise.It is obvious that Shinn knows what sounds good and how to do it, but he seems to be coasting on autopilot for much of the rest of this release.This cassette-only release is limited to fifty copies, so move fast if this is your thing.Even if you miss it, the label is worth checking out anyway.
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One must be a truly devoted and deluded fan to appreciate what Bob Mould has done since the dissolution of Sugar, his nonpareil power pop trio. While never losing his charm, the unexceptional songs on The Last Dog and Pony Show and Modulate simply couldn't match the magnificence of Black Sheets of Rain or Workbook. Much has been said about Mould's insistence on blending electronics into his otherwise traditional alterna-rock formula, and there's little reason at this point to dwell on the less-than-stellar results of his experimentation, other than to say it digressed more than a little uncomfortably towards some sort of Fall Out Boy / Good Charlotte pantomime. After all, Life and Times, his new album, is by far the finest of his post-Sugar discography.
Like last year's half-bad District Line and the genuinely mediocre Body of Song before it, the record kicks off with a terrific opener, in this case the downright romantic title track. Yet unlike the subsequent fizzling-out trend that defined that aforementioned duo of albums, Life and Times amazingly gets even better as it goes along. Both "The Breach" and "City Lights" effortlessly balance his Americana leanings with that unmistakable desire to rock out when the chorus comes around. But things get particularly exhilarating when the opening guitar plucking of "MM 17" rapidly shifts into a raucous rocker replete with overdriven chords and even some fetching soloing. While Mould hasn't completely abandoned the use of synthesizers—unsurprising given his continuing DJ career—he puts them to good, subtle use here. "Argos" is the real shocker, though: a straightforward two-minute punk ditty that resurrects Hüsker Dü for this side of the millennium. It really ought to be the next single for this record, as it deserves modern rock radio play and, yes, even one of those newfangled music videos I've been hearing so much about.
Like its recent predecessors, Life and Times is weighed down by overproduction, though the durability of these memorable, accessible songs counters much of that upon repeat listens. Considering the lushly dissonant closer "Lifetime," I long for something less gratuitously slathered in showy studio effects. It's been two decades since Mould gave us something stripped down with soul-bearing / soul-searching honesty. The appropriate way to follow up Life and Times, the fulfillment of the sound he's been earnestly crafting this century, would be to return to a stark sound that best complements that bruised, beautiful heart.
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Sentient Recognition Archive
Caldera Lakes was an extremely good idea: Eva’s harsh power electronics are the perfect foil for Brittany’s woozy and spooky acappella excursions. The sum here is greater than the individual parts, as Eva’s talents are much easier to appreciate in a more melodic environment, while Brittany’s narcotized beauty is enhanced by the visceral heft of Aguilera's violent bursts of dissonance.
"Snowstorm" begins with a simple and eerie looped vocal melody. It is gradually augmented by subtle shimmering and scratchy ambiance, while rhythmic stabs of harsh white noise regularly disrupt the alien and womblike bliss. The noise becomes increasingly invasive as the track progresses and eventually takes over completely before vanishing and leaving only the floating, melancholy vocal loop. The effect is not unlike flipping through radio stations late at night and finding an unfamiliar, heart-stopping, and totally unexpected song, then having it be mutilated by fading reception, but desperately hoping for a few more fragments to pierce through the static squall. This is exactly what I want from noise music.
Eva and Brittany misstep a bit with the stuttering, glitchy "Shotgun #2," although it eventually coheres into a fairly impressive and pummeling white noise assault near the end. Fortunately, "Tornado" is a welcome (and possibly even superior) return to the brilliant aesthetic of the opening track. A machine-like rhythm, howling storms of white noise, and feedback all fight to drown out Brittany's sleepy mangled vocals, lo-fi Bjork-isms, and wavering mutant nocturnal forest sounds. The closing track, "We Never Talked About It," doesn't play to the band's strengths, as it errs a bit too much on the side of harshness and Brittany's vocals are a bit too goth-y and plaintive, but it still ends strongly on a haunting and lovelorn-sounding vocal loop.
I suppose I cannot enthusiastically proclaim this to be a masterpiece, as I only loved half of the songs. However, the tough part is out of the way for Caldera Lakes: they already have a stunning, unique, and recognizable aesthetic. Hopefully, they will continue to get better and better at consistently finding the perfect balance between beauty and chaos, but it doesn't matter if they do. Even one song as good as "Tornado" or "Snowstorm" per album is enough to maintain my enthusiasm.
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Bernard Szajner was born in Grenoble as WWII was ending. His Polish Jewish parents hid him in a cave out of fear of the Nazis and of deportation. It may not be a coincidence that he became interested in magic lantern phantasmagorias, automatons, and other spectacles of darkness, light and sound. Szajner worked as a lighting engineer and laser technician for Gong, Magma, and The Who, and on projects such as the Crystal Machine and the Laser Harp. Eventually, tired of dealing with egos, frustrated by lack of funds, and unable to find musicians to compose for his visual displays, he got a synthesizer and learned how to produce the sounds he needed.
Visions of Dune was Szajner's response to Frank Herbert's epic adventure. It didn't do too well but resulted in a commission from Amnesty International to compose a 30 second piece for an anti-death penalty commercial. This led to Some Deaths Take Forever, his concept album exploring the feelings of two prisoners on death row, which was voted Melody Maker's Record of The Week and in their Top 10 LPs of The Year. Szaner would also work with Howard Devoto on Brute Reason; a project mostly ignored or panned by critics.
The title is a deliberate contradiction and comes from Graham Greene's Journey Without Maps which mentions "superficial music which just tickled the surface of the mind, didn't tiresomely claim any deep emotion whether grief or exaltation." The music is some of the most extraordinary musique concrete available anywhere. Perhaps that is down to the integrity of the original Visions of Dune blueprint, but Szaner's use of electronic percussion, pitch change feedback, and drone is done with such a deft touch that nothing sounds like a gimmick, or merely included for shock value. On the contrary, it sounds as if an orchestra is playing perplexing music in a very distant room. I found the short piece "Superficial Music 2" particularly affecting, but the entire album is involving and accessible, while never really trying for overtly emotional territory.
Also included is Oswiecim (the Polish word for Auschwitz, the death camp where more than a million people were killed from 1942-45) a three part work dealing with Szajner's extended family's experience of the Holocaust. Oswiecim originally was side two of Superficial Music. For this CD reissue, two extra tracks (from 1982) are a welcome addition in terms of quality and similarity of sound. Szajner abandoned music for many years (after a deal with Island records) disillusioned that his work was being trivialized by the sole focus on his Laser Harp. LTM's excellent reissue is quite timely, as now, after 16 years away from music (working in theater, painting and light sculpture) Szajner has no less than four new albums ready for release. One of these was apparently composed entirely with digital pencil and piano samples. It would seem that Bernard Szajner has lost neither his experimental drive nor his technical skill. He has belatedly received several prestigious awards in France and I expect he will be name-checked by younger admirers as his work is rediscovered.
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Although Szajner is somewhat of an obscure figure now, Some Deaths Take Forever was not only critically acclaimed, but influential as well. Carl Craig has stated that it is his favorite album ever. Szajner’s accolades and influential friends are impressive, but looking back his musical innovation may have been overstated. Many people were making dark, sci-fi influenced snyth-music at the time. Some Deaths take Forever doesn’t transcend the genre, but there are elements that make it stand out. Not content to let his synths play themselves, Szajner wrote fully realized compositions with an obvious beginning, middle, and end. The instrumentation is also diverse; Szajner included piano, guitar, electric piano, even a bassoon into the mix. On “Resurrector,” drum rolls combine with pearly arpegiatted tones and phased guitar until the tension boils over like a pot of spaghetti. The clever introduction of new instruments and moods keeps the songs from stagnating. Rather than being just a soundtrack, it has the complexity and self contained logic of a proper album.
As much as I enjoyed Some Deaths take Forever, it is definitely of its time, rather than ahead of it. The digital keyboard was just being introduced and its clear yet flat sound can be heard in the ersatz cello of “A Single Broken Wing” or the fake brass in “Suspended Animation.” The tone of the electric guitars sounds dated as well, the string bends and flighty solos are a bit too theatrical for a documentary about death row. Judging the album by today’s tastes isn’t entirely fair, though. After all, Szajner was working with the technology and musicians available to him at the time. He couldn’t have known that his music was going to sound retro 20+ years down the line. In any case, Szajner’s dynamic sense counterbalances the limitations of his style and instruments.
The album has enough unique moments to be enjoyed instead of relegated to a time capsule. “A Kind of Freedom” begins as a radio collage that morphs into a sad processional with jazzy Rhodes playing and synths that bob up and down in airy portamento. The bonus track, “Thol Ostia,” follows that up with dreamy minimalist ambiance anchored by marimbas and high, cybernetic whistling. These pieces are harder to categorize and they reinforce Szajner’s reputation as a lost genius of synth music. Perhaps he was not as forward looking as his supporters assumed, but his music demonstrates a technical density and driving energy that makes it exciting almost three decades later.
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