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This is a spring/summer guitar record that’s been designed to fall somewhere between the earthy simplicity of folk players and the flash of '70s heavy rock. There are understated flamboyant twists to the playing and sound of Ezra Feinberg (ex Piano Magic) and Tim Green (The Fucking Champs and The Nation of Ulysses). The band’s name (and the LP title) maybe be pronounced like Stevie Wonder did on "Living for the City," but this album is anything but straight urban rock.
Recorded in San Francisco, the album takes the city’s multiculturalism, open-mindedness and relaxed air and applies it to a set of songs steeped in a sound world instantly reminiscent of a moment in time but as fresh as any modern rock record. The production is perfect, replicating sounds not heard without the aid of hookahs for over thirty years. For all the flutes, bongos, ‘California’ lyrics and Mexican border vibes Citay never descends into a $10 hippy bus ride of musical tourism. It may use the palette but with here the teller has reinvented the old tales into a stretched out and relaxed mini epics.
There may be a slight edging towards the noodlier end of the world of guitar solo stars (his name begins with ‘V’ but the fear/loathing of his work prevents me from naming him) on "Vinter" but even this is playing is expertly unassuming. The slow spiralling solos and chasing harmonies of dual leads on songs like "People Person" and "Nice Cuffs" have a beautiful languid articulate feel. There are flamenco flourishes among the searching piano melody of "5" underscored by tumbling acoustic strums and west coast vocal harmonies fill up the vocal tracks.
It’s not all about the guitars though, with "Mere Woods" they score in some relaxed dusk strings and organs murmur smoothly under many of the workouts. Without the foundation of the songs, this could’ve easily been an experiment in techniques but this whole release is on the verge of perfection. It’s an absolute killer combination of sound, style and song that makes a triumphant stand in reclaiming the word ‘cool.’
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Crippled Dick Hot Wax
The first track made me think this was going to be a good release;“White & Green Place” has a nice beat and the funky bass line pullsthe song along by the collar. Even the saxophone sounds good.Rainforth’s vocals are interesting, the lyrics are pretentious but shepulls it off. After this track the rest of the album is a chore tolisten to. I never thought that The Pop Group aged well but I can atleast hear some of the fire in their music. Maximum Joy sounded dullfrom the start. The disco vibe of “In the Air” wears thin very quickly.“Building Bridges” is lyrically good but is let down by hackneyed andstale music; “Oh wow, let’s fuse a jazzy sound with a Latin beat andadd some horrible trumpets.” No, let’s not.
Maximum Joy lack a soul. The songs, for all the frenetic bassplaying and shouty vocals, sound mechanical and like they came off aconveyer belt. At no point during Unlimited could I find anentry point for me to get into the groove and enjoy it. It’s a shamebecause there are some parts that could have been great if they hadshown some restraint. For example “Where’s Deke?” might have been adecent piece but the band go overboard with trying to fit as manyelements of their sound in one short track and over egg the cake. Thisalbum is a collection of wilting world music-inspired post-punknoodling which I’ve little to no time for.
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Durtro Jnana
- irr.app.(ext.) - Fly Away - And Then What?
- Mirror - The Forgotten Language of Light
- Thighpaulsanrda - Star Malloy
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Anticon
The songs on Lillian are largely instrumental, with theonly vocals heavily distorted samples. Drum loops provide a groundingbackbeat on many tracks, including the opening track "Eman Ruosis Iht"("This is our name" backwards). Erhen brings in a distinct easterninfluence with flute and clarinet on "Most Important Things" andothers, and he winds his sax through a framework of samples on thetitle track.
A pair of minute-long tracks, "Sunfuzz" and "Moonfuzz," giveatmospheric vignettes relating to their respective heavenly bodies."Sunfuzz" brings to mind a hot afternoon, vibrant and bright, with ashimmer like heating rising from baked pavement. "Moonfuzz" has a cool,quiet feel and conjures up a late night walk around a dark lake with acool wind coming off the water.
A hidden track at the end of "Netting Applause" comes as a bit of ashock after the dreaminess of the previous 13 tracks; it's a scratchydistorted piano with an unaltered sax accompaniment, giving theimpression of someone playing along with an old record of old westsaloon music. It adds a bit of a surreal (though lovely) aspect to thealbum, just like any dream has.
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Temporary Residence
What the duo proved on Chrome is that there was no timewasted: the songs were well-developed even though most of them werequite short (I'd love to comment on Yesss but I haveyet to find it in any store). "Born of Bells part 1" opens Spring with a burstof energy, as if something grand is about to takeplace, which, sadly, never does. Approximately two minutes goes by ofletting the guitar sort of echo on an auto-pilot loop before drummingcan be heard. The drones permeate throughout. The interplay betweenJason and Mark is somewhat disconnected and doesn't end up constructingwhat Iconsider to be a real song, as they come together in some sort of arenarock band finale acrobatics at the end. For the rest of the EP, songscome very close to breaking out, but never quite do. If I'm not mistaken, I think the themeis to wait until the end of the track and suddenly start doing something that forms the basis of asong, but kill it before a song actually breaks out. I find it irritating, likeone of those long jokes whose punchline is basically the pain ofbearing an extended story for some lame, anticlimactic end.
"Crown & Corona" starts off Summer with more promise, as an evil psych rocklike melody emerges from the low drones of the first track, thenbuilds, but once again, things don't erupt as they sound like they wantto. From here, the band could launch into anything either like CometsOn Fire-ish or Acid Mothers-y (or best yet, like Nice Nice) and I wouldhave no complaints, but things instead simply quiet down to anotherboring drone, drifting into a Hawaiian-like guitar bit with somewordless vocalizations at one point and some chintzy effects on thedrums later. The drifting country guitars on the following "Cowboys Are Indians" are quitepretty, but a song like this would only do well as a valley, nestedbetween some more rawkus bits. The third and fourth tracks, "Crickets & Cicadas (parts 1 and 2)," are equallyas forgettable, drifting into ennui like the EP before it, with thelast track that simply doesn't want to end.
Fallis the silver lining. When my package arrived this pastweek from TRL with the discs inside I admit I was far less enthusiasticas Iwas when the first two EPs came in, however, I was impressed with whatwas contained. The first track, "Dawn of Dusk,"opens with a peppy acoustic guitar andmelodica bit. It's friendly, original, pleasant and fun. It's notsomething I would expect from Nice Nice but it sounds "complete."(Plus, after the first two EPs ofthis series I honestly don't know what to expect any more.) Acousticguitar drives the rest of these songs, with some external soundeffects, backwards sounding electronic guitar riffs, and otherunidentifiable percussion, all of which build actual songs, containingmelody and structure, something the rest of the CDs in this seriessadly lack. It ends with "Down,Down, Down Pt. 2," a wistful walking-paced guitar melody which isperfect for sitting on the front porch, watching the sun go down, andhaving a beer. This is what good music is all about.
Winter,unfortunately, restores the disappointment set forthby the first two EPs with one long 22 minute song, "And Many More."I've heard Tibetan bowls and bowing of cymbalsdone from bands going back over 20 years (just about every band who hasa website on Brainwashed did it back in the 1980s), and I absolutelyhate drum solos. "And Many More" is one painfully long andpointless wank. If people could buy these separately then I wouldstrongly recommend sticking only with the Fall,but, with any luck, the band will find out what got the best responseout of the fans and take hints for the production of their next fullalbum. I know they can do better than this.
samples:
- Born of Bells (part 1) [from Spring]
- Cowboys Are Indians [from Summer]
- Dawn of Dusk [from Fall]
- And Many More [from Winter]
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Doubling Cube
On the band’s first single “Zusammen Mit Motown/ Lighter’s Out,” the group sketched out a sound that was a pencil rubbing of spacey dynamics and squawking post punk guitar. On their debut album, the band provides a continuation for their intense, spacey sound. Robert Austin’s spacey, dub inspired bass lines bring to mind the rhythmic foundations laid by PiL bassist Jah Wobble twenty years ago and vocalist Chuck Bettis’ bears more than a passing resemblance to John Lydon’s nasal whine. It’s a sound that the band has cultivated since releasing their first single back in 2001 and, thanks to the increased fidelity and years of touring under their belt, comes into its own here.
Opener “Algorithm of Desire” grooves on an unrelenting bass line and a simple and effective guitar figure, until the band kicks up the tempo and drives the song on home. What makes the songs here more than just dance-punk posturing is that the band is just as interested in the texture of the song as they are in getting people to dance. “Fantastic Success” is another great song that begins with gently plucked bass and softly chiming guitar before opening up into a spaced-out jam. While MMR have crafted a set of songs that work well as a cohesive whole, one problem that can be raised is whether or not these songs can work on their on. When played back to back, these songs groove and writhe.
Despite this, their impact is somewhat lessened when they pop up in shuffle and I sometimes find myself reaching for the skip button. The weakest song here, “Mysthstery of Zygo,” sounds like a limp Throbbing Gristle and doesn’t seem to add much as a whole. On the opposite end of the spectrum, “Apples or Echoes” writhes with otherworldly menace.
Minus a few complaints, MMR have released an album that shows great potential. Their sound seems to stand apart, ever so slightly, from the rigid and often static dance-punk hordes. By emphasizing texture and atmosphere over herky jerky rhythms and slashing guitar work, Fantastic Success proves to be an album that can be revisited over and over again.
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Die Stadt
Both Die Hennen Zähne and Maus are included on this 18 minute disc and both are ten inch records that David Jackman had just lying around in his archives. The opening, "Die Kralle," is described as a David Jackman track from the early '80s, separating it in some ways from Jackman's work as Organum. As the assumed A-side to "Die Hennen Zähne," it is the calm before the storm, demonstrating Jackman's ability to subconsciously insert melody and rhythm into tracks that sprawl and yawn like consumptive deserts. The musical components that vibrate and stretch across the track are stunning, blistering with reservation and acute suspense. The dynamics between the low, bellowing wind instruments and Jackman's kitchen-sink rhythms are powerful and mark a space where music and non-music meet beautifully without sounding contrived or completely amateur. It's a testament to Jackman's abilities as a noise-maker and a writer. Compositional power combined well with abstract temerity is so rarely exhibited as it is on the opening track. "Die Hennen Zähne" is a far more confrontational work composed of shattering glass and moaning horns. It isn't as immediately striking as "Die Kralle," but the energy it manages to accumulate is impressive. If "Die Kralle" shines darkly, then "Die Hennen Zähne" is the realization of all the brooding minimalism kept hidden before.
"Maus" reserves the position as the central piece on this disc. Its duration and volume forces the other tracks to swirl about it, as though it were the musical cousin of a massive black hole. The constant whistle and Druidical ohm that permeate its body has a whirlpool effect, rotating in the darkness perpetually, ominously, and without reason. As enthralling as it is, it seems out of place with the rest of the disc, especially considering how short most of the other pieces are and how they each bare some sign of musique concrète's influence. Aside from the shattering glass on the title track, "Kazi" features metal pipes and objects being dragged about as its main sound sources. This live performance featuring Emma O'Bong and Michael Prime highlights Jackman's ability to successfully record and use object-made sounds without treading over too familiar ground. The pipe-like instrument that can be heard rolling about throughout the track becomes the focal point for the piece until a large crash ends the track and the whole improvisation fades away gently.
Jackman's exemplary reputation stems from his ability to use strange sounds musically, without touching on anything too conceptual to be enjoyable. Despite his sometimes radical release schedule and his reputation for releasing pricey, severely limited runs of 7" records and obscure CDs, his work is nearly always worth the patience it takes to find. Die Hennen Zähne is limited to 600 copies, however, and will likely move quickly given the fanatacism that often and perhaps justly surrounds Organum's catalogue.
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Rune Grammofon
Saying they're indistinguishable is unfair; I think I'd rather say that I'd rather not distinguish them at all. This young duo is musically impressive, playing their instruments with the kind of precision that all young musicians wish they could harness. That doesn't make up for their lack of creativity, however. I could care less if these two could perform Beethoven's fifth on just two instruments, in the dark, at the bottom of a river, chained to a rock, and lacking a breathing apparatus. They can't write their own stuff with any measure of gravity or persistent energy. Other similar bands at least have an energy or a mystifying and completely unexplainable candor that makes listening to their records fun. Moha! simply stumble through ten tracks in order to reach the end. Their awkward percussive sounds and firmly square guitar playing imitate plenty of abstract, formless rock with all the success of the most ardent fan boy, but they don't ever explode or find a center of their from which they might expand.
This gives Raus Aus Stavanger that dreaded academic quality. For all their ability they aren't really working anything out of their instruments that might be new enough to stir any excitement. Only so many records can be released pushing the same limit of composition and style before everyone gets familiar with it and wishes somebody would write a decent tune again. In so far as noise, tonality, and timbre are concerned, there's nothing that shines, either. Olsen can drum out a storm of death metal proportions, but with flair. He moves all over his drum set constantly, pulling fills and unexpected turns out his ass like a well-seasoned veteran peppered with tasmanian devil cartoon antics. When he does this, Hana pulls out all the appropriate distorted non-riffs and gurgling dynamics that turn his guitar into a horn instrument more than anything else, but it just doesn't sound fresh or particularly ear-catching. The craziness congeals for brief moments only to let all the tension ease away with a suitable orgasm. I've heard friends churn out this same sort of hazy guitar work just sitting around and having fun. They weren't intent on making any of it into a song just because they had a nice tone.
When Moha! rock on two tracks they are passable as a band that I'd love to see live. I'm sure all sorts of shit would end up burning and I would leave observing bruises on everyone's bodies, but because the band tends towards prolonged "experiments" with percussive clatter, the whole album makes even the quality of their live performances doubtful. I can only take so much live messing about before I get bored and wish somebody would play something even remotely similar to a traditional song. I get bored of the same old thing just like everyone else, but music like this is starting to sound like the same old thing.
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Stars come out early when this dry wombsurrounds, when Texan hills and houses become miniature ziggurats under heat-lamp,and faces adopt the timelessness of cut Roman masks without hesitation. The music reflects the gauzy thickness of theair, the feeling of conscious breath, of thorough body suspension, but rock-gardenclean, sacred sterile, and nearly monolithic in the clarity of each second’snoise. Guitar becomes keyboard becomesair-conditioned wall becomes air itself.
Howling, chiming, cyclical drone patterns can consume the space whilesimultaneously occupying some central issuance-point, some quiet locus in theroom like a melodious pulpit obscured as a shoe or a sideways piece of trash,riddled in glyphic writing and piping away with pieces of the world’s happiestdeath knell, maybe the sound Sisyphus likes when he’s doing normal stuff, cooking,mowing the wild lawn or just laid-out between the bed and the burning window.
Pacione makes primordial ambient drone soundsimply made, a comfortable place though inseparable from the ur-primitive impulsethat keeps me slouching back for clues into what is transforming thiseverydayness to pure light, to slow-motion heat. Sisyphus is asprawling meditation of grainy, slow-motion radiance, if derivative then also ahumble and transcendent work.
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Anyone with a cheap drum machine and a loose understanding of the bassguitar can probably crank out a record better than this in acouple of hours; but they'll need a dirty 4-track cassette recorder tocapture it any worse.
Tigerbeat 6
When I first put this record on, I thought that there must be some sortof gimmick. It seemed only reasonable that this was the product of apair of twin brothers living somewhere remote in the Appalachianmountains who happened upon a drum machine through some The Gods Must Be Crazysort of incident where a cheap rhythm box fell from the sky to perplexthe simple people who'd never seen such a thing before. If this wereoutsider music, at least it would have an excuse for failing to producea single worthwhile musical moment. But there's no such interestingback-story for Genders, I'm afraid.
The truth is far more banal: Genders is a couple of art-punksfrom Detroit who may put on a fashionably quirky live show, but whohaven't managed to capture anything on record that's remotely honest orinteresting. The songs on There's Something in the Treats mightbe aiming for some minimalist kind of anxious dub, but the playing isso bad, the rhythms so mechanical (and not in a good way), and themelodies so pedestrian that this sounds like the demos my friends whowere way too in to Ministry for their own good used to make in highschool. There's certainly an atmosphere created by the wailing,no-effort vocals and the sloppy bass lines and the squeals of noiseenhanced by tape hiss and a muddy recording, but it would take acynical mind indeed to appreciate anything about that atmosphere.
The problem for me is that this whole thing is so phony. It'smanufactured to be bad and intentionally stiff and lo-fi and thosequirks are supposed to be part of the style, when a more honestapproach would be just to write songs and try to make them connect withpeople who aren't along for the retro-fetish, Sprockets ride.If this were 1992, I'd say that this sounds like 16 year olds trying todo something like Bauhaus, but given the time and technology that'scome since those days, this sounds more like a hackneyed attempt tosell '80s kitsch and alienation as fashion. If the members ofGenders are really as tortured as their songs would like us to believe,why hamstring everything with shitty production values and retroelectro beats?
There's a scene in Liquid Sky where one ofthe hopeless art goons is singing a horrible, motorik kind of Kraftwerkmeets no wave tune and as embarrassing as that scene is to watch(though it was brilliantly sampled by Phonecia), this record is atleast a factor of ten worse. Genders parades around the samepretentious flaunting of a lack of talent or effort that makes thecharacter in Liquid Sky seem so clueless.I was honestly shocked at how much I despised this record. I'll giveanything on Tigerbeat 6 the time of day without question just becausethe label has a remarkable track record for finding artists who havesomething to say, and something important to contribute. This one flieswell wide of the mark, and that's a shame, but ultimately the label'sbig enough and successful enough to drop out a few clunkers. Thisis definitely one.
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Simon Kealoha's Calika project brings a fresh perspective to bedroom vibe electronica. Fractured and reconstructed though it may be, Small Talk Kills Me is a record composed of songs more than experiments and that's a welcome change of pace.
Audiobulb
While I enjoy some deconstructed instrumentalism on occasion, Calika drives home how the approach of beating up and making up sounds can work in an emotionally relevant way when everything is put together with care. Small Talk Kills Me is full of the kind of sonic detours and lapses into exploration that many artists make entire records out of, but those excursions are always roped in by structures and melodies. Knowing the difference between following a divergent path through a composition with a purpose and simply noodling is something that a lot of artists working with this sort of sound set never manage. Luckily, Kealoha is able to balance his need to experiment with his impulse to communicate here, and it pays off well.
"Jolly Kclit" starts off with some glitchy rambling that made me wonder if this album was going to chase its tail for an hour, but by the 35 second mark there's a stuttering beat, bass melody, and fragments of looped sound that build nicely into an emotional chorus. Guitar punctuates the mix, but this hardly sounds like the live-recorded sort of "folk music with a laptop" approach. I imagine that every sound that's been recorded here has been run through the digital ringer to make it sit in Calika's kaleidoscopic mix of song and noise.
The album's quieter moments recall experiments in field recording, but they too maintain a melody that drives them forward, keeping them from hanging around like so much wallpaper. "Quarter Smile" builds on some looped guitar and backwards melodies and a simple electronic beat that creates a perfect mood. There's even a Joanna Newsom reference in one of the song titles, which doesn't seem totally out of place even in a landscape of click-pop beats.
All of this reminds me of the album's title, Small Talk Kills Me, and as someone who resembles that title in every way, I find in this record the kind of thing I'll put on when I'm at home alone, not really seeking out any company other than a collection of comfortable songs. Small talk, like so many conventions of social interaction can deaden the spirit, and Kealoha realizes that being alone with your thoughts or a good record isn't necessarily isolationist posturing. This record plays like a knowing tip of the cap to all of the other bedroom knob twiddlers and 6-string strummers and bookish quiet types who'd just as soon interact via proxy than get together for drinks. We're all out here, Calika, and we hear you just fine, we just may not be seeing you out at the pub any time soon.
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