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Mat Sweet and Blue Baby Recordings
For this, the final issue of The Brain, I thought I'd sendthings off by examining the prolific work of Mat Sweet, the owner andoperator of Blue Baby Recordings, and the main musician, visual artistand creative force behind the label's releases.
Over the past fewyears, Sweet has recorded and released a clutch of CD-Rs under variousproject names—Boduf Songs, Randolph Carter, Pistols at Dawn WithAfterglow, Four Man Ghost, Heavy Manufacturing Concern, History ofElectricity, Map of Hell—some strictly solo affairs and some with asmall cast of collaborators. Sweet has been toiling away in almosttotal obscurity at his home in Southampton, England, producing animpressive catalog of releases, all with lovely handmade packaging, andmost with startlingly distinctive musical content. When I firstreceived the package from Blue Baby Recordings, full of eye-poppinghandmade collage covers, each with its own distinct visualaesthetic—hand-stamped inserts, xeroxed booklets, intricatetypography—I was impressed by Sweet's dedication to his art. When Ibegan to listen, I was struck not only by the unusual level of qualitycontrol exercised throughout each release, but also by the fact thatSweet's work has remained a secret for this long, in an age whenunderground, do-it-yourself CD-R labels have been blessed with hipstercache' and critical acclaim. While The Wire's David Keenan andhis Volcanic Tongue distribution company wanks all over the newest CD-Rof pointless, boring drone from some untalented, unshavenfree-folk-noise outfit from the bowels of a nameless American suburb, alabel like Blue Baby Recordings, right in his backyard, is completelyignored. All that is set to change this coming October, when Krankyreleases the self-titled Boduf Songs album, which is sure to bring somewell-deserved attention to Sweet and his other projects. Be sure tocheck out the great artwork and design at Blue Baby's website, whereCD-R releases can be ordered for extremely reasonable postpaid prices.Just don't forget that you heard it here first.
Randolph Carter, "Easter Parade"
Blue Baby Recordings
Randolph Carter was one of author H.P. Lovecraft's most memorableprotagonists, a man so frightened by the sudden, unexplainable death ofhis companion that he could only provide sketchy details on thenameless ancient horror they both glimpsed at night in a catacombs,amidst foul miasmal vapors issuing from an open sepulcher. The music ofRandolph Carter is similarly unspeakable, a collection of chillingambient soundscapes each darker and more nebulous than the last,creaking machines and rumbling undercurrents of noise, strangevibrations bubbling up from the core of a dying star. It's a noiserecord, but one that relies on the subtle creation of insistent dread,rather than aggressive squalls of feedback, for its effect. It's moreakin to early work by Lustmord or SPK than the familiar cadre' ofmodern noise artists, but there is a thread of subtle beauty runningthrough these compositions as well. It's anyone's guess what kind ofgear was used to create these effects, but there seems to be some usageof analog synthesizers and a variety of effects pedals, as well as(maybe) some tape effects. The elements pile on top of each other,creating an appealingly suggestive low-fidelity tangle of sound, inwhich one can pick out backwards-masked voices, animal sounds,chattering machines, and other sounds which may or may not actually bepresent. On "The 9th Duke, Manifest In All His Insufferable Beauty," aresounding, earth-pounding heartbeat forms a cataclysmic rhythm, while"Nero Is My Lover" is the soundtrack to an erotic nightmare about aTesla coil. The H.P. Lovecraft influence can be felt on a track like"I'm Clipping Your Wings," a yawning cave echoing with thereverberating groans of some hoary demon releasing foul, malodorousbelches while bathing in a sea of entrails. "One Who Glistens Horribly"sounds like the opening kettle drum fanfare for the commencement of aweird Witches Sabbath rite performed at the edge of a volcano. Much of Easter Paradeis utterly nightmarish, and I was left awestruck, watching amorphous,necrophagous shadows dance beneath an accursed waning moon.
samples:
- The 9th Duke, Manifest In All His Insufferable Beauty
- I'm Clipping Your Wings
- One Who Glistens Horribly, Like an Insect
Map of Hell
Blue Baby Recordings
Map of Hell makes slow-motion doom metal that should please thenewfound legions of post-Nordic sludge enthusiasts currently clamoringover records by Earth, Sunn O))), Khanate and Black Boned Angel. UnlikeRandolph Carter, Map of Hell is a full group: M. Sweet on guitar, CliveHenry on "deathgrunt" and unknown quantities bass and drums. MOH'sparticular brand of crushing death rock is a bit more tuneful and lessabstract than the aforementioned acts, and their lengthy excursionstend to stay grounded in something approaching melody and forwardmomentum, but the low-fidelity recording style constantly pushes theband's considerable bottom-end into the red zone of distortion. Thiscreates ugly squalls of noise that obscure the group's dynamics,forcing attention onto the compounding sediment that clings to everydowncast riff, accompanied by what vocals that sound like thedisembodied roars of a giant robotic lion with its tail being held to aflame. The drumming is the most impressive element, reigning in thechaotic spray of muddy guitar noise, creating an insulatingarchitecture amidst the poisonous, choking smoke filling the air. It'san undeniably hellish concoction that thankfully does not wear out itswelcome by the 32-minute mark, though I must admit that I might alreadybe tired of the whole "subterranean metal" subgenre at this point. Istill think that there are some unparalleled classics of thegenre—Earth's Extra-Capsular Extraction and Sunn O)))'s White 1—thatI will probably enjoy forever, but the sheer amount of this stuff beingreleased right now can't help but cheapen even a sincere effort likeMap of Hell's debut, though it's worth noting that this album wasrecorded back in 2002, well before the crest of the wave. The linernotes contain some cut-ups that contribute thematic justification tothe relentlessly negative riffage on the album, not that you everreally need an excuse to wallow in a pit of twisted, low-end metaldebris.
samples:
- Further Remarks on the Doctrine of the Vanity of Existence and the Suffering of the World
- The Eternal Silence of These Infinite Spaces Terrifies Me
Pistols At Dawn With Afterglow, "No Songs of Birds, No Rustle" and "Your Own Heaven Is Smoking, And Your Clouds Are On Fire"
Blue Baby Recordings
Pistols At Dawn With Afterglow create lengthy compositions, stretchingorganic drones and loops across the entire length of an album, withsubtle acoustic elements nudging their way in, lonely almost-melodiesthat bubble up and dissipate, leaving a trail of ghostly echoes intheir wake. On No Songs of Birds, No Rustle,an eerie drone keeps cycling around, rudely sputtering every time itbegins anew, sparsely decorated at unpredictable intervals withreverberating guitar notes, the bowing of a cello, or tiny pockets ofanalog glitch. Each of these elements disturbs the calm ever soslightly, sending out rippling echoes over the placid surface of thepastoral drone, the tiny waves intersecting and bouncing off of eachother, subtly changing frequency and wavelength, creating tiny,compelling microtonal events. Half an hour into the piece, when I beganto hear what sounded like someone sighing into a harmonica, it seemedlike it arrived exactly at the perfect time, just as it should have.PADWA is the improvising duo of M. Sweet and Clive Henry, who togetherseem to have an uncanny knack for creating compositions that graduallyreveal their treasures; beginning minimally, slowly coaxing outharmonious swells of sound. By the last few minutes of No Songs of Birds,the piece has become nearly overwhelmingly gorgeous, a thick blanket ofpregnant, vibratory cello drones with slow, uncomplicated melodiesshimmering in the surrounding atmosphere. Your Own Heaven Is Smokinguses a very similar palette and working method, but arrives increpuscular territory. The backbone of the album's first track is arumbling, uncertain drone that feels warm, wet and plugged in,nervously shaking as ghostly tones snake lazily around its cracklingfield of electromagnetism. Track two is even more adrift in theinterstices of ancient circuitry, much of the sound occurring justbeyond the threshold of cohesiveness, with only the chirping ofcrickets echoing out across a dusty desert at night to remind me of mygeneral location in spacetime.
samples:
Four Man Ghost, "I" and "II"
Blue Baby Recordings
Four Man Ghost is yet another group, this one consisting of M. Sweet ondrums, Clive Henry on guitar and another unidentified human playingbass. The music made by Four Man Ghost is probably the moststraightforward of any to be found on the Blue Baby imprint: apost-rock trio that keeps rhythm and melody at the forefront at alltimes. The interplay of this trio of musicians is quiet and deceptivelysimple. Though I must admit I wasn't initially bowled over by theinsistent plainness of tracks like "Elizabeth Constance Byrd" uponfirst listen, I slowly realized that Four Man Ghost make their biggestmark by what they do not do: by the notes they leave unplayed. Thegroup is remarkably consistent at slowly building drama and intensityby deliberately refusing to fill every silence with extraneouscomposition and aimless soloing. This can sometimes lead tocompositions that build slowly and rely on repetition, but the resultsare more often than not quite gorgeous and hypnotizing. Songs oftentake six to eight minutes to run their course, meandering lazilythrough metronomic rhythms, subtle tempo changes and cyclical melodiesthat gather complexity as they revolve. Though the group consists ofonly three, the fourth man of the title might very well be a ghostlypresence, as most of the tracks are named after historical personagessaid to haunt various locations in Great Britain. There does seem to bea slight ghostly presence on some tracks, in the form of ripplingundercurrents of drone and creepy atmospherics. This is even moreobvious on FMG's second album, which is mostly a solo affair, M. Sweetplaying most of the instruments, utilizing overdubs, with C. Henryhelping out on a few tracks. While the music is no less precise andmelodic, songs are matched with electronic textures of esoteric origin,often upstaging the simplistic melodies. There is also a stronger senseof "room tone" on many of these tracks, with the rudimentary recordingequipment and impromptu overdubs bleeding through, creating a charming,low-fidelity quality. Both FMG albums end just as they are becomingtiresome, which is more than I can say for the last Tortoise album.
samples:
Heavy Manufacturing Concern, "Ausserhalb Under Erasure" and "All Language Is A Drunk Goddess In My Mouth"
Blue Baby Recordings
Heavy Manufacturing Concern is M. Sweet working solo with an array ofanalog noisemakers, and it appears to be the project name reserved forhis most abstract and exploratory work. As HMC, he creates lengthysoundscapes full of warm, outdated factory machines throbbing noisilyalong with the rhythms of alternating electrical current. Ausserhalb Under Erasuresounds not unlike the sort of records that Beequeen were releasingseveral years back: oddly suggestive albums made up of dusty drones andatmospheres seemingly recorded in abandoned hospitals, disused militarybunkers and vast, uninhabited space stations. There are all manner ofghosts and strange chirping, electrical homunculi inhabiting themachines of Ausserhalb, chewing holes in the wires and pullinglevers to make the machine spin out of control. It's an album for deeplistening on headphones, with its fictional machine soundscapescaptured so vividly that they recall the finest of Nurse With Wound orCyclobe. The outstandingly named All Language Is A Drunk Goddess In My Mouthcontains one long piece, an exercise in reigning in static and whitenoise, creating psychedelic whirlpools of thought-cancelling noise,tunneling through your cerebellum, making way for a new imprintation ofreality. In the midst of all of these staccato detonations of mind-fog,you could almost miss the dark melody pushed far into the background,sounding like a reverberating church organ playing the love theme from Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me.It's a gloriously fucked sound, moving through a series of dark tonalshifts until it finally reaches down into a very dark place to finallyclaim your soul for good. Don't fight it.
samples:
