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At its core, this spilt CD has monolithic foundations of thick, oily, viscous slabs of broken-down and tar-black overdriven guitar and feedback. Here, the Australian Grey Daturas' familiar line in bonecrushing doom-laden oppression is ably bolstered and reinforced by the equally weighty French female-fronted Monarch, both outfits commanding an impressive array of heavy weaponry. Between them, their down-tempo gargantuan dirge is seemingly capable of crushing whole continents. One gets the impression that they would like to physically obliterate the miles between Australia and France if they could, and for the most part it succeeds.
Having already reviewed the Daturas' Dead in the Woods CD a short while ago, I was anticipating a sustained barrage of raw granitic blockiness and in that respect I wasn’t to be disappointed. Despite that, their sixteen and a half minute slice of doom, “Golden Tusk the Endearing,” left me somewhat unconvinced. All the right ingredients are there: slow-moving tectonic plates of gravelly guitar, interrupted by splintering, sharp flinty shards as fault-lines shift and break, along with the protesting squeal of feedback, with the whole culminating in cyclopean seismic ruptures in its fabric. Yet, there is still something missing. Compared to the previous album, this one seems to wallow in a sludgy one-dimensional pit of its own making, and just self-indulgently stays there. It never really appears to elevate itself beyond that, determinedly staying in the lower registers without attempting to inject a measure of personality or dimensionality into it, which I found massively disappointing. I got the impression that it was too self-limiting and unwilling to break bounds, preferring instead to root around in the mud and muck, simply for its own sake.
Monarch follows a similar path, equally subterranean and equally monolithic in execution, on their somehow appropriately titled “Rapture.” The difference here though is there is palpable heat and electricity being generated as the geological processes stack up in coiled-spring tension, releasing energy in tectonic spasms of high Richter-scale detonations. Utilising the same dirty filth-inflected instrumentation of granular guitar explosions and feedback, but this time augmented with the behemothic percussion of Stephane and the hellishly demonic vocals of Eurogirl (aka Emilie), “Rapture” dives and plunges into the lightless Stygian depths. Apart from any other consideration this adds the multi-dimensional layering missing from the Grey Datura’s entry. Miasmatically black swirls of noxious, asphyxiating essence clog the senses, enveloping and suffocating. Knife-sharp feedback and chainsaw guitar slice through, wielded by unseen hands, cutting and dicing with malign abandon. A genderless angelic voice rises from the airless gloom, enticing and pleading, until all pretence is dropped and its true demonic nature is finally revealed. One feels the weight of both the subterranean gloom and the mass of rock above. Oppression and dread take on a physical form here, cowing and buffeting the soul mercilessly.
I was more than a bit disappointed with the Grey Datura side, but it was more than redeemed by Monarch’s effort. Compared to it, “Golden Tusk the Endearing” lacked any energy or drive, remaining nothing but monochrome in the process. In contrast, Monarch ignited their engines, stuck them on full throttle and just let go. Consequently it felt like whole landmasses were moved and crushed, and mountains crumbled. Sadly though, the Grey Daturas never managed to emerge from their little pit.
Samples:
- Grey Daturas - Golden Tusk the Endearing
- Monarch - Rapture excerpt 1
- Monarch - Rapture excerpt 2
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The second, larger installment of their collaboration,following a double-3” on Phonometrography, is another deep slicing into the insurmountablevisions that make both peerless examples of sound artists driven by discoveryand new substance over stylized forms. It is also another immaculate package as expected from Hafler and Die Stadt.Die Stadt
What brought these two (rather these three—a trio again!) back for asecond take at the arch abstraction that has protected their careersfrom scrutiny thus far can only be guessed at, left unanswered orforgotten by those with the courage and the will captivated enough tostretch prone across these two discs, these vast hollow spaces. I havenever been to space, but I’ve been trapped in the funnel of a bedroom’srestless blanket-mess enough times, absent and terrified, alone in asearch for clues that might be miniature parts of myself, to know wherethis is coming from.
“Post-technoid” this is not; switch on the lightand you might see it evaporate, petrify in sepia, graft onto an inch ofwallpaper. Here is glitch as the subtle-supreme counterpoint to anotherfragment of McKenzie’s masterpiece of micro-strata exposed. Glitch asdistinct and spare as Autechre can make it, set, as if upon silkenpaper, as if in an ancient dressing, with proportions easily projectedbut also perfectly, so very regularly, aligned.
It's funny how logic cantrip such a wide hole. Autechre, the neat sutures to the Hafler game ofplaying sweet orchestra for those deeply paranoid. Droning, descending,solemn innerspaces get ruptured, even painfully, but never without anhonest recoil, to the oceanic calm that is more reticence thanacceptance, a cold glow across distances whose shortness is beyondmeasure. No beats save that heart-click, the slow break of a bodyturning in on itself, the thuum-ph of an eyelid that has only to riseon things changed in their own deceptive degrees.
I have fallen asleepin these silences (there are many), only to be awoken by the swingingof latches and humming and swirling of machines in warm-up, again, forme. (He has awoken; he will not quit us; he has visioned the walls ofthis room in their true dissolve; he can see again) No rust, nothinghangs, nothing weeps or weezes and everything moves with a purpose thatis the only the assertion of its own maintenance. I cannot be astranger traveling through, all is part of and one with; I have willednothing but exist on the obliterating fringe of every new noise.
Haflerdrones forward and around, Autechre finds, binds, and questions, whatcan stifle and disprove this atmosphere, which details can push thisdrift into harrowing reverse? The answer is none, and the answer ispart of a continued method of questioning bent on perpetual negationand discovery.
I am at a loss to describe this painful union of forces.
samples:
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The production team of James Murphy and Tim Goldsworthy has been theobject of some of the most exalted praise that the music press iscapable of bestowing. Their productions and remixes as The DFA and thestring of releases on the DFA label have been so hyped and oversoldthat it's rather hard to wade through all of the hyperbole and justenjoy the music, which is unfortunate, because more often than not itis extraordinary. Building their reputation on a series of incredible12" releases by the new wave of post-punk and mutant disco-influencedgroups such as The Rapture, The Juan Maclean and LCD Soundsystem, theyhave also branched out into decidedly more experimental territories,releasing a full-length LP and a 12" single by the psychedelicnoise-metal improvisers Black Dice. Tracking down their sought-afterreleases has been a little difficult since the explosion of pressattention, so the idea of a CD collecting their 12" output is anappealing proposition. Unfortunately, DFA's Compilation #1seriously jumps the shark, as it is far from a complete collection,with glaring omissions and some annoying inclusions. For a relativelyyoung label that has released only seven singles, you'd think that theywould be able to include all seven tracks and even b-sides on thiscollection. However, they omit almost all of the b-sides (except forthe mysterious inclusion of The Rapture's b-side "Silent Morning"), andbizarrely choose to include an incongruous 15-minute noise track fromBlack Dice's Beaches and Canyons LP. Plus, the disc is short atonly about 60 minutes. If they had removed the extraneous Black Dicetrack and used up the rest of the space on the disc, they could haveincluded The Rapture's new "Killing" single, the killer LCD Soundsystemb-side "Beat Connection," the hallucinatory EYE remix of Black Dice's"Endless Happiness," and maybe even the Morgan Geist remix of TheRapture's "House of Jealous Lovers." Instead, we have a disc made up ofmost (not all) of the a-sides, and two rather bizarre songs thatshouldn't be included. I have no complaint with the music, however. TheJuan Maclean's dirty, bottom-heavy electro-disco tracks are infectiousand charming, without being too heavy-handedly retro. LCD Soundsystem's"Losing My Edge," a hilarious minimal electro ode to hipper-than-thouindie cred, sounds as great as ever. The Rapture's "House of JealousLovers" is still one of the best raw, energetic dance-punk songs youcould hope to hear on a crowded dance floor. Black Dice's primitivemetal-scrapings and This Heat-style abrasive madness make "ConeToaster" a terrific avant-rock side. However, the distinguishing musicconsumer is much better off staying away from this woefully incomplete"compilation", and instead trying to track down the original 12"releases, which boast amazing b-sides, remixes and the same level ofaudio fidelity. The DFA's Compilation #1 is, sadly, a missed opportunity.samples:
- The Juan Maclean - By The Time I Get to Venus
- LCD Soundsystem - Give It Up
- Black Dice - Endless Happiness
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What a mess! Pig entrails and mash-ups? Demented children and piracy?Who's going to clean up this sticky filth? Certainly not me! To attemptto review a compilation of forty six tracks from various artists (whoaren't all V/Vm alter-egos) related to and enjoyed by V/Vm over twocompact discs is an exercise in futility. According to the V/Vmwebsite, contributions have come from all over the world, andconsidering the eclecticism displayed by these selections, I'm notsurprised in the slightest. Setting the tone for this absurd andsometimes entertaining collection is the goofy title track, performedby The Krankies, who are purportedly a "sick Scottish comedy duo".Unfortunately, this awkward children's song is a highlight on thisuneven compilation. Somewhat dull rock music bastardizations and blandnoisescapes are served here in heaping portions by several no-name actsprobably better off being unknown. The only tracks here that get myattention and praise are the pop and rap bootleg mixes. Toecutter's"DMX On Tick" takes the gruff rapper's standard shouts and turns theminto a glitchy freakout. Skkatter thrashes the BT-produced 'NSYNC track"Dirty Pop" with potent DSP fuckery. I would be remiss in my duties asa contributor to this fine publication if I did not mention KevinBlechdom's tribute to our fair-skinned editor-in-chief Jon Whitney."Jon Whitney Houston" is a touching, sentimental tribute to the man wecall Mom, a wonderful cover of "I Will Always Love You" sung word forword. All gushing aside, this really is an iffy release from the V/Vmcamp. After their tributes to love, Aphex Twin, and The Shining, Iexpect more from this shapeless collective of mad hatters and supergoons.samples:
- The Krankies - It's Fan-Dabi Dozi
- Skkatter - Dirty Pop
- Toecutter - DMX On Tick
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It was a shock to me to find out that this was recorded live. Thearchitecture of the whole album is so well constructed that I was sureit was a studio album when I first listened to it. After payingattention to the liner notes, I realized that this was all done as aperformance without the help of editing. The music itself is a seriesof background drones recalling the feeling of winds blowing across avast desert, ominous hums that, for some reason, remind me ofstormtroopers and weaponry approaching over the horizon, and variousfound sounds tossed about as if in a blender. Here and there a guitarplucks some melodic but repetitive notes and builds a tension alreadypresent to a nice crescendo. The various sounds that cut into thewavering background range from the aquatic and metallic to the sci-fiand terrestrial. What's interesting is that after repeated listens theybegin to sound like melodies of noise. Either this is the result oflucky improvisation or it was a well-planned effect. In either case,there's something fairly impressive about the way these sounds aremanipulated and used. Backwards flutes and brief bursts of femalevoices either singing or talking cut into metallic chunks being groundtogether. The tension between these two samples resolves itself intothe sound of car horns pitched and extended creating a harmony betweenthe crunchy sounds of natural resources and the resonance of musicalelements. The two tracks here are quite long and can have someuneventful stretches but these are usually brief and do little todistract from the captivating moments. Did I mention that much of whatis featured here is done on turntables? I'm not quite sure how thesounds on this record were achieved by turntables and I doubt that theyweren't filtered and disturbed live by Pure and Martin Siewert butthere's really no indication that anything on this record was made withthe help of vinyl. The mystery, the music, the noise, and the overallatmosphere on Just In Case... are excellent and worth coming back to again and again because each listen brings out something new. samples:
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Two enigmatic men from the centre of Britain want to take you on amagical mystery tour. Imagine sitting on a train. As it pulls out ofthe grimey station the motion rocks you half asleep, into thatsemi-dream state where shifting realities collide and merge. A chime, adrone and an accelerating heartbeat cross the tracks. The ultimatedestination is bright light, but the journey glitters, as you passrolling hills and emerald forests, out into the wasteland where the sunis blinding and obscures vision. The name Aurelie was chosen for thistrip due to its phonetic beauty, and since beauty is hard to describeorally and lies in the eye, it has to be heard aurally. Make no mistakethis is beautiful music, finding hope in the loss of each passinglandscape. This trip is the perfect one to take out of the crowded citythat inspired labelmate Akatombo. Aurelie are a much more delicate yetequally dreamy proposition, and the final dronesongs on Trace Elements almost lead into the opening chimes of Desde Que Naci.Swim, run by Colin Newman of Wire and Malka Spigel of the recentlyreformed Minimal Compact, now has such a strong roster with anover-riding future music quality aesthetic that it'd be no joke to hailthem as the un-UK's finest record label. Whilst Aurelie are certainlyout there dreaming their own pure visions, there is some room forcomparison with Colin and Malka's mighty Immersion duo, and maybefellow middle Englanders Magnetophone. Aurelie is however more subtlethen either, but it would be a mistake to call this ambient or chillout because Aurelie's warmth and drive are all too human. Once againSwim have given us music beyond genre boundaries, from a time thatwasn't a time.samples:
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Dreams never end. Savage freedom time has begun in avenues all linedwith trees. Times have been strange. Do you hear her enlightenedlaughter? Another reason to cut off an ear? Maybe not. Blixa Bargeldmused upon beauty in the night sky over Berlin, but decided that noarms would ever be able to stretch wide enough to form an adequategesture to capture beauty. Beauty, he decided, remained in theimpossibilities of the body. Rachel's music is a music of such heavenlybeauty they must be tapped into something primal, way deeper than merechord charts and floating tailed black dots on lines. Their logoincludes a crescent moon emblem, recalling a darkness before dawn or asweet scented flower just beginning to bloom. Jason Noble used to playguitar and holler for those monster bird rockers Rodan, who weresacrificed on the alt-rock altar a little too early. Maybe he cut outthe noble heart of the beast and transported it into a rotating chamberensemble in perfect harmony. He was definitely running on the same lineas me at Shellac's All Tomorrow's Parties. Rachel's enchanted and transfixed that weekend, but Systems / Layers is even more gorgeous than that singular performance suggested. Their last album Significant Otherswas a rare bird - the only time I ever saw it was that weekend. They'vetaken some of the minimal play from that and put it into a moreluscious frame, guilded by a theatrical group called SITI. Rachel'spulled an improvising system known as "The Viewpoint" into their orbitand they seem to have caught a glimpse of the music of the spheres.Rachel's discovered a lot, learning new ways of creating andcommunicating. Singer Shannon Wright helped significantly, singing sucha quietly lost yet deeply hopeful song as ever there was. Peel thelayers of an onion and tears run down, but there are no tears as theleaves of a lettuce fall and cover routine systems of dreary urbanlife, and as they rot let roses and chrysanthemums bloom throughcracked concrete. Rachel's transports me to emerald woodland glades ina primitive dream where words are no longer necessary. There is so muchwarmth and compassion in Rachel's music it could burn away all theimpurity in the blackest heart. To describe this music in the way of aregular review would debase it and spoil it's magic. Then the songbecame alive - so glorious! samples:
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Much like Manual, this EP release follows suit from a notable full-length release also on Morr Music last year. However, the chances taken here almost (but don't quite) work for me. The production is fantastic—the inclusion of cello, other voices, sound effects, and non-traditional instruments is a warm variety to the ingredients. It compliments the music nicely but somehow the songs just don't sound that strong.
The lead song, "No. One" is an upbeat maximalistic rocker which is decent but not nearly as catchy as some of the highlights of Ms. John Soda's debut album (the counting vocals and frequent stops aren't much more than a mild annoyance), while the second track, "Sometimes Stop, Sometimes Go" has some beautiful moments. Each, however, are sort of ruined by Stephanie's frequent talking. She's got such an alluring singing voice that I wish she would only sing these tracks rather than hide behind spoken word interludes. The third cut, "I & #8217" begins as a mishmash of sounds and samples from the No P or D album, but as it's re-pasted back together, vocals and additional instruments are added by Subtle (which features unnamed Anticon members - although Dose One's voice is clearly audible). It's an interesting concept but at four minutes doesn't sound like it's beed explored to the full extent. The disc continues with the creepy late-night car wreck devastation score in the form of the slow moving "If Someone Would Know," and closes the almost unbearingly heavy dialogue of "I think it could work, Marilyn," where Stephanie is almost playing dolly, talking as the fictitious voices of Elvis and Marilyn in a situation far more interesting to read about than to hear. I honestly hope this is the last they come this close to making a "spoken word" record. The good thing about the EP is that it's been made with the intentions of selling on the upcoming European and North American shows: shows I'm anxiously looking forward to. I remain enthusiastic and firmly believe that this EP, while mildly anticlimactic, isn't going to lose any existing fans at all.
samples:
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While over the course of several years many bands long outstay their welcome, delivering formulaic and uninspired recreations of their past successes, there are a few groups whose passing we generally would not look forward to. Considering their restrained release schedule over the past few years, as well as Cosey Fanni Tutti's physical health concerns, hearing that Chris & Cosey will cease to record further albums under that name should come as no surprise.
With C&C Luchtbal, purportedly the band's final album of unreleased material under their most well-known moniker, the artists formerly known as Chris & Cosey leave us with a recording of a 68 minute concert that took place in November of 2002 in Antwerp, Belgium. Though they have chosen to take up the name Carter Tutti to express their musical vision from here on in (making the decision to end Chris & Cosey seem possibly pointless and pompous), this generally mellow release serves as a pleasant soundtrack to their closing chapter. Things begin in a decidedly ambient fashion similar to the solo remix albums the two have released separately in recent years. The first true signs of life come in the mixture of head-nodding beats, swirling synths, and Cosey's soothingly savage voice on "Celph." "Infect Us" recalls everything I've loved out of Chris & Cosey, its sexual tension steaming up my speakers as I daydream of pornographic scenes of strip clubs and orgies. Their music has always catered to my perverse side, and this performance does not disappoint. My excitement truly peaked when the ritualistic flair and 4/4 beats of "Apocalipzo" spilled from my stereo, building me up for the hot white orgasm delivered on "Exotikah." Remarkably true to the original, the classic track retains the duo's passion for the electro and techno sounds they spawned and is a satisfying treat for listeners. While so many electroclash bands try to mimic the sounds of the 80's, loudmouths like Peaches and the girls of W.I.T. could learn a lot from the subtlety offered by these originators and forefathers on this live album. I've certainly learned a lot from them, and I look forward to gaining insight into what their future output has to offer.
samples:
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Dreams never end. Savage freedom time has begun in avenues all linedwith trees. Times have been strange. Do you hear her enlightenedlaughter? Another reason to cut off an ear? Maybe not. Blixa Bargeldmused upon beauty in the night sky over Berlin, but decided that noarms would ever be able to stretch wide enough to form an adequategesture to capture beauty. Beauty, he decided, remained in theimpossibilities of the body. Rachel's music is a music of such heavenlybeauty they must be tapped into something primal, way deeper than merechord charts and floating tailed black dots on lines. Their logoincludes a crescent moon emblem, recalling a darkness before dawn or asweet scented flower just beginning to bloom. Jason Noble used to playguitar and holler for those monster bird rockers Rodan, who weresacrificed on the alt-rock altar a little too early. Maybe he cut outthe noble heart of the beast and transported it into a rotating chamberensemble in perfect harmony. He was definitely running on the same lineas me at Shellac's All Tomorrow's Parties. Rachel's enchanted and transfixed that weekend, but Systems / Layers is even more gorgeous than that singular performance suggested. Their last album Significant Otherswas a rare bird - the only time I ever saw it was that weekend. They'vetaken some of the minimal play from that and put it into a moreluscious frame, guilded by a theatrical group called SITI. Rachel'spulled an improvising system known as "The Viewpoint" into their orbitand they seem to have caught a glimpse of the music of the spheres.Rachel's discovered a lot, learning new ways of creating andcommunicating. Singer Shannon Wright helped significantly, singing sucha quietly lost yet deeply hopeful song as ever there was. Peel thelayers of an onion and tears run down, but there are no tears as theleaves of a lettuce fall and cover routine systems of dreary urbanlife, and as they rot let roses and chrysanthemums bloom throughcracked concrete. Rachel's transports me to emerald woodland glades ina primitive dream where words are no longer necessary. There is so muchwarmth and compassion in Rachel's music it could burn away all theimpurity in the blackest heart. To describe this music in the way of aregular review would debase it and spoil it's magic. Then the songbecame alive - so glorious! samples:
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Like any artist that is this intentionally outlandish and exaggerated,Peaches runs the risk of alienating the critics and audience who onceembraced her. Even I am not entirely certain how much of my fondnessfor her music is attributable to the camp novelty image she cultivatesand how much is actually based on the quality of the music itself. Thechunky, minimal Roland 505 beats and breathy sex-raps that dominated The Teaches of Peacheswere certainly unique, but upon repeated spins the joke wore a littlethin. Peaches makes a bid for continued cult success with herinsolently titled self-produced sophomore album Fatherfucker.The title operates as a provocatively obscene backlash against thefrequent use of the derogatory 'motherfucker' in hip-hop music. The newsongs expand the sound palettea little, trying to embellish the stark asceticism of the first album,but for the most part they retain the energy and brazen sex appeal. Thebrief onslaught of "I Don't Give a?" opens the album, based around alooped sample lifted from Joan Jett's "Bad Reputation," with Peachesrepeatedly assuring us "I don't give a fuck!/I don't give a shit!"Peaches gets back into familiar territory with the sexy, minimalelectro of "I'm The Kinda" spouting off goofy self-aggrandizing lyrics:"I'm the kinda bitch that you wanna get with/Sodom and Gomorrha/Todayand tomorrow". Several of the shortertracks emulate the dumbed-down Detroit sound of Adult., serving aslargely forgettable filler. "Kick It" features a much-vauntedcollaboration with proto-punk legend Iggy Pop, who returns the favorfor Peaches' involvement with his recent Skull Ring album. Themost surprising revelation listening to this trackis that Peaches somehow manages to upstage the venerable Mr. Pop,joyously stomping all over his vocals with repeated howls of "Tear itup/Rip it up/Kick it up.""Shake Yer Dix" is this album's bubblegum anthem, a splendidly idioticcall to arms, or in this case, a call to gonads. "Stuff Me Up" is afavorite of Peaches' recent live shows, a creepy micro-electro trackfeaturing labelmate Taylor Savvy, that contains one of her dirtiestlyrical double-entendres. "Rock n' Roll" utilizes an actual three-piecepunk group for an anarchistic Stooges-style bachannalia. Perhaps Fatherfuckeris just another spoke in her menstrual cycle, and for many the noveltymay have already worn off, but Peaches has created another awesomelylewd platter for all of the like-minded, skittle-diddling perverts thatmake up her peculiar demographic.samples:
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