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The delicate piano performances transform into ominous war drums with time, the guitar sounds like the sick wheezing of some mutated monster rotting away in a subterranean prison, and whatever other manipulated instruments Nathan Michaels employs are dim, wrecked shadows of their former glory.
"Aphotic" is an adjective meaning "having no light." It can also describe any part of the ocean where light from the sun cannot reach. It's useful to think about the types of creatures that live in that part of the ocean for the purposes of imagining what portions of this record sound like. Though it begins with the seemingly innocent striking of rather unaltered piano melodies, the album quickly dissolves into a murky wash of thickly distorted guitar and other resonant, full sounds. The image of a leviathan swallowing up the ocean floor isn't an inappropriate one as the music seems to rumble by; the music doesn't simply emerge from the speakers and pass into the air, it exerts a physical presence on my ears and presses the warmth right out of the room.
Amid all the darkness, however, are some finer, brighter moments where Michaels' talent for powerful arrangements really stands out. The beginning of the record is fantastic, the music emerging from a hail of static and sizzling electronics. It sounds as if the album will be meditatively dismal for some time, the fuzz sounding like nothing more than a minor detail. A xylophone or some kind of hammered instrument makes a brief appearance, bringing to mind the work of Bohren und der Club of Gore. The careful introduction of added noise and the piano's slow decay flesh the album out perfectly, juxtaposing two extremes tastefully while holding two rather disparate elements of the album together. Michaels' moves quickly: in the first six minutes of the piece he has already developed a natural crescendo and plunged the album into a quiet, brooding place. By the time the guitar erupts, it feels natural, an explosion resulting from a natural increase in pressure.
That sense of a natural progression, which permeates the entire album, emphasizes just how subtle and powerful Michaels' is as a composer. By staying within the parameters of a few effective and complimentary instruments, he manages to craft an entire world of sound with viscerally effective moments. Half Makeshift is a name I'll be looking out for in the future and, with any luck, James Plotkin will be on board again to handle the mastering job: the clarity and immediacy of the sounds on Aphotic Leech stand out in my mind. Despite many of them being heavily processed, they sound full and vibrant on the record, adding an extra punch to an already impressive record.
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Like the first two releases, Tongues was recorded live at The Exchange with no overdubs or edits. The major difference is that between April 2005 and February 2006, Hebden and Reid have had considerable more time to play together, touring the world, finding out more about themselves as well as what works and doesn't for them and their audiences. Four Tet fans who may have found the first Exchange Session volumes hard to get into will find an easier time here but Tongues is by no means a Four Tet record.
With 10 songs, the record covers a lot of ground. While more vigorous workout/freakouts like the "People Be Happy" and "The Squid" are more of the norm with aggressive drumming and whimsical electronics, the album launches with the record's two jams with the most commercial potential. "The Sun Never Sets" and "Brain" each initially exploit an almost techno-pop riff, backed by steady but unoppressive drums until each musician pretty much lets loose. Retro-alien sounds mark the bumpy "Superheroes," while lulls like the echoing chimes on their interpretation of the traditional "Greensleeves," and the proverbial harp on "Our Time" allow for some breathing space. What the two have found together over the time playing together is a way to both go nuts and rope things back in without letting a song get way out of control or go on too long. "Left Handed, Left Minded" finishes off the album, opening with some hypnotic malleted drumming accompanied by vinyl surface noise, joined soon by the whirring of digital mixing, but here, things don't let loose and the album tactfully quells to a close instead of ending with some cut at the height of excitement.
While the Four Tet brand is more or less on an unofficial hiatus, it would be great to hear these jazz records between Hebden and Reid destructed and reconstructed by people like Jason Forrest, Kid 606 or others who recycle recorded music only to pull some completely new pop tunes out the other end. Although Tongues is still pretty damn satisfying on its own as is.
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Live during War Crimes (Release the Bats)The Yellow Swans are one of those bands, like Sunburned Hand of the Man and Wolf Eyes, that ALWAYS leaves the tape recorder on, and, for better or worse, release most of it. A lot of this comes out on short-run CDRs on their Jyrk label. Live During War Crimes 1 and 2 are 'best of' compilations of some of those live recordings from their intense touring. Live During War Crimes 1, recorded during May and June of 2004, shows the more rhythmic, proto-industrial side of the band. Primal and grim, the sound of this disc hides the peace-loving, harmonious spiritual unity (hippy) ethos of the band. From the first track on, there's a fist-in-the-air thud and clamor running down the back bone of this album’s sound. Beats made from skittery, broken electronics, the most guitar riffage I’ve heard on any of their recordings, and a seamless flow from one track into the next gives these 45 minutes a hypnotic density that took a couple listens, but totally won me over.
Live during War Crimes #2 (Release the Bats)
Live During War Crimes #2, recorded in January and February of 2006, delves more into the Yellow Swans’ psychedelic-drone sound. The recordings are pretty lo-fi, too. You can hear in the sound the resonance of the speakers and the over modulation of the microphone recording. Especially on the second track, as the drones and feedback swell, you can feel the electricity of the room they’re playing in. Through this mud arises a very clean, or at least unprocessed, guitar, plucked and strummed incidentally, either dancing with or fighting against the walls of noise building beside it, finally being overtaken and drowned out, as the recording gets skuzzier and grimier. Even at low volumes, this track is deafening. The third and fourth tracks fall a little flat compared to the opening two, but the closer returns to the opening’s momentum, but with a much tighter hold on the tension between the wall of noise and the improvised guitar. It lumbers along, ominous and foreboding, not so much the violent ballet of the earlier tracks, but more a sober denouement to the album, a dark shadow creeping from an alley way.
Psychic secession (Load)
Yellow Swans' debut on Load is the paramount studio album. At first, the opener, "True Union," clocking in just over 20 minutes, seemed a little stale, but after a couple listens unveiled power and a deft knack for building tension that I didn't pick up on until I listened to LDW#2 alongside it. A lot of the depth of the recording didn't even show up until I put on my headphones. Co-produced by Gerritt (Or Misanthropic Agenda fame), his intense digital processing can be heard added to Yellow Swans' own wall of feedback and effect loops. Sparse, raspy, almost black metal screams bleed into the mix as high-end oscillations swirl and howl. This track sets a good tone for the album: dark, very evil, and strong enough to make the hair on the back of the neck stand on end.
As "True Union" fades away, the title track steps in, with an eery vocal intro reminiscent of the late John Balance, soon overtaken by more feedback and squall, but rhythmic this time—not just an intense anti-climatic build. Hard pulses are set off, driving more raspy screams and oscillating feedback. From there on, Psychic Secession stays more rhythmic than the two Live During War Crimes CDs, and seems very intentional, even composed. The album definitely climaxes with I Woke Up, starting off with harsh glitch and more heavily processed screams fighting though barbed-wire-like drum machines, finally giving way to a foot stomp and hand clap rhythm track backed by a throbbing bass line. I Woke Up moves from heavy static to a rousing tribal-industrial dance, all the while Yellow Swans are balancing their sense of tension in their live feedback-drone and the multi-track layering of the studio.
I don't think there could be a better result from this band in the studio. Yellow Swans moved from being another run of the mill drone/feedback/hippy noise group to showing a definite talent for sound work and more than capable of creating important studio works.
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![]() | Betty Davis LITA 026 CD UPC: 826853002622 Originally released 1973 | ![]() | They Say I'm Different LITA 027 CD UPC: 826853002721 Originally released 1974 |
1. If I’m In Luck I Might Get Picked Up 2. Walkin Up The Road 3. Anti Love Song 4. Your Man My Man 5. Ooh Yeah 6. Steppin In Her I. Miller Shoes 7. Game Is My Middle Name 8. In The Meantime PREVIOUSLY UNRELEASED BONUS TRACKS (1974) 9. Come Take Me 10. You Won’t See Me In The Morning 11. I Will Take That Ride | 1. Shoo-B-Doop and Cop Him 2. He Was A Big Freak 3 Your Mama Wants Ya Back 4. Don’t Call Her No Tramp 5. Git In There 6. They Say I’m Different 7. 70’s Blues 8. Special People PREVIOUSLY UNRELEASED BONUS TRACKS (1973) Record Plant Rough Mixes 9. He Was A Big Freak 10. Don’t Call Her No Tramp 11. Git In There 12. 70’s Blues |
If Betty were singing today she would be something like Madonna, something like Prince only as a woman. --MILES DAVIS | She introduced Miles to Hendrix's music and got him interested in the hardcore rock stuff. --HERBIE HANCOCK | |
Betty was a G for real. --ICE CUBE | When I first saw her album cover, I fell in love. --RICK JAMES | |
Warning: She is pure uncut funk way ahead of her time. --PRINCE PAUL (De La Soul, Handsome Boy Modeling School) | She was the first Madonna, but Madonna is more like Marie Osmond compared to Betty Davis. Betty Davis was a real ferocious Black Panther woman. You couldn't tame Betty Davis. --SANTANA |
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HER STORY: One can hardly imagine the genre-busting, culture-crossing musical magic of Outkast, Prince, Erykah Badu, Rick James, The Roots, or even the early Red Hot Chili Peppers without the influence of R&B pioneer Betty Davis. Her style of raw and revelatory punk-funk defies any notions that women can't be visionaries in the worlds of rock and pop. In recent years, rappers from Ice Cube to Talib Kweli to Ludacris have rhymed over her intensely strong but sensual music. There is one testimonial about Betty Davis that is universal: she was a woman ahead of her time. In our contemporary moment, this may not be as self-evident as it was thirty years ago - we live in an age that's been profoundly changed by flamboyant flaunting of female sexuality: from Parlet to Madonna, Lil Kim to Kelis. Yet, back in 1973 when Betty Davis first showed up in her silver go-go boots, dazzling smile and towering Afro, who could you possibly have compared her to? Marva Whitney had the voice but not the independence. Labelle wouldn't get sexy with their "Lady Marmalade" for another year while Millie Jackson wasn't Feelin' Bitchy until 1977. Even Tina Turner, the most obvious predecessor to Betty's fierce style wasn't completely out of Ike's shadow until later in the decade. Ms. Davis's unique story, still sadly mostly unknown, is unlike any other in popular music. Betty wrote the song "Uptown" for the Chambers Brothers before marrying Miles Davis in the late '60s, influencing him with psychedelic rock, and introducing him to Jimi Hendrix -- personally inspiring the classic album 'Bitches Brew.' | ![]() photo courtesy of Baron Wolman |
But her songwriting ability was way ahead of its time as well. Betty not only wrote every song she ever recorded and produced every album after her first, but the young woman penned the tunes that got The Commodores signed to Motown. The Detroit label soon came calling, pitching a Motown songwriting deal, which Betty turned down. Motown wanted to own everything. Heading to the UK, Marc Bolan of T. Rex urged the creative dynamo to start writing for herself. A common thread throughout Betty's career would be her unbending Do-It-Yourself ethic, which made her quickly turn down anyone who didn't fit with the vision. She would eventually say no to Eric Clapton as her album producer, seeing him as too banal. In 1973, Davis would finally kick off her cosmic career with an amazingly progressive hard funk and sweet soul self-titled debut. Davis showcased her fiercely unique talent and features such gems as "If I'm In Luck I Might Get Picked Up" and "Game Is My Middle Name." The album Betty Davis was recorded with Sly & The Family Stone's rhythm section, sharply produced by Sly Stone drummer Greg Errico, and featured backing vocals from Sylvester and the Pointer Sisters. Her 1974 sophomore album They Say I'm Different features a worthy-of-framing futuristic cover challenging David Bowie's science fiction funk with real rocking soul-fire, kicked off with the savagely sexual "Shoo-B-Doop and Cop Him" (later sampled by Ice Cube). Her follow up is full of classic cuts like "Don't Call Her No Tramp" and the hilarious, hard, deep funk of "He Was A Big Freak." Tragically, these days Betty Davis is dead broke, living in the Pittsburgh ghetto. For the first time, her critically adored first two albums are being lovingly re-mastered from the original master tapes by Light In The Attic Records to sound as ferocious and revolutionary as they did when they first sprung on an unsuspecting world in the early '70s. These reissues mark the first time that Betty will receive proper royalties for her music on CD. In addition to the restoration of the incredible original cover art, the compelling and heartbreaking liner notes written by author and respected soul music scholar Oliver Wang (O-Dub/Soul Sides) include her second interview in many decades, making these essential reissues for any soul, progressive punk, or funk-rock collection. |
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Light In The Attic Records P.O. Box 31970 Seattle, WA 98103 p (206) 706-6715 http://www.lightintheattic.net |
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If doom metal had a slightly awkward sibling who wrote poetry, this would be it. Nadja's release on Archive consists of a single 62 minute track that showcases their talent for creating fuzzed out ambient soundscapes infused with sludge guitar noise. The Canadian duo's work recalls Jesu's death shoegaze mixed with Sunn O)))'s monolithic riffing, but they still manage to retain an identity all their own.
The overall formula is pretty basic: fuzzed out drone guitar, subtle bass, a distant metronomic drum machine, and ambient synth-like sounds. With only guitar and bass credited, we could simply be hearing heavily processed guitar work, but either way, the rhythm's are there. Structurally the disc varies tempos and densities throughout, but all the while retains a lush, floating feel.
On the whole the disc remains more calm and mellow. The playing swells to a Cop/Young God-era Swans level during the first half of the album and then eases into more riff-oriented parts following. Even the guitar noise/feedback section towards the last 15 minutes of the album is buried low in the mix; it expands quietly beneath layers of ambient guitar and bass.
Thaumogenesis is an enjoyable work. My biggest gripe would be that a bit of variation in textures would go a long way in fleshing the album out. The guitar and drum machine sounds stay relatively unchanged throughout the entire track, making it less of an "all the time" listen than it is an "in the mood" one. A wider variety of guitar effects and drum machine sounds over the span of this hour would have made for an even more compelling listen than it already is.
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Comprised of four lengthy tracks, the album explodes with a start: "The Man from Giacobinid Meteor Comet." Kawabata Makoto's guitar quickly becomes a tangle of screams, a frenzied surge that drags the band along with it. The rhythm section is ferocious. Bassist Tsuyama Atsushi frequently ventures out to the stratosphere, but he also knows when to hold back or to provide a vaguely melodic foundation. Likewise, the amount of energy drummer Shimura Koji dedicates to his performance is a lesson in endurance. Divided into three movements, this track eventually cools down and then glides to a drone landing, alighting the listener breathlessly upon calmer ground.
Kitagawa's voice makes its first appearance on "Five Dimensional Nightmare," floating over a bouzouki arrangement that sounds like singing glass. This one is divided into three sections like the previous track, but starts airy and then goes into a drone as Tsuyama briefly takes over the vocals. From here, strings are tortured like fingernails on a blackboard before a guitar and Higashi Hiroshi’s water drop electronics restore balance.
As much as I loved the two previous tracks, the band forges ahead into something different on "Love Electrique." Kitagawa's presence is most felt on this track. Her voice streaks across the mix as blistering guitars and freaky electronics blast all over the place. Over the course of 20 minutes, it hits several different moods and textures on a truly transcendent journey.
Of the four tracks, only the live staple "Pink Lady Lemonade (May I Drink You Once Again?)" may seem a little redundant. Kitagawa, however, breathes new life into this standard by bringing her vocals to the fore over the entire track, as if restoring an element that previously had been missing. It's hard to call it a definitive version because so many other excellent versions already exist, but it is a great one in its own right. For fans who may be weary of this song after all of its appearances over the years, it is easy enough to stop the disc after gorging on the first hour of music, and it is still a welcome dessert if the mood should strike.
Acid Mothers Temple always manages to find a breath of fresh air at the most opportune times, and this is no exception. While remaining a tight unit, bringing Kitagawa into the fold adds another dimension to their chaotic sprawl without having to sacrifice any of their strengths on this incendiary album.
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- Gary Suarez
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I cannot make heads or tails of Stefan Betke anymore. Completely removed from the original color-coded trilogy that helped define the digi-dub sound, his latest indistinct album of moody experimental electronica lacks the spark of his past classics, landing the artist among a glut of current producers operating in the same post-IDM doldrums.
I don't consider it unfair to hold Pole's current output to the standard set by his breathtaking beginnings released on a PIAS sub-label nearly a decade ago and then subsequently with Matador. To do otherwise would be senseless, especially since Betke has opted to maintain his most famous moniker despite his outright abandonment of the crackling echo chamber and haunting tones prepared on 1, 2, and 3. This disappointing decision is certainly within his rights, and if an artist's legacy is to be ruined then the most worthy entity to do so should be the artist himself.
While not necessarily a bad album, the easily forgettable Steingarten is hardly going to lift Pole out of the creative mire he landed himself in with his banal second trio of releases for Mute. While I have no confirmation that Pole was explicitly dropped from that label, I have my suspicions, especially considering this new full-length is self-released on ~scape, an imprint diminishing in relevance much like the artist who founded it. If Mute had indeed been given a crack at Betke's latest, I highly doubt that tepid tracks like "Schöner Land" or "Jungs" made the record a particularly desirable acquisition. "Düsseldorf" at least tries to generate some excitement with its clubby 4/4 beat offering a little hope, though its comparatively short length shows an artist out-of-touch with the dancefloor. Truth be told, Pole's strengths never were on in that particular arena, which in turn makes this misguided attempt all the more dismaying. Still, Steingarten strangely fails to capitalize on his previously demonstrated assets in crafting midtempo and downtempo productions, though "Sylvenstein" comes the closest out of the nine. Directionless, Betke evidently lacks a clear vision for this project, giving his listeners little reason to continue following this lost leader on his path to certain obscurity and inconsequence.
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- Matthew Amundsen
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The best part of this disc is the meticulous editing and excellent sound quality. The problem is that there doesn't seem to be much development or progress over the course of these 45 minutes. One could easily start the track at any point and not miss a thing. As varied as some of the film sounds are, after a while they become an endless pastiche of the same juxtaposed sounds separated by Lopez's usual weighted silences. It's a pattern that Lopez has used quite a bit, and its familiarity drains it of its unpredictability by now.
There are some good parts, like the section about 25 minutes into it with large chunks of clunky sounds battling back and forth, or the thunderous roars at the 37-minute mark, but these aren't quite enough to save it from fading into the background. Other than the gorgeous sound quality and the vigorous editing, the disc is not far from a spooky sounds demonstration LP found in the cheap bin at the record store. If anything, this illustrates the symbiotic relationship between sound effects and image, and how deeply they rely on each other for maximum impact.
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On his debut, Jeffrey Bützer plays piano, toy piano, electric piano, accordion, toy accordion, melodica, glockenspiel, reed organ, banjo, harmonica, guitars, bass, autoharp, ocarina, tongue drum, drums & percussion. Regardless of whether or not we need a Jeffrey Bützer action figure to play those toy instruments, the result is most definitely an album, since it bears repeated listening from start to finish, thanks to a vigorous breadth and subtle development. The odd title track has an almost ska-like opening rhythm. The wheezing melancholy of "Wooden Giraffe" might be an out-take from The Draughtsman's Contract; while there is much darker avant-expressionism on "Her Body is a Swamp." The record carries an endemic quasi-gamelan pulse and has a physicality that sporadically twitches like the leg of a dreamer. Bützer knows the value of repetitive phrases but is brave enough to allow a surprising element of decay and breakdown to emerge, which, of course, in hindsight seems entirely natural. Either that, or he ran out of ideas.
Who is she and what did she get in exchange for her leg? Someone's hand upon it? A brief or lasting freedom? Regret? Does the title (as if Hans Christian Andersen's little mermaid in reverse) refer to the trading of some physical mobility to gain the means by which to articulate expression? Was it sacrifice, or gain? A life spared? Season tickets to Old Trafford? Is the leg of flesh or wood? We can enjoy this record and keep the mystery of speculation.
"Tarred and Feathered" sounds less like an experience of violent retribution than a pleasant afternoon spent by the river, having tea and cakes with the vicar's daughters.The pretty sounds on "Carbonated Sewing Machine" don't appear to be derived from a device for stitching. Actually, those which embroider "Valse 1" seem more imitative of such parlor machinery; as if figures in a tapestry wandered over to the next scene for a relaxing interlude. The track "Broken Blunderbuss, One Hundred and Sixty Three Black Bubbles" has the feeling of an epic journey begun, a sense which, apart from a see-sawing lull on "Part 2", is more-or-less maintained throughout the 6 parts that follow. A reference to El Topo is unavoidable.
On the final track, "Her Body is a Swamp," Bützer shows a willingness to dissolve compositional structure and also to incorporate a raw, noisier dynamic. Images of a motorcycle traversing sand dunes came to my mind, trying to avoid getting stuck; along with a vague sense of memory clinging to skin. It would be a stretch to wonder whether or not Jeffrey Bützer will follow a more minimalist path forged by such luminaries as Terry Riley, maybe choose to add words and singing to his work, perhaps veer whole-heartedly into a 21st Century folk dance music, or (more likely) plot another course entirely. Even if it is ignored or forgotten, She Traded Her Leg has enough pure listening pleasure and signposts for future projects that whichever way Bützer goes next, lies intrigue and, most probably, reward.
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The group's discipline and dedication is evident in the way they build their tracks out of the fewest notes and textures for the fullest possible effect. Restraint seems to be a big factor in these compositions as sometimes only a stretched note or two vie for attention. Even when more sounds are introduced, they're often so subdued that they’re not immediately noticeable. Yet the results are rarely boring because their approach varies quite a bit, whether playing a series of chimes, a minor melody, or beats.
As much as I like the songs on their own, they're even better against the backdrop of Jenise Treuting's short films on the DVD that accompanies the album. The films themselves are static documentaries depicting street scenes from Manhattan and Tokyo, often with themes of transportation. The music lends scenes of the Manhattan skyline, a subway ride, a train platform, or the cavity between apartment buildings a quiet calm that cannot be obtained in reality, which in turn reinforces the music’s pensive qualities. Nothing much happens per se, but the music completes the images somehow, giving both an authority they might otherwise lack on their own.
This is a great package, and it's hard for me to imagine the music or the films existing independently of each other. They're perfectly complementary and together they accomplish the delicate task of both soothing and energizing simultaneously. It's a sublimely rewarding experience.
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- Matthew Amundsen
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Drawing from a full textural palette, the album is imbued with an introspective calm without any unexpected intrusions. Even the restrained feedback on "An Abandoned Robot" doesn't upset the balance created thus far. One of the more unexpected sections is the serenely beautiful ending of "Bobble Hats in Summer" which makes me ache for that season. Contrasting this nicely is the extreme quiet of "Digital Winter," with its subdued static and chilly stream evoking a harsh climate.
With many mornings of frost clinging to the windows in recent memory, the first half of the album's title is particularly apt and makes winter that much more bearable. Conversely, the album's warmer sections make me anxious to test the title's second half as soon as possible. Although overall I slightly prefer Xela's newer material, this debut is nearly flawless and has all the qualities I enjoy from his recent work.
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