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Matt and Erica Hinton spent seven years making their essential documentary about Sacred Harp hymn singing. This companion set comprises the soundtrack of gloriously raw a cappela music from the film, with a second disc of interpretations by artists such as Doc Watson, The Innocence Mission, Richard Buckner, Woven Hand, and John Paul Jones. It is a win-win situation.
I can’t pretend to understand the details behind the theory of shape notes. It’s enough, though, that they make it easy for people who don’t read music to somehow, well, read music. The only allusion I can come up with is i.t.a. the much-maligned reading learning process which basically said it is foolish to insist that children learn correct spelling of words, instead let them write ennyway dey fink iz ryte. These are the Scrabble opponents I long to play! But I digress. There is an unbridled power to the voices on Awake, My Soul and the roots of their singing goes back beyond the Deep South to the plainsong of Northern Europe. Many of these songs begin with what seems to be a period of limbering up followed by a section which sounds more like a standard hymn. On wonderful pieces such as "Stratfield" the limbering up part is bracing, full of discordant power and a beguiling, organic, complexity.
Luckily, detail and intellect should be left at the door when approaching Sacred Harp or shape note singing, since it is less about understanding or analysis and more about instinct and full-hearted participation. The form also has the democratic appeal of devotional music without a separate choir of ‘good singers’ and, best of all, no cold organ obliterating the human voices. In that sense, Sacred Harp singing reinforces the notion that all are equal in the eyes, and ears, of God. Not that belief in God or in the existence of a soul is necessary for enjoyment. Far from it. Indeed, an appreciation of this music can rely totally on delight at these pure and visceral sounds; rather like hearing the shifting pulses of Steve Reich’s Music for 18 Musicians without being a Buddhist. In theory, taking part in the singing would feel better than listening, and singing when imbued with a conviction of faith might be even better. To put it in secular terms, The Kop singing “You’ll Never Walk Alone” is impressive, but being there and singing along must be more affecting. Furthermore, doing so with the conviction that Liverpool FC is the greatest team in England must top that. There are just some leaps of faith that agnostics (and Manchester United supporters) cannot (or will not) make!
The Hintons (as filmmakers and curators of the compilation) feel that the second disc of interpretations might hook a new audience for the real thing. Maybe, but the interpretations are very different; paler and less intense. At first, I found that Help Me to Sing seemed feeble compared to Awake, My Soul but eventually some of the power of the latter fell away and the gentle songs of the former acted as a healing balm. Perhaps it depends on mood. Ultimately, Sacred Harp singing has an effect that is beyond description: to quote Emily Dickinson:
The murmur of a bee
A witchcraft yieldeth me.
If any ask me why,
'Twere easier to die
Than tell.
Some people fail to question the pitifully crude stereotype that only black people make passionate music for the gut whereas whites compose intellectual music for the mind. Sacred Harp singing is yet another refutation of that nonsense. It has been largely a rural Southern pursuit but is practiced in some US cities (including Dallas) and also in England. It ranks as one of the most exhilarating, exuberant, life-affirming rackets known to human beings. If the walls of Jerico did indeed fall, well, we now know how. Whether this music is part of salvation and eternal life depends upon your point of view. In the here and now, research has shown that three group activities are particularly beneficial to a person’s health and well-being: camping, dancing and choral singing. Those researchers might not have been camping in the wet Cornish summer of 1974 or tried dancing in the booze-soaked environs of Stoke-on-Trent circa 1981, but pulling together and belonging is undeniably important and Sacred Harp singing fits right in. It has survived widespread disinterest until now and I’m sure it will flourish despite fifteen minutes in the spotlight of a superficial media who will gobble up the DVD and this set before moving swiftly on.
samples:
- China
- Norwich
- Stratfield
- Woven Hand - Consecration
- Doc Watson and Gaither Carlton - And Am I Born To Die? (Idumea)
- The Innocence Mission - Africa
- Richard Buckner - Windham
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Operating within and between the rather loose conventions that dominate electronic and rock music, Skye Klein continues to map out a musical style capable of putting equal emphasis on every genre it employs.
Extreme
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Klein's latest musical venture showcases an unevenness that was less evident on Compressor, released last year on Extreme. On that album, Terminal Sound System sounded like a project dedicated to giving rhythm and timbre their time in the sun. Though many of the songs featured no strong melody, themes and hooks were still developed through the smart use of texture and atmosphere. I liked that album despite its flaws: Klein was clearly looking to restructure drum 'n' bass and employ its strengths in new environments. It was also unremittingly dark and brooding and filled to the brim with rumbling and exaggerated beats. That coherency explains why Constructing Towers comes as such a shock to me. Klein's purpose isn't nearly as clear on this album and his modus operandi is frustratingly scattered. Seemingly at odds with himself, Klein utilizes both familiar and idiosyncratic techniques to form a patchwork album that features camp, aggression, and trepidation in equal doses.
"In Your Planet" is a barnburner of an introduction. With an epic organ part, a flurry of brushed percussion, and a massive low-end, the song boils and recedes in a succession of tense and meditative moments. Texture is still Klein's strong point, but melodies are more prominent on this record from the get go. Light pianos and bass pulses exchange melodic duties with reversed synthesizer effects and orchestral crescendos, all of which lend the album a strong immediacy. This immediacy continues throughout the record, but in wildly different ways. "Constructing Towers" features a muffled vocal performance and the kind of drum breaks you might remember from Luke Vibert's various releases or from the odd Venetian Snares' song. Not content to reproduce good drum 'n' bass, Klein inserts wah-wah pedals into "Year of the Pig" and tempers the whole thing with bright keyboards; the song is jumpy and unpredictable, but everything still feels tightly connected at this point. When "Alaska" comes on, I feel like the ground is pulled out from under my feet and the whole album is set adrift. Suddenly Angelo Badalamenti joins the band, rock 'n' roll guitars become part of Klein's vocabulary, and the mood developed over the first three tracks is eschewed in favor of something completely different.
Just like Compressor, much of Constructing Towers is haphazard; the first three songs sound like they belong on an EP together, "Alaska" belongs in a world all its own, and everything afterwards feels like a coherent statement, but from a project quite different than Terminal Sound System. The acid-tinged electronica and jazz-like influences showcased on the second half of the album feel far more cinematic than the first half and demonstrate Klein's ability to warp and bend familiar sounds and conventions. The second half of the record is also a far more relaxed affair than the first half thanks to the low, cool horns and vibraphones that dominate it. In trying to blend so many influences and ideas, Klein went a bit off the deep end and forgot where he was going once he started. He ends up in some interesting places and with beautiful results, but he does in a haphazard and confusing way. Constructing Towers is a dark, beautiful record with several moments of brilliance (the walking bass line on "Duchamp Falls" comes unexpectedly, but works perfectly), but it is uneven both conceptually and stylistically.
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With this long player, Nigel Ayers has produced the musical equivalent of a sexual fever. Unbidden, while listening I became aroused by its somnambulatory exhortations and caressed by rhythmic undulations that continuosly excite.The three long pieces that compose the first side are perfectly tinged tones, vibrating in the same hypnagogic blue color as the record cover. These tones hover and sway in an ionosphere swollen from lunar tides, while metallic chirps reverberate in the background. The sounds build up with an equipoised pressure as their drifting sonorities dance in stereo fields of microscopic static. Lost accordions transmigrate from a brighter astral plane and it begins to feel as if I am encased by a ringing halo of light... And time stands still.
When I flip the record over to its backside, what I have heard before I hear again, but in a different and recycled fashion. Nothing is wasted; the first few minutes sound ominous but soon morph into a transcendent joy, a stirring dirge recalling the vitality of the human spirit. The chirps echo in again, electronic crickets of possibly alien origin sound off and as I travel through the four songs of this second half of the album, Mr. Ayers moves me back into my physical body with free flowing guitar loops and buzzing inarticulate voices straining to communicate in a nonlinear language. Proceeding through a track of clinks and clanks I find myself billowed for a moment in the warmth of a feathered bed. Chiming sounds arrive again, swelling with a warm dissonance. These nightscapes spin me into action even as the detritus of dreams swarm around me. Listening to this album I feel as if my brain is cradled in the capable hands of an esoteric neurosurgeon, proving once again that Nocturnal Emissions will bring me to the edge of a spiritual climax and hold me there steadily. As if in by a primal tantra, meditating on his electric plainsong, I am coaxed back into a promised land of earthly delights.
Long after the album is over memories of beautiful sound swirl in the afterglow.
This LP was released in a limited edition of 555 numbered copies.
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Masami Akita sounds his most creative, dynamic, and colorful when he works with other accomplished musicians. Merzbow's collaboration with French pioneer Richard Pinhas features some of his best music and gleefully amplifies the psychedelic tendencies of both composers.
Cuneiform
Hearing Keio Line for the first time engendered the same excitement in me that Sleeper Awakes on the Edge of the Abyss did. That album, co-authored with H.N.A.S. and Mirror veteran Christoph Heemann, witnessed Akita's onslaught of noise mayhem tempered by Heemann's less destructive tendencies. The result was a finely tuned album of abstract noise that revered moments of muted beauty as much as chaotic splendor. Pinhas and Akita have accomplished the same thing on this double-CD, albeit in a completely different manner.
Though not without its more damaged moments, Keio Line is a beautifully quiet and streamlined record boiling over with harmonic and melodic streams of noise. Pinhas' penchant for ambient composition and Fripp-esque guitar takes center stage throughout the record with heavily processed strings and analog synthesizers dominating a supporting cast of varied and mashed instruments. There is no doubt that Pinhas took the lead role on this album. At times the instrumentation is surprisingly naked; the typically wrecked sounds found in Merzbow's vocabulary are laid wide open and exposed for the listener to enjoy. Clear solos thus emerge from layers of confused drum machines and cascading feedback, providing a far more musical dimension than I am used to hearing on a Merzbow record. This added dimension is a boon and one that I hope Akita utilizes on more of his records. With melody and psychedelic bits of ruined machine music complimenting the junk-box destruction most associated with Merzbow, 26-minute songs become approachable entities that command repeated listening. All of Akita's more colorful tendencies emerge very clearly on Keio Line and sync up with Pinhas' aesthetic choices incredibly well. I don't mean to argue that the more typical Merzbow album doesn't require deep listening, but Keio Line is more welcoming and rewarding than the sometimes flat nature of Merzbow's pure noise assault.
There are moments of all-out war on Keio Line, too; this isn't anything like an ambient or less potent Merzbow. On the contrary, all the added dynamism provided by Richard Pinhas makes Merzbow seem more potent and exhilarating. "Fuck the Power (and Fuck Global Players)" is filled with hissing vitriol and rumbling low end, but it's tempered by a never ending ribbon of shuffling paper ruckus and undulating harmonic moans. The interaction of these elements is breathtaking at times. That interaction is also the reason this album has kept my attention for so long. By providing an extra layer of intrigue to the familiar and freeform aesthetic of noise, Pinhas and Merzbow have crafted a shining highlight in Merzbow's ever-growing catalog. It is a clear example of Pinhas' compositional and technical ability and, simply put, one of my favorite Merzbow-related records.
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All the best love songs are about heartache and Windy & Carl have seized on that. The latest addition to their canon was recorded at the same time as Windy Weber’s solo album I Hate People (released earlier this year) and unlike the sentiments of Weber’s solo album, this is an album about love. Although this is the idea of love that Lord Tennyson famously wrote: “better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”
In referring to this album, Weber writes:”This is an album about love. Everyone has known love, and everyone has known loss. Love is not just about warm fuzzy feelings, although that would be the part people say they like the best. And in any span of time, love changes and means different things to different people.” This album certainly captures the less savoury aspects of love (although track titles like “My Love,” “Forever” and “Champion” are misleading) and there is a palpable sense of anguish here and a bittersweet mood runs through the album’s ten songs. Windy & Carl are never anything if not sombre but Songs for the Broken Hearted is particularly solemn. Vocals feature prominently on this album but are always hushed and deferent to the feel of the songs. Each line is like an element of a dream, difficult to keep in mind after it has passed. Weber’s voice on “My Love” sounds like it is calling from the inner recesses of a memory long crumpled up into a ball and thrown into the farthest corner of the mind; distant yet familiar.
Like 2005’s Dedications to Flea, Windy & Carl tug at the heartstrings using the same approach to guitars that they also use to bring contentment. The sustained guitar notes that they are famed for swirl together to make a dirge for love, the guitar and bass coming together to sound like a mighty harmonium. The album’s highlight, “Snow Covers Everything,” takes all the usual Windy & Carl elements but it resonates even more powerfully than usual (both in acoustic and emotional senses of resonance). I tend to love everything I hear from these two but “Snow Covers Everything” is remarkable even by their standards. From the vocals right down to the twinkling bells, there is not an element in this song that does not sound perfect.
Songs for the Broken Hearted is a haunting addition to an already spectral back catalogue. Windy & Carl continue to impress and move me with their music (and I cannot see that changing in the future). The genuineness of their feelings and beliefs is always apparent in their music, something which separates them from other artists exploring the same tones and approaches to guitar craft. It is possible to connect with their sentiments on a real level when listening to their albums and this is true to a larger extent than normal on Songs for the Broken Hearted. I do not know if I can listen to this album often but I know it will leave a mark every time I hear it.
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Micah's third studio record seems a big departure from the old-time rag country blues styling of his jaunty debut. This time he has produced a series of dark ballads around the themes of faith, misfortune, trickery and wisdom.
The Red River is a short recording of seven songs, devoid of clutter and benefiting greatly from Harris Newman's bright and sympathetic production. On the title track, Newman ensures hypnotic acoustic guitar plucking is to the fore while a tale of goodness and slaughter sneaks into focus. The lyrical weight and sadness of the song are reflected by Jerusha Robinson's cello. Some of the songs create simple mystery through repetitive guitar and clear yet perplexing storytelling. The characters are believable and the songs have arrangements which allow their voices to be heard. In the past decade or so, Alasdair Roberts and Richard Youngs have done this almost without peer. Smaldone's work implies a similar integrity and growing confidence.
Another stand out is "Pale Light". This languid track juxtaposes a sparse soul arrangement (featuring Tim Harbeson's lovely cornet playing) against strange folk lyrics such as "I ask not forgiveness/it was never of malice/nor to jeremiad ends." The rhythm sort of begs for a slightly hysterical falsetto vocal. Smaldone doesn't quite go that far but he does use the top of his range (his "head" voice rather than his "chest" voice) and it works very well. "Pale Light" is the most fun here and the best praise I can offer is to say that it might have dropped off Sandro Perri's Tiny Mirrors disc. There are some nifty guitar fills, a slashing rhythm, and a series of peaks on "A Derelict (That Bore Your Name)" but despite hearing every word I'm unclear what the song is about.
Micah Blue Smaldone has previously gained inspiration from US music of the 1920s but on this record he crosses the ocean and draws upon earlier European. The pieces which open and close the album, "A Guest" and "A Drink," both have a chiming quality that the aforementioned Mr. Roberts might appreciate, and the former adds instruments one at a time to build into a full band piece.
The cover art shows a woman with antlers. The image suggests the kind of transformation which has long been a staple of such unforgettable folk songs as "The Famous Flower of Serving Men". The Red River doesn't contain anything quite in that league but it is a high quality record with enough hazy ambiguity and contrast to ensure repeat listens.
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The second release by Peter Christopherson under the Threshold HouseBoys Choir name is a collection of rough soundtrack works. These have been made in anticipation of a new film project he is working on about tattooing. Although the mixing and the mastering of these discs are less than stellar (they sound very much like the works in progress that they are touted as), the music is loaded with that magic that Christopherson always brings to whatever project he is involved in. The direction he is taking his solo music had been hinted on with the posthumous Coil releases and with the first Threshold HouseBoys Choir album yet here it is beginning to form fully.
The set looks pretty special; the four 3” CD-Rs are enclosed in a clear, plastic amulet with a gold band holding the container closed. Also inside is a small, signed piece of paper with the tracklisting and a sticker. A black velvet-like bag keeps the whole thing safely snug. Once I had pried the amulet open and had a listen, I was immediately impressed. While the note with the set clearly states that these are sketches for a new soundtrack Christopherson is working on for a film he intends to shoot about temple tattooing in Thailand, the pieces hang together particularly well.
Overall, Christopherson has continued with the post-Industrial exotica style (to borrow a phrase from Jonathan Dean’s review of the first album) but things are less hectic here. The mutated Thai boys’ voices are again a key feature and Christopherson’s beloved string samples make another appearance but a far calmer course has been taken by this choir. Of course, it is impossible not to compare Christopherson’s current work with the music of Coil and fans of Coil will not be disappointed in his current direction. There are nods to Coil classics, the mood is similar in vein to the Musick to Play in the Dark albums and "Distonto" on the fourth disc is very much reminiscent of “Chaostrophy” (on Love’s Secret Domain). The strings and liquid, nocturnal mood capture the same nightly essence of the LSD album.
However, it would be a mistake to simply write off The Threshold HouseBoys Choir as Coil Mk.2. Christopherson is clearly being affected by his new life in Thailand and this shows in the music. This collection and the Form Grows Rampant album have a far more languid and tropical vibe to them compared to the pastoral and urban directions that Coil went in (and I get the feeling that Christoherson’s exotic side is tempered in SoiSong by Ivan Pavlov’s colder approach to music). What is most striking about this music is the joy that shines through it. “The Hangman’s Ball” starts off as being quite restrained in tone but before long a powerful and undeniably ecstatic trumpet erupts from the heavens (albeit the trumpet sounds programmed but the sentiments still ring true).
Although initially only available at the Brainwaves festival, a further 155 copies are to be made available online for those unfortunate souls who missed out on a rather extraordinary live performance by Christopherson. Those despairing of the limited numbers can take solace in the fact that this music is intended to be finished and (by my reckoning) most likely will appear in a similar fashion to Form Grows Rampant. Completists can head over to the Threshold House store and start hitting the F5 key now...
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Brian Foote, Honey Owens, and Paul Dickow's persistent evolution is unstoppable. Infinity Padlock documents another stage in Nudge's unending transformation; this time around the group flirts with rock 'n' roll balladry and noise jams quite unlike anything else in their discography.
Audraglint
This EP's artwork is an immediate sign that Nudge still refuse to sit still. The images that adorned Cached and Elaborate Devices for Filtering Crisis were completely abstract; they're the kind of images that typify the visual aesthetic attached to the IDM and freeform electronic-dance genres. The cover for Infinity Padlock is more visceral and direct. It provides a familiar shape and form that is made disturbing by its deformity and bloody state. The stripped and mutilated half-angel, half-bird that adorns the cover doesn't quite represent the music inside in terms of intensity, but it does hint at the musical hybrid on the record. The band doesn't produce dance music, nor IDM, and they're not exactly a rock band, either. As always, Nudge blend the electronic and the acoustic/organic seamlessly, producing a hybrid sound that no other group can claim as their own. Infinity Padlock sees the organic winning out, however. This EP is replete with stripped guitars and direct vocals, both of which feel like lead instruments from start to finish.
"War Song" begins with a strummed guitar washed out by reverb and echo; the melody is simple and pretty and almost completely untouched by any electronic processing. A simple tabla-rhythm follows the guitars and then Honey Owens begins to sing and the song slowly builds in complexity. Keyboards, rhythmic edits, and vocal additions all swim together in jelly-like fashion. Imagine what a group of jellyfish might look like swimming in slow motion and you might get a sense of how relaxed and gentle this song feels. It's a mass of throbbing gelatin that wobbles to and fro until "Angel Decoy" abruptly interrupts its gentle motion. Here, Brian Foote sings over a strummed guitar. The tune is simple and direct, scored by only the slightest distortion. Over a period of ten minutes, the group allows the song to dissolve into a wash of interweaving noise and chaos. Keyboards enter the fray triumphantly and, for a time, paint the song with a lovely melody that breaks down and eventually succumbs to near complete pandemonium.
There are few drum machines, almost no clicking or stuttering rhythms, and very few computerized melodies anywhere on Infinity Padlock. The songs rely on simple directness and all the production on the record either tends towards psychedelia or total restraint. "Sickth" is the only song that reminds me of anything from Nudge's past and only because it sounds like it could've been produced entirely on a laptop. Honey's voice is front and center, however, and takes precedence over the bubbly sound effects and drifting synthetic noises that populate the song. "Time Delay Twin" closes the EP on a pretty radical note: with an accordion drone fluctuating in the foreground, an electric and acoustic guitar are strummed away while Foote sings a sad song softly in the background. Even with the focus on guitars and vocals in the previous three songs, I couldn't have imagined the EP ending this way. It's a bittersweet love song that completely breaks from Nudge's style and casts the band in a completely different light. It's a pleasant surprise to hear the band approach music this way, but it takes some getting used to; the transformation seems so thorough to me that I'm surprised the name Nudge is on the cover at all. Seeing the group live at Brainwaves this year took me by surprise, too. It'll be interesting to see what road they travel down as the entire group seems capable of tackling anything to which they put their mind.
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All the luxuriant and sensuous curves that went missing on 2005's Geisterfaust have returned for Bohren's newest record. More than that, the band have sharpened their approach to "doom jazz" and solidified the power of their slow, crushing attack in the process.
Ipecac
Geisterfaust wasn't necessarily a misstep, but it wasn't as satisfying as the rest of Bohren's discography. Fans were bound to be a little disappointed by its naked character: I understand that the band loves to use a minimum of instruments to craft their music, but Geisterfaust gave new meanings to the words "glacial" and "minimal." It only takes a minute for things to get moving on Dolores. Gone are the dry, somewhat pointless progressions exhibited on Geisterfaust; they've been replaced by a lush and more resonant approach that suits the band's music far better. "Staub" opens the record and in just a short time the band introduces a steady rhythm, a bass-heavy atmosphere, and the familiar sound of a rhodes to the record. It may seem silly to talk about Bohren in terms of quickness and movement, but the band wastes no time on Dolores. Only one song surpasses the eight-minute mark and most of them are five to six minutes in length. The music's pace is, as always, slow, but the music is more concise and packed more tightly with energy. It doesn't take a 20-minute epic to make each thumping bass drum and every chord change a momentous occasion; Bohren & Der Club of Gore prove that by casting each of their movements in a dramatic light.
The sexy, somewhat slinky aesthetic they've carried with them since Gore Motel is still present and all the comparisons to Angelo Badalamenti still make a good deal of a sense, but it has been suggested that Dolores is somehow brighter than everything else in the band's discography. I've read other reviews that suggest the band is somehow "opening the blinds" and casting out a bit of the doom and gloom for which they're so famous. It seems to me that this is an illusion generated by the way the songs are arranged. For instance, both "Unkerich" and "Still Am Tressen" feature the kind of saxophone playing expected in a black and white film about a lonely detective. There are fleeting moments of major progressions that sound almost hopeful, but both songs are drenched in impenetrable loneliness. Beneath the surface of these "brighter" songs are lurking suspicions and hazy motives. It is always raining in Bohren's world, there's always danger looming around the corner, and every moving shadow is a reason to stay alert. Whatever light manages to make its way onto this record is quickly snuffed out by cavernous echoes and cheerless drones. Even "Von Schnabel," a simple and sweet song led by the vibraharp, is tainted by ominous tones and uneasy atmospherics. The illusion of brightness comes through on this record because the band provides an illusion of safety and hope. It's a bit sadistic, really; the band lets joy into their world only to crush it and bury it.
In short, Dolores is something of a return to form; at the very least it's a return to the sound that made Bohren a band loved by so many. The writing is more dynamic this time around, but also more to the point. The cinematic aspects of the music are not gone, but the band does seem more concerned with song-craft than pure atmosphere. I haven't heard this much movement from them since Gore Motel, but this record is filled with more nuance and subtlety than that one.
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It’s an odd combination, Soccer Committee’s delicate folk recordings handled by electronic composer Machinefabriek’s digital treatments would usually make for a questionable work, but instead the electronic elements are subtle, and rather than detracting from the fragile vocals and guitar instead give it a different, unnatural edge.
Most of the electronic processing and instrumentation remains extremely subtle: the microbits of static and near sub-audible power line hums of "Very Well Drawn" never shift attention away from Mariska Baar’s sparse vocals and plaintive playing, but instead add an entirely different, yet totally complimentary, layer to the mix. Similarly, the acoursic guitar of "For I Have None" receives only subtle and slight phasing and flanging, while the vocals are buried in a nice warm layer of reverb, along with the occasional white noise swell.
Songs like "Di-o-day" are almost imperceptibly treated, the electronic elements are buried deep in the mix, the focus being on the untreated guitar and pure vocals, the electronics laying deep in the mix provide more of a subtle ambience than anything else. On "Mees", the production simply serves to bury the guitar distant in the mix, the remainder of the track hovering near complete silence.
There is a bit more notable electronic treatments on tracks like "Thole 1," which has high end shrill feedback and string like layers that dominate the mix, the angelic vocals obscured below the din. More subtle is the layers of warm static and noise on “Magpie” which sound more like the result of a record laying in dusty storage for years and being played for the first time.
Only the opening and closing tracks ("High Pitched Drone" I and II) feel purely electronic, the first part having quiet lo-fi vocals and digital harmonium type tones, while the latter is a collection of fragile, yet rich tones that are beautiful in their purity.
The combination of traditional folk instrumentation and more modern electronic treatments work very well here, rather than constantly overshadowing each other they instead provide beautiful counterpoints. Part of this is surely due to the fact that the electronic elements Machinefabriek adds to the mix have an organic, human quality that helps, rather than hurts, the delicate human voice and guitar that is here.
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On his debut, this one-man electronic project from Norway seems to be wearing his influences on his sleeve and I would say he's coming from a similar background as me. Throughout this release there are a lot of elements pretty consistent with mid to late 1980s industrial, along with some more techno and electronic inspired rhythms. Rather than feeling overly nostalgic or dated though, these tracks filter the classic elements through a more modernized lens.
"Dissociate" is an early and clear indicator of what will be coming up. An ambient/abstract electronic collage is mixed with a straight ahead drum machine rhythm and distorted bass elements. While the beat stays constant, the other electronic elements are constantly shifting and changing, making for an extremely dynamic mix. More blatant is "Machine", with its modern-day industrial bass synth and noisy drums, with added skittering percussion and eventually a segue into full on hardcore techno.
The rhythms and bass lines throughout the album channel the likes of late 1980s Skinny Puppy or Front Line Assembly. Not blatantly stealing at all, instead it feels more like long standing influence or appreciation. The drum and bass rhythms that make up "Empty Eyes" and "Run" are a different element entirely, bringing up later period Techno Animal and Scorn in terms of grimy distorted beats, the former’s gentle string samples are a stark contrast, and the latter’s heavy synths and noise glitches make for a darker journey all together.
Another classic element pops up on more than a few tracks as well, the dialog sample. The aforementioned "Empty Eyes" opens with them, and the beat-less "Sleepwalker" throws pulsing synths over recordings of Jim Jones during the Jonestown suicides. That’s the only track where they are the focus, other than that they are simply another element to the mix that never detract, but aren’t necessarily adding much to the songs.
Tracks such as "Tranquilliser" are not as easily pigeonhole, adding dubby beats and bass elements to the vocal samples and buzzing bass synth that feels along the lines of modern industrial music, but really goes in its own direction entirely. Also, "Fond Memories" features underlying vinyl noise with gentile chiming keyboards that really have the feel of the title, a sense of warm nostalgia among the darker, raw surrounding tracks.
This is a tricky album overall, because there isn’t a great deal of innovation here, but instead makes for an interesting amalgam of other styles that come together here in a different way. It’s very well done and will surely interest anyone with a similar listening history such as myself, but it’s not entirely "new" feeling either.
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