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First issued as a cassette-only release in 1995 with a variety of different names (ranging from Eyeless Fabrication to Eat Fuck), this long-unavailable early gem from Seattle’s beloved lo-fi sound collage weirdos is now available once again (in the decidedly more prestigious format of vinyl).
Eerie Fragrance (along with Climax Golden Hiss) is considered to be one of the first real, albeit formative and fumbling, manifestations of the otherworldly and unique Climax Golden Twins aesthetic. The “band” at the point of these sessions consisted of only Jeffery Taylor and Rob Millis, however, as their career progressed the duo added new members and collaborators and eventually evolved far beyond their sloppy noise roots into the realm of sublime ambiance and serious art (perhaps culminating in their 2001 soundtrack for Brad Anderson’s Session 9). The core duo of Millis and Taylor are also responsible for curating Dust-to-Digital’s amazing Victrola Favorites compilation, so their growing renown as respected musicologists is quite likely to someday eclipse the band’s influence (Millis in particular is actively hastening that process by lecturing and making films for Sublime Frequencies).
While thankfully CGT’s deeply aberrant nature has not significantly waned with their growing professionalism and success, the band’s self-professed “free hillbilly noise epilepsy” and ideologically punk roots have become much less prominent with age. As such, the clumsy (yet inspired) amateurism of their early work still holds a great deal of charm (and is much more similar in spirit to Seattle’s other bastions of cultish eccentricity, The Sun City Girls). While Eerie Fragrance undeniably lacks the nuance, cohesion, and beauty of more recent Twins releases, its crackling, skewed, free-form experimentation is still quite compelling in its own right.
All of the tracks included here are essentially formless, disquieting miasmas of ethnic field recordings, long-forgotten snippets from 78s, mangled and distressed tapes, found sounds, and sludgy garage rock flailings. My favorite track is the opener, "EF Part One," which is memorably constructed of rumbling de-tuned bass, eerie flutes, a child’s voice repeatedly stating “listen…I’m really sorry,” squiggling and squelching noise blasts, and meditative Chinese percussion. It is followed by the much more abrasive and deranged “EF Part Two,” which begins on a deceptively muted note with a slowed-down and pitch-shifted reggae sample. The side ends with the brief, but dense, lunacy of “Toyland,” which combines calliope, children’s records, and early comedy records into a flurry of ADD-addled, anachronistic disorientation.
The second side begins with the haunting "EF Three," which centers around creepy, quavering string samples combined with field recordings from some mysterious foreign street environment, and a host of oft mangled and vaguely Indian stringed instrument improvisations. That atmosphere of dread, however, is dissipated with “EF Part Four,” which begins with some dissonant ringing and layered Chinese or Indian percussion before degenerating into a cathartic gale of static, rumblings, and radio noises. There are two more tracks on the side, “Cowboy Weather” and “What was Pointless,” but it is very difficult to tell where one track ends and the next begins: the important thing is that neither the quality nor the unrelenting lysergic weirdness show any signs of lessening.
Eerie Fragrance is a charismatic and idiosyncratic album that sounds quite like nothing else I have heard: this is the musical equivalent of taking an enormous amount of cold medication and watching television in the middle of the night, while constantly flipping through channels, flickering in and out of consciousness, and having very strange and disjointed dreams (albeit in a good way, of course). This is a rather instructive example of how great art can originate from the most minimal of materials.
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A supergroup of sorts, Risil is the moniker for a series of collaborations between a slew of musicians which include Guillermo Herren of Prefuse 73 and Savath & Savalas, Zach Hill of Hella, Tyondai Braxton of Battles and John McEntire of Tortoise. Over the course of some time, the collaboration resulted in enough material to culminate in this, the first of three volumes to comprise the evolving casts' output.
Too often, supergroups seem to realize themselves as a disappointment, an over-distillation of the contributors' various styles into something that neither pushes the members' discographical depth nor reveals much about the other projects with which they are associated. With little room for development and the expectations of already loyal fans, the artists are pigeon-held into producing something that will neither harm their more consistent group's reputation nor displease anyone who they have already won over.
Needless to say, that is not the case here. With such a large number of musicians contributing (eleven are given credit here) there is little room for any one individual's voice to be central, making this a truly collaborative and, as a result, exciting effort. With such diverse representatives, the sound here is instead based in a loose, improvisational style that hardly forsakes the members' pasts, but certainly creates a new environment for them to make music.
Organized by date of recording, the album tracks about nine months of music making, from the brief New Years day psychedelicism of "Implicate"—whose bent guitar tones and computerized stretches weave an unsettling view of the coming year—to "Oxygen Path," the longest track here and one steeped in tough to pin down rhythmic patterns creating a dense, mulch-like underbelly to the eventual breakbeat drumming that drives it forward.
In between, the unit has some wonderful moments, many of which are found in cooperation with Eva Puyuelo Muns and Alejandra Deheza's vocals. Treated delicately by various other members, the vocals serve to ground the work's busy nature, allowing for the group's full potential to come to the fore. Pieces like "There Has to Be" and "This Air I Breathe" take on a Reichian quality as they turn repeated phrases into the rhythmic basis for the rest of the work.
The counterpart to the opening "Risil Intro," "Risil Outro" closes the disc in fitting fashion, representing much of what the group seems to seek. With delicate instrumental finesse the sound resides somewhere between computer music, techno, post-rock, krautrock and drone well represented, but also overcome. Without sacrificing any of their individual capabilities, the unit creates a sound that is far more concerned with collaboration than demonstration. The result is a loose and unstructured feel, but one well conceived in its overall sound. In other words, it lies exactly where this sort of collaboration should, neither forsaking nor conflating its members' previous output, but infusing each with further depth and appreciation.
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First released in 1986 on Torso, this enduringly bizarre collage of kaleidoscopic surrealism has now been reissued with the original cover art. More than two decades later, it still stands as one of the clear highlights of Stephen Stapleton’s singularly daunting and mountainous discography.
Spiral Insana is a series of 20 abruptly starting and stopping musical interludes which are comically and unhelpfully presented in just three tracks, which makes it an almost hopeless endeavor to determine exactly which piece is playing at a given time without a pen and a lengthy attention span. Despite the demented and sprawling nature of the material covered here, there are many recurring sounds and themes strewn throughout the album, which makes me feel like it might be a musical analogue to Raymond Queneau’s Exercises In Style (which describes the same incident 99 times with wildly differing tone). Of course, sometimes it all sounds completely random too. I suspect only Stephen Stapleton knows if there is a coherent theme linking the various components of this song suite together. Two of the "songs" included here were not on the original album ("Mourning Smile" and "Ship of the Dead"), but have been present since the 1997 United Dairies reissue. They fit seamlessly into the surrounding material, so I suspect they are belated enhancements rather than mere bonus tracks. Not that it matters, though- it is a wild and compelling ride regardless of its theoretical foundations (or lack thereof).
Spiral Insana opens (with "Sea Armchair") in characteristically unmusical NWW fashion with some arrhythmic scraping metal sounds, but then something very unexpected happens: the metal is overpowered by a haunting and warm (almost ambient) synth progression and a weirdly reggae-influenced, yet martial, rhythmic clanging. Then it all jarringly cuts out and it is clear that I am, in fact, listening to Nurse With Wound and not an Angelo Badalamenti album. Oddly, that same synth progression immediately starts up again, only this time the metallic sounds are replaced by manipulated feedback and gradually intensifying amplifier hum…followed by yet another violent cut. Now shuffling jazz drums slink out of the speakers, but are quickly bludgeoned to death by very loud, mangled, and heavily tweaked pipe organ samples. Another jarring cut (and so on…ad infinitum).
The interludes seem to grow weirder and darker and less interrelated as the album progresses, which gives the album a disquieting arc (as if it is all spewing forth from an increasingly desperate and disjointed mind). Many of the varied interludes are noisy, fragmented, and somewhat abrasive, but there is always a playful sense of mischief lurking in the shadows, ready to blunder into the steadily darkening fever dream at any second. Feedback, distorted looping amp hum, metallic noises, blaring pipe organs, treated voices, and the beautiful opening synth progression are all recurrent motifs, but they are regularly disrupted by all manner of surrealist mindfuckery: duck noises, discordant flute pile-ups, a mournful and heavily reverbed French horn, a lonely oboe, tribal percussion that sounds like it is being played on a bucket, roosters, kazoos, and field recordings of birds all make brief and unexpected appearances. I was especially (and pleasantly) startled by a very jaunty honky tonk piano interlude, an elegiac bagpipe procession, and the distant and heavily reverbed female vocalist that closes the album with solemn dignity (although it sounds like she is being assisted by an particularly unhappy dinosaur at times). In fact, that closing piece ("Nihil") may be one of the most beautiful and nuanced works in the entire NWW catalog.
It is never easy to tell how much influence collaborators have in shaping what a finished Nurse With Wound album sounds like, but it seems likely that Spiral Insana owes at least some of its density, fractured lunacy, and surprising musicality to the handful of talented contributors involved. The liner notes shed very little light on this, although they unhelpfully specify that David Jackman (Organum) contributed “splutter" (it remains a mystery whether Mr. Jackman's spluttering and banjo playing were instrumental in the formation of the album or merely source material for Stapleton to incorporate into a fully-formed vision). Also, I expected the backbone ambient synthesizer theme to be the work of Sema’s Robert Haigh, but he is only credited with guitar, so all bets are off (I have perhaps grossly underestimated Stapleton’s technical abilities as a multi-instrumentalist). Regardless of the actual mechanics involved, this is a brilliantly skewed and excellent album that has not faded with age one bit.
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Somehow managing to simultaneously cover krautrock, black metal, noise, and post-rock, this trio's second full length album is somewhat of a departure from the largely drone oriented URSK series on Utech, yet keeps enough of that ethos and ambience to not seem out of place, but stands out as a more metallic shard amidst the warm murkiness.
Consisting of five tracks that largely segue into one another, Finsternis begins with "Premiere Contact" and sets the intent right away: a quick blast of low-fi electronic noises and a razor sharp bass and drum rhythm that is simple, but mechanical enough to channel the best of krautrock and its antecedents such as Metal Box. Below this lock-step rhythm is a consistent level of guitar abuse and squall that mostly stays lurking behind the rhythm like some beast ready to escape. As the track winds to a close it’s no longer restrained and becomes heavier and more pronounced, closing with a blast of harsh guitar noise.
"Deuxieme Contact" picks up right where the first part left off, opening with the continued guitar abuse and a blast beat that’d fit in on the best of grindcore records. Otherwise the robotic rhythm section stays the same as before, but being supplanted by the jagged guitar squalls and noise that were lingering before. It stays rather similar, but has a more violent, dark edge throughout.
The middle track "Totalite" is the one that is most disconnected from the first and latter halves. Unlike the first two pieces, the emphasis is much more on the lower end of the equalizer spectrum, pegging out the levels on bass and lower register guitar chords over controlled feedback and filtered low frequency noise. All the while a constant kick drum thump like the opening to "Iron Man" thuds away, recorded so loudly and sharply that one can almost feel the skins being hit. While largely dissonant, the track sometimes blasts into more straight ahead rock pastiches, though buried in reverb and darkness.
The latter two pieces channel more of the black metal edge to the Aluk Todolo sound, largely in its production that maxes out the mid and upper range of the spectrum, along with pounding cymbals and guitar noise that shares as much with the noise scene as it does with metal. It’s a slow, meandering piece that plods away with relatively minor changes as a whole, but starts to unravel as it transitions into the final track, "Quatrieme Contact." It picks up where the previous left off, but allows the guitar noise to retract some, allowing what sounds more like synths to enter, though the noise comes back with a vengeance in the midsection. However, as the track (and album) winds to its close, the noise retreats and the mix becomes more sparse: the remaining guitar and rhythm becomes the focus and takes on more of a post-rock quality rather than the dark trudging metal that came before.
While the black metal scene is thought of as being entrenched in its preference for flat percussion and simple musical structures that always take a backseat to an illegible logo or incantations to various demons and deities, here the best elements of it (dissonant, yet somewhat musical noise) are married to a sharp rhythm section that feels so much more than just frustrated Norwegian teenagers with a four track. It’s a complex combination that can be studied as well as headbanged to.
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Welcome to the weird and wonderful world of the solo project of Kemialliset Ystavat frontman and respected Finn Jan Anderzen. This reissue finds Anderzen further pursuing his deranged and chaotic sound worlds, albeit on a much smaller, more intimate scale than with his better known group. Almost childlike in its playfulness, the album is a rich and colorful affair that will have heads spinning with delightful sensory overload.
Translated, Anderzen's side project actually means "dust gnome," which is about as close a descriptor as one is wont to find for such an approach, especially when considering the artist's penchant for detail. Each piece lays down a world of kaleidoscopic sounds that largely intermingle amongst each other more than point toward any decipherable point. This means that tracks like the opening "Tteema," with its pitch shifting fuzz and interlocking computer trails, leaves ample space for immersion into its unique vision, seeking its eccentricities in the broader scope of its whole.
Much the same can be said of all of the offerings here as Anderzen appears to incorporate an entire children's orchestra into his lineup. "Kohtublues," with overlayed bendings of a slide whistle bobbing between lo-fidelity keyboard meanderings, is at once nostalgic in its sense of youth and forward looking in its sonic conception. There is an elfish quality to its mischevious charisma when the looped vocals and birdcalls of "Live in EU I" mesh with the toy piano loops and various fuzed interludes, as if Anderzen knows he's playing unfairly by bending the rules so much and getting away with it.
Perhaps the most impressive aspect of this work though is not that it manages to be as dementedly pleasing as it is without making concessions, but that it manages to avoid the trappings often associated with this kind of cuteness. Rather, Anderzen's work is neither redundant nor overly precious despite its natural feel and fried aeshetic. Certainly psychedelic in its connotations, it is still a challenging and rewarding enough a listen to warrent significant attention in any mindstate.
Take "Oksat Pois" as ample evidence. Its bird calls, including owl hoots and morning doves, coexist among electronic shards of light that come and go to cartoony effect, playing off of the associations of the bird calls rather than riding their intrinsic charm toward any cheap success.
By the time "King of Nu H" closes the album it's clear that this is a certifiably distinct vision and one far beyond the developmental stages of the typical debut album. At once experimental, joyous, immersive and overwhelming, this is an album to be cherished in the world of new music, and one whose emotional content extends far beyond the technological or instrumental tactics used. Filled with mystery, it is a disc well worth returning to many times, as there is surely a wealth of discovery to be had. I'm glad to see it finally available to more than the initial 400 who bought the vinyl.
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After a few limited digital releases, this 23 year old Polish composer has released two albums near each other temporally, and while both focus on pure, gliding tones, Let’s Make… emphasizes the more digital and static elements of his sound, while Painting Sky Together leans more towards his fondness for simple tones and field recordings.
Let's Make Better Mistakes Together is structured like a traditional LP, where the first five tracks are the side of the record emphasize shimmering, high frequency passages of treated guitar and piano before transitioning to the darker, murkier second side. "Shimokita" layers swirling bell-like tones over subtle field recordings of conversations, the ethereal layers of bell are paired with similar orchestral flourishes. "Raspberry Girl" floats along similarly, with drawn out harmonium/harpsichord-esque tones with minor changes throughout, the most notable of which is a subtle layer of digital static that doesn’t detract, but adds additional warmth to the already light piece.
Starting with "The Sketch," featuring Adrian Klumpes, the disc beings to take an obvious darker turn. The gentle glassy tones from before are replaced with droning bass pulses, and even with the warmer synth passages the piece has a cold, distant feel. Dissonant piano playing is overshadowed by the glitchy/digital noise elements here, and jarring, harsh field recordings cut in just as the piano takes a turn towards the jazzy. The short “So” is similarly bleak, leaning again on the low end and processed/filtered noise is all around, though the purer tones stay the focus throughout. The closing "Night" is the culmination of this virtual "side" of the album, showcasing digital crackles with bass drones that, for all its darkness feels more mournful than tense or terrifying. The second half of this disc is the more dynamic one in my opinion, with the darker textures being more varied than the sustained, more rudimentary lighter ones on the first half.
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Painting Sky Together, which was released prior, has a greater emphasis on field recordings as an instrument, but also sways more in the lighter and airy direction as the first half of Let’s Make… Opening and closing with "Your Whiteness" and "Movie," both pieces feel related, leading off with repeated electronic fanfares and string-like passages, though the former has a light layer of clicks and static while the latter is more varied and features field recordings of running water. "Freckled Cheeks" is similar with its hovering electronic tones and synthetic pings, alongside a bit of Rhodes piano. The static here is somewhere between digital and organic, and provides a nice counterpoint to the otherwise sterile crystalline sounds.
While never reaching points as dark as the previous album, "Tokyo" does have more chaotic field recordings and lower register piano notes that are overshadowed by the natural sounds, which ends with gentle reversed tones and sounds of walking through nature at the end. Similarly, the physical movement is also present in "Agata’s Film," which has a dynamic sound over conversations and icy electronic swells. It departs more from the other tracks about midway through, where it becomes a collage of electronic loops and sequences that are far less pure than the other pieces.
Both "So Fragile" and "Mi.Ti" are also somewhat dissonant, with the previously unadulterated tones being cut up and roughly panned between channels, the former layering in warm static while the later has clicks and pops that resembles a rope being slowly tightened to dangerous levels. The long “January” also has layered tones that become more and more raw as it goes on, closing with raw field recording sounds that are harsher than any other elements in the track.
Considering his youth and upstart discography, Bednarczyk is already demonstrating his skills at composition as well as an ear for pure, droning tones. Between the two albums my personal preference is more towards Let’s Make… because I prefer the darker elements of his sound, and those pieces are also more dynamic and varied. Both, however, are great on their own merits.
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Thomas Meluch's music is always thick with atmosphere and always utilizes textured or ambient sounds, but seeing him live was a surprise. Bathed in steaming noise, Benoît Pioulard's performance in Boston was a psychedelic jam that heavily favored his abstract side. The two 7" records he had with him on that tour provide a sense of just how diverse an artist he is and one of them has me excited about the prospects of a Benoît Pioulard noise record.
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Thomas Meluch's music is always thick with atmosphere and always utilizes textured or ambient sounds, but seeing him live was a surprise. Bathed in steaming noise, Benoît Pioulard's performance in Boston was a psychedelic jam that heavily favored his abstract side. The two 7" records he had with him on that tour provide a sense of just how diverse an artist he is and one of them has me excited about the prospects of a Benoît Pioulard noise record.
Flocks is an 11-plus minute EP that features a dark, nearly resigned tone and more of the haunting melodies I have come to expect from Benoît Pioulard. The A-side, "Maginot," begins with the dark tolling of a bell and puts some industrial atmospheric effects to good use. These are cut off as Meluch lends his drifting voice to a choppy acoustic guitar accompanied by percussive effects, bells, and a fluid lead guitar. As the song progresses it becomes more layered and acquires an exotic, yearning character before degenerating into a sweet mess of sound effects and sustained notes. The B-side is a noise epic reminscient of the material played during his live show. "Alaskan Lashes" obliterates Meluch's angelic voice and eschews his melodic inclinations in favor of churning wheels, pressurized intensity, and grinding mayhem. It is a deep, bellowing blast of sound that broods and boils before it suddenly disappears. I hope this is a sign that Meluch has similar music on the way because both of these songs are superb.
Lee, on the other hand, features two covers, both described as old favorites by Meluch. The first is an excellent rendition of "Sundown, Sundown," originally written and performed by Lee Hazelwood with Nancy Sinatra. Meluch erases all the punchy orchestration of the original and replaces it with a hazy and sullen performance that retains the core melody and romantic tone. Meluch's spectral voice is in total contrast to Hazelwood's grittier delivery, but the subdued tone generated by Meluch's playing compliments his softer performance perfectly. The B-side is a cover of The Ink Spot's "Someone's Rocking My Dreamboat," a doo-wop song from the early '40s. Meluch maintains the simplicity of the original and puts all the focus on his vocal performance and a plodding bass line. The song's bookended by some static effects that sound like Meluch's signature more than anything else. It's a nice song, but the original doesn't appeal to me as much as Hazelwood does, so I can't get myself as excited about it.
Both records are currently available, but were released in limited quantities.
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Editions Mego has finally reissued the woefully out-of-print complete recorded oeuvre of this massively influential and infrequently convening laptop supergroup. Unsurprisingly, it still sounds great.
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Christian Fennesz, Jim O’Rourke, and Peter Rehberg made their unexpected group debut in 1997 at the Nickelsdorf Festival and embarked upon a rather weird and decidedly unprolific trajectory before eventually going on hiatus in 2002 (they are planning to resurface for a new album in 2010). Despite only releasing two improvised live albums (not a single studio album) and playing in front of frequently indifferent or even hostile audiences that expected actual guitar-playing (Jim O’Rourke was even allegedly forced to play a short acoustic set at a show in Rome), this trio ultimately wound up defining the entire laptop improv genre. These two albums still sound fresh and inspired today and certainly hold their own with the best of each artist’s individual work (though arguments from Fennesz fans would not be entirely unwarranted).
The Magic Sound of Fenn O’Berg is comprised of highlights from the band’s extensive world tour in 1998-1999. It begins with the brilliantly demented “Shinjuku Baby Pt. 1,” which is a surrealist barrage of abstract electronic buzzing, squelching, cartoon sound effects, mangled pop music, warm synth washes, subterranean rumbles, and crackling static. Twisted electronic chaos remains the theme for the rest of the album, but the trio’s unique sensibilities complement each other quite well and humor, unpredictability, and sublime beauty all manage to uneasily coexist. In fact, the album sounds surprisingly composed and spacious for a series of live improvisations; it rarely (if ever) sounds like an accidental pile-up or a bunch of competing, independent themes. While it is generally inspired and enjoyable, however, the whole album is essentially a prelude to the lengthy and brilliant “Fenn O’Berg Theme,” which marries a slow-motion shuffling jazz beat to a melancholy orchestral loop and a hauntingly noirish pitch-shifted trumpet hook (or perhaps a French horn), then buries it all beneath an onslaught of textured electronic entropy. It is an absolutely staggering, must-hear track.
The Return of Fenn O’Berg is culled from the band’s two 2002 performances (one of which was at a nearly empty jazz club in Vienna). The explosively dense opening track (“Floating My Boat”) makes it immediately clear that the group had progressed quite a bit from their earlier work. It begins with what sounds like mangled house music being showered with shattering glass or seashells, but then becomes enveloped in increasingly prevalent non-musical crackling and rumbling before shifting gears again into backwards strings, clattering free-jazz drumming, glitched-out ambience, and ultimately cinematic string swells accompanied by a thunderstorm. The similarly excellent piece that follows, “A Viennese Tragedy,” begins with stuttering abstract weirdness violently colliding with what sounds like a ‘70s soft rock sample. Much of what follows is somewhat deranged and random-seeming, but it is unpredictable enough to remain compelling until it finally coheres into a dreamlike, beautiful, and submerged-sounding classical music loop around the nine-minute mark. Of course, sustained beauty is not what these guys came here for, so the idyllic interlude is rapidly obliterated by cavernous, echoey squeals and metallic creaks, but it is amazing while it lasts (like Gavin Bryars' The Sinking of the Titanic condensed into one glorious minute). The remaining two tracks, “Riding Again” and “We Will Defuse You,” are also quite good, but nothing on Return quite matches the prior album's highlight of “Fenn O’Berg Theme.” Nevertheless, Return is the probably the more consistent and inspired of the two albums.
This reissue also includes two rare bonus tracks: “(5,6m Of) Fenn O’Berg” (which originally appeared on a 1999 compilation entitled Sonar 99) and “Adidas Sun Tanned Avant Man” (which was originally released only on the original Japanese edition of Return). While neither is particularly brilliant or essential, they do not sound at all extraneous and blend seamlessly with the surrounding material. Of course, the presence or absence of extra songs is rather irrelevant here: these albums contain some of the wildest and most lively electronic experimentation/improv of the last two decades and they are finally back in print. There is no need to throw added incentives into the mix.
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Orgonautic continues to captivate me with their stunning production values, overtly occult lyrics, psychedelic rhythm guitar, blistering electronic synths, and heady beats. Each new release from them shows a step up in quality in terms of both the sound and the artifact. From the first few simply packaged CD-Rs to the now lavish gatefold and silver embossed digipacks they release, Orgonautic have been building a solid and steadfast body of work. Full Circle brings ten new songs to an already well-laid table along with four songs from last year’s free digital download EP, The Moebius Strategy.
Clues to Orgonautic’s overall gestalt can be found within their name: orogone, a biophysical and psychosexual energy posited by heretic psychologist Wilhelm Reich to be an omnipresent electromagnetic and luminiferous aether from which all matter arises. “Nautic” implies that the duo of Christian Preunkert and Alexander Nym (at times abetted by female vocalist Jamyno and sax player Rabie) are navigators within the orogone infused astral reality enveloping this world. Their experiences there translate into music very well, and as a listener I get to participate in the exploration.
The overall energy of the album is best described as libidinous. Yet, the sexuality evoked on these throbbing rhythmic numbers (some of which are perfect for an erotically charged dance floor) is one that is also linked to a higher intelligence, as opposed to that of strictly physical pleasure. When immersed in a song like “White Light” I can feel the heat of kundalini as it rises up my spine and into the skull, with its attendant shivering and shuddering of bliss. Gyrating with a strong pop sensibility, emanating from the warmly buoyant synth line, the track also has a barely hidden layer of strange echoed tape slur and percussive cacophony.
“Beast” is another exemplary song. The flanged out guitar, which opens it up, is soon joined by a sampled voice in a growling, stuttering staccato, foreshadowing the rapid-paced vocal performance given by Alexander. Christian Preunkert’s studio mastery is showcased here by his masterful manipulation of the vocal track, where certain words are shortened, rubbed out, or nearly deleted. The uniformity of the piece is briefly jumbled when the beats disappear and are replaced by skewed vinyl before jumping back to its relentlessly paced assault. “Sommerfield,” with its samples of lilting flutes, and thin coating of distortion, shows a laid back approach giving Alex a more expansive canvas on which to paint his poetically jaundiced monologue. A friendly and refreshing dose of saxophone skronk features prominently on “Open” where it is played in a classic psych-rock style. On “Field Recording 1,” Rabie builds his tones more slowly, drawing them out longer in accompaniment to the surreal electronic drones. Jamyno is given room to shine on the jilted “Lovesong 1,” where her vocals take the lead in a song that is rather populist than any of the rest.
Like dashes of salt and pepper, the sampled voices of countercultural luminaries, such as Robert Anton Wilson, Anthony Burgess, Gilles Deleuze, and Charlotte Roche (among others) are spread across the disc, giving it added flavor and lending an air of intellectual fermentation.
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Analog Africa has unveiled another lovingly assembled and lavishly packaged overview of funky lost recordings from the birthplace of voodoo. Tireless German vinyl-monger Samy Ben Redjeb has already tackled Benin once (with last year’s excellent Orchestre Poly-Rythmo compilation), but Legends of Benin aims for a somewhat broader survey. This compilation is devoted to four legendary composers from that country's strikingly fertile period of 1969-1981: Gnossos Pedro, Antoine Dougbé, El Rego et Ses Commandos, and Honoré Avolonto.
Analog Africa
Among the four composers compiled here, Honoré Avolonto is likely the most prolific and commercially successful. Consequently, he had the good fortune of being backed by some the more amazing and influential bands in Africa (such as the aforementioned Orchestre Poly-Rythmo and Ignace de Souza’s Black Santiago, both of which make appearances). All three of his tracks here are excellent, but the infectious Afrobeat of “Tin Lin Non” is probably the best (although the instrumental breaks in “Dou Dagbé Wé” are pretty damn sizzling too).
Conversely, the least known of the composers represented is Antoine Dougbé and this compilation inadvertently provides ample evidence to justify his marginalization. While he is the inventor of Afro cavacha (a hybrid of Latin music, Congolese rumba, and Beninese voodoo percussion) and apparently a record-collector favorite, most of his tracks are relentlessly cheery and poppy. Oddly, however, his reggae-influenced “Nou Akueunon Hwlin Me Sin Koussio” is one of the album’s clear highlights due to its wild and ambitious percussion fluorishes (although the chorus sounds disconcertingly like The Animals’ “House of The Rising Sun”). As an aside, Dougbé is an excellent example of an unusual quirk displayed on this compilation: none of the four featured artists adhere too closely to one style. Consequently, I was occasionally surprised by great tracks by artists I thought I could write off (and less frequently, vice-versa).
El Rego et Ses Commandos are famously responsible for being the first Beninese band to incorporate American soul and funk into their sound. While their “Feeling You Got” and “Vimado Wingnan” are two of the more influential and sought-after tracks in Benin’s history, their sound is quite Westernized (James Brown’s shadow looms particularly large here). That said, it is easy to see why they had such an impact, as they display an enormous amount of energy and exuberance. Despite that, I vastly prefer their understated bossa nova-tinged “E Nan Mian Nuku” to the rest of the tracks presented. I'm probably no fun at parties.
The last of the four featured composers is Gnossas Pedro, who is best known for popularizing modern agbadja, which is an inspired mutation of a three-piece percussion rhythm traditionally used in burial ceremonies. Redjeb has included Pedro’s first ever agbadja recording—the opening “Dadje o Von O Von Non” from 1966—but it is more of a historical curiosity than a great track: the rhythm is certainly propulsive, but the vocals are a bit on the sing-song side and the whole thing feels more like a vamp than an actual song. Thankfully, Pedro later makes up for it by contributing two the best tracks on the album: the laid-back funk groove of “Okpo Videa Bassouo” (which features some killer smoky sax hooks and an insanely tight and virtuousic rhythm section), and the sultry closer “La Musica en Verité” (which absolutely decimates the rest of the album).
As with everything released by Analog Africa, Legends of Benin is generally quite exceptional. Of course, it doesn’t quite have the success rate of African Scream Contest, but several of the weaker tracks have historical importance, so Redjeb’s decision to include them makes sense (sometimes musicology and funkiness are lamentably at odds with one another). Perhaps Redjeb is reaching the bottom of Benin’s treasure trove of forgotten funk vinyl, but the rare photos, biographical information, and handful of brilliant tracks should make Legends extremely difficult to resist.
samples:
- Gnossas Pedro and His Dadjes Band – "La Musica en Verité"
- Honoré Avolonto and Orchestre Poly-Rythmo – "Tin Lin Non"
- El Rego et Ses Commandos – "E Nan Mian Nuku"
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