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Deception Island
"Woe Is the Transgression I" reminds me of Ridley Scott's Alien. Lopatin's textured drones howl and moan in an eerie fashion, sounding half organic and half synthetic. I can picture Ripley sneaking down long, unlit corridors with a murderous stalker close at hand; its shape, its movements, and its utterances also a hybrid of the natural and the technological. Lopatin's opening song for Betrayed in the Octagon could've been used as the score for the scenes in that movie where we're first introduced to the planet's surface. Or perhaps it would've better fit the scene where we see an enormous, alien "gunner" dead in a room to which he is seemingly fused. The trembling synthesizers on this album emulate such desolate locations and conjure up images of static, almost too-still environments wrecked by the passage of time. Lopatin's preference for severe austerity and decaying textures is perhaps not totally unique, but he handles them well and utilizes them to affect feelings of fear and uncertainty.
Contrasting this pseudo-industrial, desolate sound is Point Never's more melodious side. Songs like "Behind the Bank" and "Betrayed in the Octagon" are nothing more than pleasing, synthetic sonatas. I mean that quite literally. They're not composed of multiple movements, but they are solo pieces for the synthesizer or for synthesizer and sequencer. These more lively pieces tend to be calming; they do not lack intensity, but are generally less anxious. I find it difficult not to mention Vangelis and the Blade Runner soundtrack at this point. Lopatin's work isn't as ornate as Vangelis' nor is it as slinky/sexy, but there is a shared aesthetic present. The sci-fi connotations in Lopatin's abstract pieces bleed into these more conventional songs, bringing to mind data banks or overly-complex hovercraft controls alive with blinking lights and useless displays. If they weren't situated next to more menacing songs, it would be tempting to think of them as future-pastoral pieces meant to accompany or detail the racket of every day life. In any case, they're alluring songs that serve to alleviate the brooding quality of the rest of the record. They also increase the sinister atmosphere of the noisier songs by providing an extreme contrast.
If all the references to soundtracks or films seems extraneous, I bring them up for a reason: Lopatin's music is highly cinematic. Though no narrative is provided by Lopatin, his music suggests the presence of one. The constant shifting between highly structured music and abstract noise provides a sense of character, environment, and struggle. It's impossible not to imagine sinister atmospheres or alien creatures when listening to the chirps and wails of Lopatin's machines and loops. Betrayed in the Octagon escapes being incidental music, however. In this case, the music is the occasion for the film. It is so full of life and so evocative that it demands some flight of fancy. This music aims straight for the imagination and manipulates it as deftly as the best filmmaker or novelist.
Betrayed in the Octagon might be a difficult record to find. It was produced in severely limited quantity and, so far as I can tell, flew off the shelves. In addition to that, it was only available on cassette. Yet, Lopatin has developed quite a name for himself and it's not difficult to see why: his music tends to be of the highest quality. Lopatin also records with Infinity Window and Astronaut and has a number of releases under some variation of the Magic Oneohtrix Point Never name. Google might be the best way to search him out, but the last time I checked there were more than a few releases available through various well-known distributors.
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![cover image](/brain/images/deerhunter_microcastle.jpg)
While the anticipation of this album has deprived it of the element of surprise that caught audiences pleasantly off-guard with their previous album, the band immediately disarms listeners with greater emotional involvement. The voice of guitarist Lockett Pundt is first heard on "Agoraphobia" asking for cover and comfort, while later vocalist Bradford Cox sings about children wanting to grow older on "Little Kids" and the redemptive power of nostalgia on "Saved By Old Times." Cox's presence is more noticeable on this album, but the whole band's playing at a high level.
Although there is a more laid-back atmosphere on many of these songs, the band still strike up the volume when it suits them. The title track perfectly epitomizes this duality. Starting with quiet introspections, it erupts into a blissful despair that makes it the album's most immediately memorable track. The band also tosses lightning on the fiery finale of "Nothing Ever Happened" and uses cathartic feedback on "Never Stops." These single-worthy tracks are set at intervals throughout the album to keep things moving in all the right places. There is a small section that might be too quiet for some, beginning with "Calvary Scars" and ending with "Activa," but the tracks are decent and brief enough that it's more of a pause for breath than a delay. Otherwise, the pacing is just about perfect.
Not only has Deerhunter perfected the qualities that brought them attention in the first place, they've also developed their songwriting further. Cryptograms may indeed be a memorable record, but the songs on its successor are even better.
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![cover image](/brain/images/ryoji_ikeda-see_you.jpg)
Syntax
The concept of the film is simple: the day to day mundane activities that Andreas Baader would have experienced staying at the apartment of Regis Debray. Each disc is a single track, indexed into five basic activities. The opening is traditional Ikeda: a steady cricket like digital chirp and hums that are barely audible. As “Staring” continues, subtle clicks and ringing tones softly enter the mix until a jarring piece of dark ambient synths and ringing telephones appear, significantly louder than the preceding moments. The ringing continues on and on, mimicking Ikeda’s approach to tones and textures.
The sounds of water running and physical movement as part of “Cooking” is punctuated by a recurring motif of guitar chords, widely spaced and adding tension to the mix. As the disc comes to its conclusion in “Listening,” the track becomes more focused on harsh electronic tones and Morse code, fragments of voice and lost radio transmissions before swelling into a lush, traditional film score sound.
The guitar type chords appear again at the opening to the second disc: as “Tearing” transitions into “Polaroiding”, the obvious physical activities from the title are met with increasing guitar chords and eventually bass notes, creating probably the most conventionally “musical” work Ikeda has done. After that, an abrupt silence before barely perceptible ambient sounds and the heavy breathing associated with “Masturbation” stays isolated in the mix.
“Dancing” features treated and sped-up fragments of other recordings which dissolve into walls of digital noise and squeals before dropping out to a clear recording of Leonard Cohen’s “Hey, That’s No Way To Say Goodbye.” Eventually the noise swells again, before dropping away for excerpts of political speeches that again are met by noise and finally, the sound of urinating.
As a soundtrack, See You At Regis Debray can stand on its own as a work of art, allowing listeners to visualize the activities that are clearly represented. However, as a piece of music, it is lacking the depth and variety that an artist like Ikeda is usually known for. The actual musical elements are too far apart, and the drastic fluctuation in volume between the actual music and the ambient sounds makes close listening maddeningly difficult. It is an interesting piece, but those looking for more straight ahead music should probably seek other works in his catalogue.
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![cover image](/brain/images/byetone-death_of_a_typographer.jpg)
For a label known for its experimentation, Death of a Typographer has a familiar, although icy feel throughout. The album has the traditional glitchy abnormal rhythms, but also dense, dark, almost industrial synth lines that separate it from just the art gallery scene and into more conventional territory. “Black is Black” and “Plastic Star (Session)” both bring old-school Detroit electro to the world of Max/MSP, with the former even featuring a classic rudimentary bass synth sequence, while the latter is bathed in digital reverb and even drifts into raw, distorted territory, but never losing its solid rhythm.
“Rocky (Soft)” is one that particularly grabbed my attention, with its extremely stripped down mix of buzzing ambience and analog pulsing kick drum eventually becomes a study in bass synth, having a warmth that is often lacking in work of this style. Similarly minimal is “Straight,” built on a steady bass line and monotone beat, the occasionally squeaky synth stab cutting through the mix. Compared to the more electro tracks, it’s less dynamic and more repetitive, but the structural diversity is there, albeit more subtle.
Most of the songs stay in this danceable framework, though the two part “Capture This” opens with vast digital ambience and digitally constructed feedback that never opens up into a rhythm, but instead stays a thick, dense mix. The second half does include a click and pulse based rhythm track over the tense ambience that resembles Pan Sonic’s best moments.
The closing tracks provide a notable contrast to each other: “Grand Style” goes right back to the dance floor, featuring a traditional style of building layers from a minimal opening to a thick, more active mix by the end. In contrast, “Heart” resembles its title in its low bass drum rhythm, but the darker, almost industrial synth tones build in volume and density until swelling to heavy distortion, then returning to the near silence of a field recording.
For the sterile, equation and computer modeling based soil this release is growing from, it is almost surprisingly conventional and catchy, but retaining a world of microscopic subtlety behind the beats and industrial tinged synth lines.
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This repackaged release is way better than the original for the simple reason that the cover art (a desert scene: girls in bikinis with automatic weapons, sunglasses, boys with cigarettes) is a visual representation of the music's advocacy of excess and an outsider stance. This tongue-in-cheek rakish image is borne out by the attitude on some of the songs on the pathetically titled War Elephant. Chief amongst the jewels is "Art Isn't Real (City of Sin)", an utterly fabulous track which rolls along in the old country-rock style; a swinging piece of strident, maudlin, existentialism that would not have disgraced The Gilded Palace of Sin. The song has a neat juxtaposition of a breezy pace and dispassionate delivery of killer lines such as: "I'm just going through the motions and/ I need an old fashioned potion/There's gotta be some old recipe/ "Cos I gotta get drunk I gotta forget about some things." The choice of fiddle instead of guitar for the solo on this piece is also spot on.
"Dirty Dishes" is a surrealistic track with jangling sound and lyrics that depict selfish people trying (in their on way) to be understood and, eventually, to empathize with others. "Spend the Night" has an atmosphere of straight ahead lewdness (no pun intended) and "Diamond Rings 2007" could be a cover of Big Star's "I'm in Love with a Girl." It's as if The Shins decided to go country. Unfortunately, heavier songs which could provide contrast, such as "Not So Dense," have such a stodgy pace that they could almost be from another band. These parts of War Elephant bog the whole album down. Likewise, John McCauley's voice is great on the lighter propulsive tracks but when he strains for some grittiness or anger it is far less attractive.
Back with the rakish attitude: it's a plus that sections of the liner notes smack of deliberate bullshit. Similarly, while it could be worrying that the final track, "What Kind of Fool Am I," was written by Anthony Newley, that influence worked just fine for Bowie. All in all, despite the inconsistencies I hope we haven't heard the last of Deer Tick and that the next cover art will picture McCauley smoking a pipe while a bald minder holds back droves of adoring bikini-clan fans.
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Type
Kenniff has seen critics toss names like Boards of Canada and Brian Eno his way and, to some extent, I can understand those comparisons: his music lilts more than it drives, ascends more than it accelerates, and tends towards the pleasures of simplicity and ambient somnolence. What Eno and the Boards of Canada have that Kenniff doesn't is an exciting and singular appreciation for the unusual and unexpected. Helios' fifth record is a pretty, but predictable exercise in electronic composition. Kenniff provides layers and layers of synthetic harmony and dreamy melodies, which wash over softly plodding drum machines that sound as though they've been suffocated under a mountain of pillows. He repeats this process almost without fail for the better part of an hour and succeeds in creating a truly ambient (meaning wallpaper-esque) record from dynamic and decidedly un-ambient parts. Caesura is enjoyable, but it is also without enough dynamism to keep it interesting.
Songs like "Glimpse" and "Fourteen Drawings" are filled with expertly picked guitars and honeyed chimes that coalesce in such a fashion that they seem practically made for each other; they're wedded in the production so tightly that I can't imagine them begin separated or interrupted by any other sounds. This effect is lovely, but as the album progresses and it is revealed that nearly each and every song is produced in this manner, it becomes a little nauseating. Pretty melody after pretty melody drifts by in a train of genteel austerity. This is very safe music made by a very careful and particular mind, so particular that anything out of place or even remotely dangerous is exorcised from the mix and cast off into oblivion. On one song it is possible to hear synth-pad X and then on the next, synth-pad Y mixed with drum palette B. Kenniff is deft with his use of acoustic sources, mixing them perfectly with a host of electronic instruments. The problem consists in his mixing those acoustic elements into the music too well; he manages to render them into little more than additional designs in a rather plain, but decorative rug.
Kenniff shines brilliantly when he steps out of himself and dares to escape the painfully anodyne components of his music. After eight tracks of decent, but completely homogenous tunes, "Shoulder to Hand" arrives carrying some achingly beautiful guitars and a just a hint of yearning. He incorporates a low, almost buzzing bass into the mix and, for the first time on the record, fabricates a looming darkness from his instrumentation. The song doesn't exactly brood, but it does break up the monotony of his sentimental style. It's aggravating that these songs, on a technical level, are quite good. Kenniff knows how to write, but he lacks the ability to write anything but the same kinds of songs. In small chunks Caesura is an inoffensive and relaxing record, but that is precisely its weakness. A little more honesty and spice would benefit the record a great deal: such additions would provide a depth and character that it desperately needs.
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![cover image](/brain/images/coh_cosey-coh_plays_cosey.jpg)
Some of the tracks here clearly retain the color of the original source material: "Sin-King" and "Inside" both are built on a foundation of obvious voice elements that are filtered or time-stretched to become more musical. Both also stay extremely quiet, occasionally approaching the territory of pure silence that requires careful listening to discern the subtle changes and variations in the recordings.
Two of the tracks are indicative of their titles: "Lost" features plaintive singing elements that are extremely low in the mix; they grow slowly in volume while disorienting time-stretching and unaffected screams and shouts appear, giving a sense of dark and confusing isolation. "Fuck It" is a slap-dash chaotic piece of stuttering sound fragments with Cosey delivering the titular line. Unlike the other pieces, there’s a sense of anger and frustration in the messy sound collage and fragments of voice.
Perhaps the most interesting tracks are the ones in which the voice elements are transformed into instrumentation that, without prior knowledge, one might assume to be just another sample or instrument. The most miniscule vocal sounds on "Mad" are sequenced intoto much more ; they resemble an arpeggiated synthesize and, mixed with the untreated vocals from Cosey, sound like the traditional software-inspired electronica for which the label is known. Similarly, "Crazy" turns syllables into synth leads and percussive clicks that are married with other sounds and shaped into what could be string instruments and, occasionally, untreated bits of vocals.
The closing "Lying" features an interesting approach, too: untreated vocals are meshed with pieces of other words and shaped into what sounds like background singers while other voices become saxophones and steady 4/4 beats. Essentially, a single voice becomes an entire electronic pop track. If nothing else, this album shows that Cosey Fanni Tutti, at least in the metaphorical hands of Ivan Pavlov, is not just an excellent performer, but a captivating instrument in and of herself. The natural character of her voice and the careful structuring and layering of Pavlov's arrangements makes for a lush album composed only of the most basic of sources.
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As one of the early pioneers in the industrial and noise fields, Bianchi never quite attained the same status as Whitehouse, Throbbing Gristle, or SPK. This might be because of his relatively short career: beginning as Sacher-Pelz in 1979 and continuing on under his own name until 1984, his time on the scene was brief, but prolific. This reissue of one of his classic albums is augmented both with bonus tracks and a second disc of obscure/bootlegged tracks that showcase one of the bleakest, most desolate musicians of his time.
 
The two side-long tracks that make up the bulk of the original LP have an overall consistent sound of dank , low register synthetic pulses occasionally overrun by static-y, stuttering outbursts."Fetish Pinksha" moves along at a snail’s pace, the outbursts never taking hold over the otherwise slow, filmic sound."Sterile Regles" incorporates a shifting, lugubrious, low-tech drum machine pattern with pieces of tremolo heavy feedback resembling a proto-industrial funeral march. Synth elements that now characterize the dark ambient genre, along with squealing bits of feedback, give the sound an overall more frightening quality.
The two bonus tracks on this disc stem from compilation appearances around the same time span. "Placenta" has a more open, ambient science-fiction sound rather than the dark, gray ambience of the rest of the disc, while "Untitled" opens with the thumping, filtered, white noise that would soon become synonymous with the power electronics genre.It should be noted that the contents of this disc (including the mastering) are essentially identical to the release EEs’T put out some ten years ago.
The second disc, originally a Japanese bootleg titled Genocide of the Menses, collects previously rare bootleg tracks onto a single disc."Zyclombie" is another track of deep pulsing synths and sci-fi type oscillator sounds that originally appeared on the Japanese bootleg LP,  Leibstandarte SS MB 2. It sounds surprisingly good given its raw sources.The two-part title track originally appeared as a limited-to-18-copies acetate 7" and is more in line with the Mectpyo Bakterium album: dour minor synth chords and static heavy noise elements that never overpower, but serve as a nice counterpoint to the depressive sounds.The second part’s dive-bomb synths and overdriven low frequency elements are an obvious precursor to the likes of today’s Genocide Organ and Anenzephalia and other such folks.
The final four tracks originally surfaced on the bootleg M. B. Anthology 1981-1984 and show more of the variation of styles Bianchi employed throughout his career."Neuro Habitat" is twelve minutes of what sounds like a silent film score organ augmented with a slow, primitive drum machine pulse."Humus Nucleaire" features the same sort of rhythm track, but the synths have a lighter, more airy feeling to them, even though it doesn’t last. The raw electronics and beat boxes sound like a more lo-fi, slightly darker take on early Cabaret Voltaire.
While many of his peers relished the anger and violence that could be created using the early electronic instruments, Bianchi was content to paint a bleak canvas of gray sounds that are more depressing than malicious.Nevermoping or self-loathing, it is instead a dark, cold style that, after some 26 years, has obviously influenced a multitude of modern artists working at the extremes of sonic art.
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(€12) |
- Rocket Sandals
- This Job Is So Boring
- Yellow Bedspring
- Better Universe No. 2
- Seedling Awakes
- Swing Low
This record contains 6 tracks:
Track one, Rocket Sandals is a pizzicato furioso (as opposed to fury piza) with a silent movie pianola, noisy banga banga and klavier delayage.
Track two, this job is So Boring was inspired by years, centuries, millenia, eternities of factory work, 8.30 - 5.30. producing expensive rubbish for people to buy on credit, so than they have to work in similar jobs. Experiment which proven I do not fit this kind of madness. factory went bust due to recession, the owners even had to sell their private helicopter! Not their numerous houses and cars though.
Track three: Yelow Bedspring - a pleasant little tune to make love to gently in a waltz time. It dissolves in a swimming shimmering wetness.
Track four Better Universe No. 2 is a collection of nice noises one encounters in dreams both sleeping and waking. It depicts green and lovely countryside, birds and bees, crunchy picnics with a nice bottle of beer, band playing with feeling and fabulous bike tearing about...
Track five Seedling Awakes - out of powerful darkness of earth slowly and unstoppably live surges up. Zither recorded in a large oak box specially constructed for this.
Track six Swing Low lighthearted but slightly sad re-visiting of and old gospel song, just reminding us what that promised land beyond Jordan is like. And yes there are many Jordans, and just as many shitty places beyond them.
Message is: do not bother dreaming about promised land, work thee not in a silly factory making somebody else rich, have a nice picnic, include a vintage bike if you like.
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![cover image](/brain/images/sunndomkirke.jpg)
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![cover image](/brain/images/sunndomkirke.jpg)
It is odd to think of a metal band being allowed to play in a church in Norway, let alone in Bergen itself, considering the havoc that those in the black metal community have caused in the past. It is especially surprising considering Attila Csihar is so connected with that scene, recording the sublime Die Mysteriis Dom Sathanas with Mayhem at the peak of black metal’s notoriety. Sunn O))) are always impressive live, but looking at the fantastic photography on the inner sleeves, I would imagine sitting in a cathedral looking at these robed figures playing such all-consuming music must have been mind blowing.
The first side of this double LP is one of the finest moments from Sunn O))) as it completely defies any expectations one could have of the group. Steve Moore begins the concert on the cathedral’s organ, creating an initially delicate drone and later builds the music up, embellishing it as he goes. All the while, Csihar’s vocals resonate through the bowels of the cathedral. Appropriately he takes influence from Gregorian chant before moving on to an almost operatic style. While he is never going to be found performing in a traditional concert hall with an orchestra, his vocals have long been one of the best things about Sunn O))) live. Here he struggles to stay in the same key as Moore’s organ but it works, his pained chants sounding suitably grim.
The other three sides of Dømkirke see the full line up for the evening’s ritual join the duo of Moore and Csihar (with Moore switching between being organist and his usual role of trombone player). A more usual Sunn O))) set ensues although at what seems like a lower volume than usual (so as not to literally bring the house down I presume). Marhaug and TOS Nieuwenhuizen’s electronics flesh out the already beefy sound of Anderson and O’Malley’s bass and guitar assault, the most apt description of the results being that it is a miasma of crashing chords and low end feedback. The only problem with the album is one that plagues all long recordings put onto vinyl: flipping it over mid-song. Luckily, the original performance was in twenty-odd minute chunks between changes in sound, but only side one finishes naturally. The breaks in the main bulk of the set do disrupt the flow of the performance but this is a minor quibble at worst.
Hardcore Sunn O))) fans have probably already heard this performance via the two bootlegs (audio and DVD) that were made available shortly after the performance occurred. Curiously, even though this double LP sounds pretty good, it does not quite capture the resonance of the building like the audience recording available in the CD-R trading world. That being said, I cannot see myself playing the bootleg much after hearing this.
Sorry, no samples as this is a vinyl-only release.
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