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On my first time listening through Radiant Intervals, I was concerned that whatever magic Eleh was channeling previously, the source was fading. What was once rich in detail and emotional warmth had become cold and clinical. Yet, this was a hasty and trying the music again and again, I find the tones enveloping me like a cocoon. Considering this music cold was a mistake but it is clinical in a different sense to the usual critical context of the word. It is clinical in a restorative, healing way.
"Night of Pure Energy" is busier than what I usually expect from Eleh; the overlapping low frequency waves are joined by a rumbling beat and a higher tinnitus-like ringing noise. The whole piece sounds like the impossibly endless decay of bells struck before the recording took place. Just at the point when I become lost in the shimmering haze, what at first appears to be a pressing error on the LP breaks the mood suddenly. This scratchy sound, reminiscent of surface noise, allows the piece to disintegrate and for "Death is Eternal Bliss" to begin.
Like the previous piece, this too is centered around unusual harmonics and the beatings between the different frequencies but it takes a very different direction as it progresses. The beatings take on an inviting character, coming close to very, very minimal techno. The obvious touch point in Eleh’s catalog is their side of the split with Ellen Fullman (reviewed last week) and I wonder if Eleh is moving away from the more conventional classical minimalism of previous recordings.
The second side of Radiant Intervals is given up to two more pieces, neither of which repeat the ideas of the first side. "Bright & Central as the Sun Itself" sounds like the output of a mass spectrometer looks: thin, distinct bands of color (or in this case, sound) unique to the element being tested. Mass spectrometry was used to identify one of the main components of the sun, helium (the first element to be found in space before being later found on earth). Like helium, this music is lighter than air and it almost floats through the atmosphere. Suddenly, the individual frequencies coalesce into a body of sound that begins to spin under its own gravity like the furnace at the center of a solar system.
"Measuring the Immeasurable" seems to be born out the nuclear fusion of the previous piece; an increase in complexity as the gravity at the center of Eleh’s music begins to do its work. An arpeggio comes out of nowhere, as striking as landing on Mars and being greeted by someone you already know. This develops into the warmest, gentlest drone I have ever heard and how I thought this was cold during my initial listening session is beyond me!
As Radiant Intervals comes to a close for yet another time, it strikes me at how such "simple" music can be in eliciting a powerful emotional response. Throughout the album, feelings of calm permeate my mind. It is almost like a cleansing of thoughts; Eleh is a meditation music machine (although that sounds like a new age nonsense, there is certainly more mechanical elements in Eleh’s work compared to artists who evoke similar feelings like Pauline Oliveros or La Monte Young). Indeed, this use of focused drone music to initiate a change in mental state has been central to Eleh since the beginning; even before hearing the music, we only need to read the titles to realize that. Now Eleh has become the master in the approach to using a limited palette of frequencies to create such vivid, moving music.
 
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This solo debut initially had me pretty baffled, as it is stylistically all over the map and bears little resemblance to Manley's previous work with Trans Am and The Fucking Champs.  There is a perfectly logical explanation, however, as Life Coach is intended as a homage to the work of legendary German producer Connie Plank.  Of course, the fact that Phil is essentially attempting to pay tribute to the entire krautrock canon on a single album is probably even more baffling still (as well as inherently doomed), but he has the instrumental and engineering prowess to at least make an intermittently impressive show of it.
The element of Plank's work that most fascinates Manley is his attention to Klangfarben, which translates directly as "tone color," but more specifically means the nuances that give a tone its individuality.  For example, the same chord played on one guitar through one amp will sound different than the same chord played through another configuration.  As such, a lot of Phil's effort went into finding the right gear and recording equipment for getting exactly the clear, vintage sounds he wanted with as little interference from amplification and processing as possible.  In fact, it seems like maybe a bit too much effort may have been spent in search of the perfect timbres and textures, as the actual songs (while pleasant) aren't always substantial enough to make much of an impact.  People who get excited about great production or analog synthesizers will find a lot to be thrilled about, but the opportunities for delight are a bit more limited for those of us who don't care whether he used a Crumar Orchestrator or not.
The album's shortcomings are especially frustrating because Phil gets so much right: Life Coach is lively, melodic, and well arranged and he nails all of the key krautrock tropes without fail.  Unfortunately, not everything from that period has aged particularly well and Manley has a tendency towards brevity and simplicity that prevents many of his songs from effectively taking hold.  Also, there is one song ("Gay Bathers") that is just genuinely dreadful–while mercifully brief, it bears a very unfortunate resemblance to the "uplifting" closing credit music on Intervention.
Nevertheless, there are some notable successes too.  The album's definite highlight (and longest piece) is "Night Visions," a slowly unfolding and looping guitar piece that shares a lot of common ground with the excellent solo work of Emerald's Mark McGuire (no surprise, as they no doubt share many of the same influences).  There are some important differences though, as Manley's take on that sort of thing is much more minimal and meticulous than McGuire's and relies much less on escalating density. Some of the other highlights are the languid synth bliss of "Forest Opening Theme" and the odd "Commercial Potential,"which somehow seems to make '60s-style instrumental rock sound brooding and cinematic.  Many of the other pieces have their appealing traits as well, but suffer from over-brevity, underdevelopment, or simply lack of strong character.  Also, the opening "FT2 Theme" shows that the line separating "anthemic Neu! pastiche" from "music that could be from a mid-'80s aerobics video" is a very blurry and subjective one.
Life Coach has some moments of inspiration and a few good songs, but I would have liked it a lot more if Manley had been less conspicuously chameleonic. Acknowledging influences is certainly laudable and this album arguably works fairly well as a tribute/experiment (and a rather ambitious one at that), yet I am ultimately left with the feeling that I still have no idea what Phil Manley trying to sound like Phil Manley might sound like.
 
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One of the main stumbling blocks that people have with Severed Heads' discography is that Tom Ellard's long, slow evolution from harsh tape loop experimentalism to hooky electronic pop has resulted in a lot of albums that are either too outré for people looking for "pop" or too straightforward and comparatively toothless for fans that loved his early works like Since the Accident.  The precise point at which those two sides of Ellard's vision struck the perfect balance is highly debatable, but I have always believed 1991's Cuisine to be the Sevs' definitive synthesis of edginess, unpredictability, and tight songcraft.
Volition/Nettwerk/Sevcom
As with most Severed Heads releases, Cuisine has cycled through a few different record labels and track lists, but most of the important things have remained relatively constant.  However, the appended Piscatorial EP was regrettably absent from the original cassette version.  That is unfortunate, as its inclusion is essential to the album's overall charm, concluding the skewed, beat-driven songs of the main album with a plunge into a rabbit hole of deep weirdness.
Central to Cuisine's appeal is the simple fact that Ellard wrote a handful of brief, punchy, and sometimes quite excellent "pop" songs, but was still quite happy to derail them with anachronistic or mischievous surprises. It is a combination that works quite well. Naturally, given that this electronic music was made using the technology of 20 years ago, some of the beats and synth parts sound rather dated at times, but several of the songs are solid enough to transcend that: for example, the stripped-down and spectral "Ugly Twenties" still sounds as vital as ever today.  Weirdly, it is probably the most straightforward song on the album, making it an unexpected favorite for me.  Many of the similarly melodic and propulsive songs on the album are far more traditionally "Severed Heads," such as the cut-up, pitch-shifted voices in "Pilot in Hell," or the "out-of-control bagpipe ensemble" and "malfunctioning film projector" sounds in "Goodbye." Such distinctly Ellard-ian touches also serve to elevate the pieces where the songwriting isn't as strong, like the striking fiddle loop interlude in "Golden Height/I'm Your Antidote" or the haunting singing sample in "The Tingler."  Those touches are why I love this album–even its clunkiest and clumsiest moments might be interrupted by something totally unexpected or sublimely beautiful.
Piscatorial is the icing on the cake (for me anyway), though it probably seems like a perverse endurance test for those drawn to Severed Heads' catchier side, as it evinces an incredible zeal for endless repetition with slow and subtle variation.  Fortunately, anyone who can make it through the relentlessly insistent children's song-sampling piece "Kangaroo Skippy Roo" or the obsessively looping phase-shift experiment of "Quest for Oom Pa Pa" is treated to one of the greatest pieces that Ellard ever recorded: "Wonder of all the World."  Oddly, it sticks to the tireless repetition and heavy reliance on loops that characterized its predecessors, but keeps things extremely focused and minimal.  In fact, there are only two conspicuous parts: a melancholy string snippet appropriated from a classical piece and the sung phrase "wonder of all the world."  The magic lies in what Ellard does with those simple materials, as he warps and slows down the vocalist in supremely unsettling and ghostly fashion.
Sadly, I haven't met too many other people that share my excitement about this album, which I can understand, as it is somewhat self-indulgent, inconsistent, and very much rooted in a very specific era that has passed.  Nevertheless, it is still packed full of infectious hooks and great ideas and boasts at least two rather brilliant songs.  Equally importantly, it is entirely devoid of the clichés and posturing that were so rampant in "industrial" music around that time.  I am particularly impressed with how Ellard used loops on this album, as he never did anything obvious like lift a beat, bassline, movie dialog sample, or recognizable hook. Instead, he managed to craft some rather soulful, stuttering hooks of his own through enthusiastic mutilation and reshaping of improbable or unrecognizable source material.  Consequently, no one else sounded quite like this (then or now).  Taken in its entirely, Cuisine certainly has a number of flaws, but it is definitely original and ingenious enough to warrant a re-evaluation.
 
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There has never been an album by Nina Nastasia I didn't like. Sure, I have my favorites, and on those my favorite songs, but I've never been disappointed. I also know what to expect in terms of her songwriting, which is always exceptional. The formula and style haven't varied much from record to record, though different elements are often accentuated. What I do notice is a steady refinement and ever increasing mastery of subtle details. Her introspective lyrics continue to explore the territories of friendship, love, longing, and loss, and her strong and powerfully feminine voice continues to elucidate deep emotional responses from within me.
Part of the consistency from album to album comes from the great working relationship she has with engineer Steve Albini. All of her albums are suffused with the distinctive warmth he is able to magically extract from all the instruments, especially the strings. Drummer Jim White, of Dirty Three fame, has also contributed expert percussive rhythms to a number of her records. White doesn’t make an appearance on Outlaster but the drums are just as deftly employed by Jay Bellerose. The entire set up across these ten songs is unique, as she works with a string quartet, a wind quartet, and a trio. Paul Bryan who plays piano and electric bass in the trio was also responsible for the conducting and arrangements of the songs. Sometimes the addition of orchestral elements can make a record bombastic and overbearing. This is certainly not the case here. All the components are married together perfectly.
The disc opens with the elegiac "Cry, Cry Baby," beginning with soft strumming and gentle voice. Bluegrass infused cello bowing underscore is given a moment to shine by itself, before she sings out "you're my only true love" while the violins soar into the higher registers, the electric guitar whispering quiet lines along the edge of the song. Nina is great at writing short songs, often having several on an album that clock in at under two minutes. For all their brevity, they are often the most poignant and powerful of all. I think of them as extended haikus, rich with imagery that burns in a powerful flash. "Moves Away" is such a song, her energetic voice spinning a commanding melody.
The rhythm and pacing of the words bleeds over into the next song, the string quartet conjuring up motifs from previous songs. The joy for me on "You're a Holy Man," however, is delicate flourishes of the quick French horn which place the song in another orbit. It is hard to pick a favorite piece but when I'm not listening to the album straight through, I return to "You Can Take Your Time," which would be a good choice for a mix tape or to play as part of a radio set. It gives me the shivers, especially verses like, "do you think I judge you / tell me how it looks to love you / I am not a stranger / I know you well."
"The Familiar Way" has an enjoyable flamenco flair, recalling similar elements in the work of Matt Elliott on albums like Failing Songs and Howling Songs. In the lyrics she references her own previous masterpiece The Blackened Air, an album that has held up considerably well over the years. Things reach a midway climax on the following "What's Out There," where the string section collapses at one point into a frittering display of plucking, effectively capturing the sound of broken clocks, and jarring springs. The second to last song, "One Way Out," is another brilliant short tune: the lyrics are minimal but her voice is most gorgeous and tender at this point, demonstrating the great range she is capable of. The title track tops things off with a wondrous evocation of sailing across the sea. It starts with cymbal taps that are almost imperceptibly ring modulated. The wind section is sonorous, as if the exhaled air of the players is tinkling the caressing strings of bells. Things fade out in a peaceful lull.
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There is an obvious sense of isolation, both overt and implied, within this album. As a young composer in the culturally restricted country of Iran, the hushed textures and quiet moments feel forbidden, and therefore all the more attractive to hear. In addition, the quiet, meditative passages are occasionally broken up by sharp, loud outbursts that magnify sense of paranoia in listening to the proceedings.
Utilizing just field recordings, software, and live mixing, A Hidden Place is a dynamic album despite its sparse nature."Susanna" hides grimy, treated percussive loops below time worn hums and reverberations, burying what would otherwise be boisterous sounds in blankets of quiet.The rhythms take on a flanged, aquatic character as icy melodies rise to the surface to become the focus.
"Somebody" also uses sparse, treated field recordings that sound as if they were collected in secret, with what sounds like distant prayer chants clearly setting the mood in which this was recorded.Voices appear, somewhat overtly, towards the middle of the piece, conveying a feeling of being questioned by some draconian authority."Pedagogicheskaya Poema" demonstrates this at its most jarring, with subtle, simple sounds constructed into beautiful micromelodies, creating a hypnotic swell that is violently interrupted by a squealing blast of noise, making the implied tension overt.
Organ like bells open "Himmel Uber Tehran" above a rhythmic backdrop of reversed static bursts and clear, digital chimes that take command, once again providing a warm, inviting glow. This is snuffed in the title track as layers of oppressive, but brittle noise cover everything, with the occasional snapping or crackling outburst to be heard.Just as the noise retreats, yelled voices appear, again making the underlying tension tangible.
As the B side ends on "Zarrin," there is a sense of relief that the remaining treated and stretched melodies give.Under a layer of heavy vinyl surface noise, the melodies twist and curve into one another without any harsh outbursts. The pensive, melancholy tones sound like they’re coming off an old LP that has been passed around in secrecy for years.
I have always felt that conceptual music, or works created within a specific context, should function well in a vacuum…meaning that they should still be compelling without knowledge of where, when, or why they were created.A Hidden Place accomplishes that, as there is a lot of hushed beauty and frightening outbursts to be heard.Knowing the conditions in which Sohrab created this, it only adds to the power of this recording, making it fascinating on multiple levels.
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Wire's last album, Object 47, admittedly never fully clicked with me. It was definitely a good disc, but it didn’t ever feel truly like Wire to these ears. The heavy use of digitally treated guitar and synthesizers to create "pop" music came across feeling more like a Colin Newman solo album, and also rather close to his Githead project. Red Barked Tree, on the other hand, is more organic and also channels a bit of that brilliant genre-breaking schizophrenia that made Chairs Missing and 154 such classics.
It's not nearly the drastic shift in sound that occurred between 2003's Send and 2008's Object 47, however. Red Barked Tree actually retains a lot of the melodic pop elements of the latter, but in the more traditional guitar/bass/drum configuration, rather than the more electronic-tinged approach, and the results feel more like Wire to me. It doesn't hurt that there are a lot of elements from the band’s history that arise:the guitar tone on opener "Please Take" instantly reminded me of "The 15th," and the pounding drum/guitar riff opening to "Smash" channels "I Don't Understand," and so forth.These never feel forced or lazy, but just reference points that those familiar with Wire's catalogue would appreciate.
The former also pairs a bouncing melody and a classically smooth Graham Lewis vocal with lyrics that are the polar opposite ("Fuck off out of my face/You take up too much space/Move!You're blocking my view/I've seen far too much of you") that seem to reference "Mannequin" as much as "Torch It." "A Flat Tent" is another that feels like an amalgamation of Wire's discography:a punky propulsion akin to something off of Pink Flag, but a catchy melody and odd breaks and changes in the structure is something no other band could do this well."Smash" is cut from a similar cloth, with a memorable melody that could be pulled from '80s Wire, even with the noisy, ugly breakdowns that occur.Plus, it doesn't hurt that we can clearly hear the bassline to "I Am The Fly" pop up in "Clay."
Other songs are happy to wear their aggression proudly:"Moreover" has steady, methodological drumming and clockwork-like guitar riffs are definitely thorny, and combined with its stream of consciousness lyrics, the result almost makes it seem like "Raft Ants" on Ritalin."Two Minutes," which was released a few months ago as a teaser for the full album was definitely an odd choice:being written in 2001, it has that pseudo-Motorhead drive that characterized those early Read & Burn EPs.The clean guitar sound definitely separates it from the early 00s material, and the random lyrics are a Wire signature.Newman's snarling, sarcastic delivery is perfectly balanced with Lewis' narrator like cadence on his lines.
Perhaps the oddest thing to jump out at me was the overt use of acoustic guitar on a few tracks, notably "Down To This" and "Red Barked Trees." I actually have to go so far as to say "Adapt" is jangly, something I'd never thought I’d say about Wire.However, it fits perfectly, especially on "Red Barked Trees," which has a folk infused sound that ends the album on an uplifting note as opposed to the apocalyptic bleakness of "Down To This," which is quite possibly the most dour track the band has ever done.These last two tracks are the ones that feel perhaps the least "Wire" to me, but in all honesty, I'm sure fans hearing "Drill" for the first time upon its release would have said the same thing, and I've always considered that track quintessentially Wire.
The first 2000 orders direct from Pink Flag include a bonus EP, Strays, that is an attempt to capture four tracks the band always felt were never adequately presented in studio recordings.In addition, the recordings feature both previous and current touring members Margaret McGinnis and Matt Simms on guitar and backing vocals, making it a unique item in the band's discography."Boiling Boy," which I always felt was a high point of A Bell Is A Cup is stripped of its FM synthesis and MIDI heritage to be reborn as a purely organic guitar/bass/drums track, much like the band has been playing it live.I can't say that one version is "better" than another, because they are so different, but the build in intensity in the final third or so of the song is a brilliant touch.
"German Shepherds," on the other hand, loses some of the murky sadness that seemed to permeate the Peel Session take (from Coatings) that made it, quite possibly, my favorite single track from 1980s Wire.It is closer to the original b-side version from "Silk Skin Paws" than it is to the IBTABA recording and is still quite good, but just not the same for me."He Knows" is the only one here that, to my knowledge, has appeared on no other release, and resembles the Object 47 era, though stripped down to its barest essentials.Thankfully, "Underwater Experiences" more resembles the Document and Eyewitness takes than the demo from Behind the Curtain, but just feels odd having Newman and Lewis shouting the vocals in unison, rather than the haphazard yelling of the older versions.It lacks the hysterical mania of the live recordings, but is in no way a bad song.
It might not be quite the genre hopping masterpiece that 154 was to me, but Red Barked Tree feels like the band’s most diverse offering since the mid 1980s. While I really have no way as of yet to rank it among their other albums personally, given the relatively brief time I’ve had with it, I feel, at least now, that it will come out well, as there just seems to be a greater number of songs that stuck with me after first hearing them, and thus motivating me to give it another spin after "Red Barked Trees" comes to a close.
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Important Records has fast become the finest outlet for minimalism I can think of, reissuing landmark recordings and providing a platform for works by new and established artists. This double LP produced in conjunction with Black Pollen Press celebrates the changing face of minimalist composition over the last four decades; two archive recordings and two new pieces showing how enthralling and detailed this kind of music can get.
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Will and Dani's 32nd full-length album suffers from many of the same flaws found on their second record. Broken up into 29 distinct songs, Capri sees Celer attempting to alleviate the monotony of their mostly monochromatic music by introducing intermittent asides. Unfortunately, many of the songs represent only a nominal change, and the record frequently sinks under the weight of its own routine.
Maybe I'm doing it wrong. Maybe I should be listening to Celer the same way I sometimes listen to SleepResearch_Facility or La Monte Young, by not giving it my full attention. The two albums I have heard suggest Celer's music belongs in the background anyway. It is typically repetitive, simple, and diffuse, aspiring toward environmental noise more than a recorded object of focus, but unlike the music of Kevin Doherty and The Theatre of Eternal Music, it is both timid and tepid. Probably because they were hesitant to commit to any one approach, Will and Dani's music sounds muddled and indecisive. In this case, it's as if two different records were forced together on one CD-R, each with its own theme and goals. That lack of focus is the primary reason their music fails to impress me, and their superficiality is a close second. Numerous editing issues and a nearly colorless instrumental palette only bog the record down more.
Unlike Ariill, however, some major surgery could save this record. Sandwiched between the longer drones that compose most of Capri are a number of brief vignettes. Some are pleasant, but more than a few sound alike, while others sound completely out of place or altogether unnecessary. Getting rid of those tracks would relieve Capri of a lot of dead weight, give it more punch, and cure a good deal of the monotony that plagues it. Cutting some of the longer drones out of the record would help, too. Nearly all of them exhibit the same colors, textures, and moods, and not one of them succeeds in sounding like anything more than a washed out blur of sound. Toss a few of those out and Capri feels even lighter and more focused. Beneath all the fat is a coherent record of weightless drones, even if most of them are one-dimensional.
Since field recordings play a central role in their compositional method, I would expect more dynamism and variety from their music. But, nearly every drone and sustained note on Capri is flat and shallow, which is a shame because Celer sound great when they allow texture and variation into their sound, as both "Braclets Passed to Spanish Hands" and "Sonata For Dual, Unaccompanied Piano" attest. A little more discipline would help Celer tremedously.
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Important Records has fast become the finest outlet for minimalism I can think of, reissuing landmark recordings and providing a platform for works by new and established artists. This double LP produced in conjunction with Black Pollen Press celebrates the changing face of minimalist composition over the last four decades; two archive recordings and two new pieces showing how enthralling and detailed this kind of music can get.
 
Important Records / Black Pollen Press
The two archive recordings form the first LP, one side devoted to Pauline Oliveros’ "Horse Sings from Cloud (Encore)" and the other containing Eliane Radigue’s "Biogenesis." Both these composers create music that is both powerful and personal but in utterly different ways. On a live recording from 1977, Oliveros (armed with her characteristic accordion) generates an earthy swarm of sound dictated by her simple, elegant score:
"…hold a tone until there was no desire to change the tone. When there was no desire to change the tone then it could be changed."
The long accordion tones are punctuated by Oliveros’ voice, deeply human music from a genre known for its abstraction. The concentration employed by Oliveros commands an equal amount of concentration from the listeners. Giving it (and the other three pieces that make up the appropriately titled Attention Patterns) the due attention they deserve makes for a fulfilling and rewarding experience.
From a purely stylistic perspective, Radigue’s "Biogenesis" (recorded in 1973) is a world apart from Oliveros’ piece. The electronic drones suggest a level of complete peace that transcends any normal human experience. While it does not quite come to the sublime, satoric bliss of her masterpiece Trilogie de la Mort, the singularity of Radigue’s compositional approach and its lack of artistic redundancy is remarkable. Interlocking motifs, muffled by amniotic drones eventually give birth to a pulse, a deep lub-dub of a heartbeat formed from the interaction between frequencies.
The second LP is given over to new works. Yoshi Wada’s "Reed Modulation" blows the calm of the first LP out of the stratosphere. A combination of reed intsruments and electronics, "Reed Modulations" fills the room and my mind to the point where the house could be burning down around me and I would not notice until the record melted. The rich, full and physical sound of the piece makes links with Oliveros’ accordion playing. Like Oliveros, the two Wadas (Yoshi is joined by his son Tashi on this recording) turn the music into an extension of their bodies.
Finally, Sun Circle finish off Attention Patterns with their ritualistic "For Yoshi Wada." Despite the dedication to Wada, this piece comes from the same place as some of Angus MacLise’s more trance-inducing recordings. Layers of mizmars and khaen (both reed instruments which do reflect Wada’s own choices in instrumentation) form hypnotic sheets of tones which are punctured by slow, booming percussion. This is completely at odds with the other three pieces on the album in terms of style and character but Greg Davis and Zach Wallace are definitely channeling something from the same inspirational and philosophical sources as Oliveros, Radigue and Wada.
In addition to the music, there is also a 48-page booklet filled with interviews, biographical information, photographs and liner notes. The interviews all tease out revealing information from the various musicians; the interviewer (Che Chen) is insightful and the responses from all parties make for fascinating reading. The entire package is housed in a stark, embossed white sleeve which contrasts beautifully with the black of the vinyl and the purple inks used to color the booklet. This is a perfect album which will no doubt be considered a classic in years to come.
 
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Out of the two latest Eleh releases, this split LP with Ellen Fullman comes out as the champion. Here are two sides of stunning contemporary minimalism; Eleh pushes about electrons like a quantum choreographer while Fullman pulls tones out of metal with her fingers. Both pieces are engaging and despite their differences in execution, they complement each other like two lovers in union.
 
On "Mind of No Mind," Eleh develops their compositional approach further out than before. In comparison to the La Monte Young and Pauline Oliveros worship of earlier releases, this piece is practically a pop song. A warm, meditative wave of synthesizer rolls out of the speakers before breaking into rivulets of calming pulses. It all sounds a bit new age but there is substance lurking below the surface. As the piece progresses, the influence of more modern explorations of minimalism like Ryoji Ikeda and Alva Noto peeps through; the beats that emerge from the obsidian drones come as a shock. It is not like such sounds are new to Eleh but the prominence of these sounds changes the character of the piece instantly. What was a monochrome sea of sound is suddenly alive, a Cambrian explosion of music.
Flipping the record over, Fullman’s "Event Locations" shows how the ideas explored by the minimalist composers of the 1960s can still bear sweet fruit. Her Long String Instrument, a gorgeous sculpture capable of generating a range of sounds in just intonation, forms the flesh of this particular fruit. Bowing the strings with her fingers, Fullman creates a swirling mass of tones. The combined effect creates something between a hurdy gurdy, accordion and bells. As she moves through the piece, the interaction between the notes cause audio disturbances and fleeting ghosts in the music.
Along with the Attention Patterns compilation (also reviewed this week), this LP represents the best in an often abused form of composition. Many artists retreat to a minimalist-like style to escape poor technique and a lack of imagination but both Eleh and Fullman show how minimalist theory can still be used to create commanding works that could never be classed as derivative or unskilled.
 
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Annie had always loved reggae and dub, but now – living in London – she was soaking in the stuff. The Crass crew already knew Sherwood (On-U Sound), and he and they both recorded at Southern Studios in London. Sherwood and Annie met, and got on like the proverbial house on fire. An LP, joint venture of both On-U Sound and Crass’ Corpus Christi label, came into being. It was called Soul Possession and was unleashed in 1983.
Soul Possession is easily the most extreme LP Annie has released to date – an unsettled and unsettling collection of rhythmic soundscapes, over which Annie intones some of her most grim and grisly lyrics. Soul Possession is not about beauty, though it does have some dark, lovely moments. It is an album that has a political point to make, and it does so very, very effectively. It is a brutal reflection of the brutality of modern life. It is steeped in the aesthetic mindset of Crass – indeed collective members Penny Rimbaud, Pete Wright and Eve Libertine are featured players.
Annie, the chanteuse, is just in her formative stages here, and her breathy/breathless rants have more in common with the urgent vocal delivery of Alan Vega or Don Van Vliet than they do with Judy Garland. Sherwood’s production is an evil wonder – a haunted house full of bubbling baselines, eerie electronics and clattering graveyard percussion. ‘Closet Love’ sets the scene for the LP, a gently funky bass spars with a jittery drum machine and an abrasive keyboard, while Annie coos a nightmare scenario of lovers ripping each other apart/rotting in each others’ arms.
‘Third Gear Kills’ has a great, grim groove and Annie spins a hypnotic tale of automotive violence and sex, à la JG Ballard’s Crash. ‘Turkey Girl’ feels like an explicit homage to Captain Beefheart. It boasts a catchy melody and the most traditional song structure on the LP, but the lyrics are a monstrous parody of the tales of male sexual prowess one might find in a blue blues song. (“Wanna slice my cock on your pop top”, the clearly deranged narrator barks at his “turkey fuck girl”.) ‘Burnt Offerings’ calls to mind Mark Stewart and his Maffia, and punctuates its tale of torture and mind control with a sad piano melody, which helps make Annie’s performance all the more harrowing.
‘To Know Evil’ advances on the listener like some huge, mutant reptilian monster, before settling into an evil, repetitive groove over which Annie catalogues the horrors of war. Strangely Annie abandons her vocal duties entirely for ‘Sad Shadows’, giving the song over to Crass’ Eve Libertine who gives her best angry-ghost-howling-in-the-wind delivery to Annie’s images of female oppression. The song is both haunting and haunted and grows oddly funky as it progresses.
‘Viet Not Mine, El Salvador Yours’ may well be this scary album’s scariest moment, with its horror movie soundtrack/backing track and Annie’s flock of harpies multi-track vocals – of which Diamanda Galás might well have been proud. The final track, ‘Waiting for the Fun’, arrives with evil bass lines, funky drums and another hornets’ nest of vocals – which return again and again to an oddly plaintive, folk song melody.
Critics were effusive with their praise. Clearly this was the work of an artist to be reckoned with.
For those ‘in the know’, Annie Anxiety was now a known quantity. She never did make it to Berlin – she would live in London for the next decade. She would soon abandon her post in the Crass collective, and be issued a card to carry indicating her position as resident diva for the On-U Sound crew. A dub chanteuse would emerge.
Right place, right time.
But that’s another story…
Robert R Conroy
New York City, September 2010
Taken from Robert R Conroy's notes for the insert of this reissue of Soul Possession.
The CD is beautifully packaged in a digipack with artwork taken from Little Annie's own paintings and comes with extensive liner notes from Robert R Conroy, which shed light into the events around the recording.
Also available in this series of reissues are Little Annie's Jackamo and Short and Sweet.
Track Listing
1. Closet Love
2. Third Gear Kills
3. Turkey Girl
4. Burnt Offerings
5. To Know Evil
6. Sad Shadows
7. Viet Not Mine, El Salvador Yours
8. Waiting for the Fun
Running Time: 48 minutes
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