We have finally cleared out the backlog of great music and present some new episodes.
Episode 711 features music from The Jesus and Mary Chain, Zola Jesus, Duster, Sangre Nueva, Dialect, The Bug, Cleared, Mount Eerie, Mulatu Astatke & Hoodna Orchestra, Hayden Pedigo, Bistro Boy, and Ibukun Sunday.
Episode 712 has tunes by Mazza Vision, Waveskania, Black Pus, Sam Gendel, Benny Bock, and Hans Kjorstad, Katharina Grosse, Carina Khorkhordina, Tintin Patrone, Billy Roisz, and Stefan Schneider, His Name Is Alive, artificial memory trace, mclusky, Justin Walter, mastroKristo, Başak Günak, and William Basinski.
Episode 713 brings you sounds from Mouse On Mars, Leavs, Lawrence English, Mo Dotti, Wendy Eisenberg, Envy, Ben Lukas Boysen, Cindytalk, Mercury Rev, White Poppy, Anadol & Marie Klock, and Galaxie 500.
Skolavordustigur Street in Reykjavík photo by Jon (your Podcast DJ).
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Peter Broderick joins the cast of young contemporary multi-instrumentalists who create evocative classically-tinged minimal music with his debut full-length on Type. Delivered is score music for any day.
While relatively short and unprogressive tunes laden with violin, piano, and banjo are something I'm tiring of quickly these days, Portland's Peter Broderick has given me fair reason to not shut these sounds out too quickly. When I received Float, I was vaguely familiar with the sounds Broderick uses. I was expecting to need to find a particularly melancholic time to pop the CD in, so the delicate piano and string arrangements might appropriately accommodate my mood. The opener, "A Snowflake," immediately dashed my preconceptions of what this album was going to be about. Float is most certainly not all gloom. While there are darker moments, a great deal of the music is full of hope.
The narrative quality of the music is what allows it to fit into many spaces. The tone of the record is by no means stagnant, and I found it adjusting to peculiar scenarios. On a particularly breezy day the thick hum of "Stopping On The Broadway Bridge" was wonderfully accented with the hammering of roofers on the next block and the warm air filtering through my window blinds. The fragile yet confident voices on the following track "Another Glacier" were married flawlessly to the rush of skateboards up and down the street. Just as gracefully, the album transitioned between these pieces and into the duo of tracks which add Yamaha Portasound melodies and percussion during the most intense thunderstorm of the season so far.
The playing on Float is competent and understated, and in turn lends itself well to the minimal nature of the pieces. If anything is pushed too hard on this album, it is segmentation of the recordings. As a great deal of the instruments on this album are played by a single performer, and certainly this is going to require a great deal of multi-tracking in the recording process. However, the pieces on Float do not flow together as naturally as they might have; the recordings sound ever so slightly spliced together. This has its positive effects, though, as I have caught myself feeling like I am looking into a different room of a miniature house with each fraction of piece.
Nina Kernicke is not a composer concerned with bombast. Her already developed (and superb) atmospheres and sinuous melodies are joined on her first full-length by a newly acquired sense of patience and interconnectedness. One song at a time, Kernicke assembles a thriller of a record that triumphs because of its unhurried development and thickly amassed tension.
It isn't until "Dedalus," the album's fourth track, that Kernicke really lets her explosive side loose. The previous three tracks are something of a primer for the pseudo-dystopian aura for which All Sides is known. With a minimum of sources, dirty city-scapes and seedy, back-alley transactions are manifested and situated among a fast-moving and impersonal population of greedy businessmen, cautious detectives, and dirty street punks looking for a kick. All Sides' music is far from impersonal, however. On the contrary, the music brings characters, locations, fears, and even suspicions to life with a great deal of ease. Before the title track's explosive guitars and extended synthesizers slither their way among Kernicke's populated rhythms, both "The Idea" and "Luv" establish an imposing and mournful background that radiates throughout the rest of the album. When "Dedalus" finally breaks the album open with an organic melody and seemingly endless guitar meditation, relief comes as a tangible and wonderful sensation.
Yet it is interrupted; the conspiratorial tone of a German speaker finds its way into the calm heart of the song and Kernicke includes the sounds of seagulls chattering away in the background to increase the sensation that whatever is happening in this album's dark world, it's just as real as the world in which we live. At this point Dedalus begins to feel like a narrative. The narrative was there when "The Idea" first started to play, but as in many good books and movies, Kernicke doesn't immediately give away how all the various puzzle pieces fit together. "The Unfinished End of H.W." is where Kernicke begins to draw her disparate ends together. The intrigue of spy novels and detective stories quickly solidify in the rush of its pattering rhythms and swelling strings, each movement in the song conjuring up the lightning-quick reflexes required of a man on the lamb or an investigator caught in a plot much bigger than he could possibly know. Each following track feels like a well-placed edit or narrative switch wherein the plot is moved along by an unexpected twist or omniscient switch in perspective. "Mistake" exhibits Kernicke's ability to build believable and threatening environments out of sound whereas "Against the Sun" shows off her ability to write a sensuous tune that is equal parts sexuality and nervous suspicion.
Like many great dystopian fictions, Kernicke does not end her work on the most positive of notes. "Into the Sea" is a drone of resignation; imagining a hero at the center of Dedalus' story, this particular track is the main character's tragic failure to rise above the dark and constantly twisting machinations of the world Kernicke so expertly constructed in the opening songs. Both the title of this particular song and its overall mood remind me of Kate Chopin's The Awakening, a book that ends with the female protagonist committing suicide by swimming too far out to sea. "Stay" concludes the album with the beating of an evil heart and the metallic echoes of cold indifference. Upon repeated listens, Dedalus emerges most firmly as an account of someone's downfall. Drawn into a web too thick to escape, the imagined hero reaches for safety, but falls short and is hopelessly lost. But the fall isn't the only attraction in this story as each song is ripe with minute and involving details. All Sides' previous recordings were all fine examples of beat-driven electronic music, but Dedalus is an exceptional record that succeeds on many more fronts. It is one example of how vivid and intense a record can be without taking recourse to ostentatious measures. It is also a record with great hooks and a definite sense of direction and purpose.
Following last year's interstellar transmissions as part of the collaborative duo Echospace, the venerated American techno producer touches down on Planet Earth, immersing himself in eerily lush soundscapes inspired by cityscapes and punctuated by steady rhythms. Simultaneously expansive and claustrophobic, his latest captures the duality of the modern metropolis and conveys its essence over ten absolutely gorgeous compositions.
Since the nineties, Rod Modell has earned the admiration of a vibrant contingency with his dub-minded ventures, not the least of which being Deepchord. As part of the aforementioned Echospace, whose highly anticipated The Coldest Season ultimately met the astronomical expectations set by these rabid fans, he has potentially reached his largest yet. This makes Incense & Black Light, a proper solo effort released on an obscure foreign label, all the more puzzling. Photographer Makoto Hada's mesmeric pictures of vibrant streets in an active nocturnal Tokyo adorn the packaging of this captivating new album, though they might have more to do with this being released on a Japanese record label than with Modell's actual inspiration, the material recorded at his home studio.
Still, the track titles allude to themes both Asian and urban, suggesting that the art direction is appropriate. At a glance, they suggest a narrative at work, even if the material doesn't evidently mirror the intent. Dissonant opener "Aloeswood" hardly reflects Tokyo's vibrancy with its atonal atmospheres and drifting, fluid pulses; nor does the similarly ambient and moderately more melodic “Hotel Chez Moi” that follows. Perhaps then, Incense & Black Light isn't about the city that you see but the city you don't, the one lurking in neglected or even personal spaces suggested by the desensitizing panoply of brightly lit windows visible yet overwhelming. Taken, then, from the perspective of one who dwells in such habitats, the ambrosial quality of this intentionally repetitive music evokes a dramatic calm prone to unsettling thoughts. The bubbly looping dreaminess of "Cloud Over" invites pensiveness and even a hint of dread, while the inescapably eerie analog feedback that drives "Temple" practically induces full-on paranoia. The sparsely arranged "Red Light" basks in its double entendre, flicking springy echoes around and suggesting something unsavory at the heart of this long night's journey into day. (For me, it unintentionally reminds of Ryu Murakami's thrilling novella Piercing, which details a determined salaryman's fantasy fulfillment scheme of stabbing a young prostitute to death.) This minatory mood extends to the claustrophobic penultimate track before dissipating into the harsh sunlight of the final cut, a redemptive sliver of sheer brilliance entitled "Morning Again."
A worthy contender for my top ten list this year, Incense & Black Light thoroughly and dutifully expands beyond what we have come to accept as the appropriate parameters for dub techno. Bucking the trends, Modell deserves the praise consistently bestowed upon him, and leaves the Basic Channel emulating progeny in the dust.
Whoever decided not to run a limited reissue of this album on 8-Track should be flogged to death by hot chicks in hot pants using hot fuzzy dice. Jade Stone's 1977 self-release looks like it was born in a bargain bin but sounds well weird. It's hard to decide if it's a minor classic or obnoxious nonsense.
Jade Stone looks like he was born with chest hair, moustache, and thumbs hooked into his (possibly flared) diapers. Strangely his voice has a haunting female quality. He produced and released this record independently 30 years ago and I won't pretend that it is not as dated as the seats in an old-style silver Cadillac leaving Vegas and headed into the desert. It does, though, have a bizarre, cranked, tripped-out, high-octane charm. There is probably no other album that begins with the word "strawberries" but sounds less rural. This is truly music from a nocturnal trawl across bright lights not-so-big-city terrain populated (as Scott Walker once sang) by "plastic palace people." Not that Stone ever sounds less than flesh, blood, testosterone and whatever else he had running through his system.
Like many of the songs on Mosaics, "Backroads Of My Mind" is an invitation to, well, what exactly? Slightly clichéd imagery, cheap drugs, flute solos and scattershot virility? Maybe, but the opening guitar riff is oddly spine-tingling and the vocal arrangements crisp and affecting: a familiar pattern across the album. It might be the overtones of Roy Orbison in Stone's voice but, especially when listening to the live bonus tracks, the fictional image of Frank Booth and Dorothy Vallens in the audience comes to mind. On those tracks Stone's voice projects impatient hunger for the major success that would elude him. The rougher production adds an air of crackling energy and an aroma of unpredictability. (Maybe that was just D. Luv's perfume.)
Jade Stone had a local hit in the early 1960s on the then fledgling Austin music scene. He even "cut some sides" with the Jordanaires and guitarist Scotty Moore before traveling between Nashville, Hollywood, and Austin gathering wives, divorces, fans and addictions, but missing out on major deals. He left the music business, managed a pizza restaurant in San Antonio for a while and has been plagued by cocaine addiction. For a time he was married to his Mosiacs sidekick, Debbie Luv, but by his own admission has been his own worst enemy. It is easy to mock his fashion and un-anemic over-the-top style (Jade & Debbie's matching leisure suits are genuinely the stuff of nightmare) but the man obviously always gave 110%. With a more rock oriented (less Nashville sound) engineer things might have been different. There are certainly plenty of less-talented people making money from music today but as Stone sings, "what's done is done." These recordings ooze provincial glamour and are gritty reflections of the free creative life that Jade and Debbie were living. Once again taste is the enemy of art and WFMU is still giving him respect, I hear.
Besides running the prolific Crouton label, Jason Mueller has also been extremely busy working on his own music this year (this is his eighth release on Table of the Elements this year, that says quite a bit!). This collaborative release with Jason Kahn shows both artists heavily affecting their percussion far beyond what it originally sounded like, in addition to a bit of cassette tape and analog synth.
Considering how prolific he is, most are probably familiar with the fact that when Jon Mueller performs percussion, it is rarely recognizable as that. On Topography, occasionally there are elements that sound like a hailstorm on massive pieces of sheet metal (most notably on "New York 2"), but that is the only sort of situation where the percussion actually sounds percussive. For the most part this takes on more the tone of a noise album than anything else. The processed percussion is molded and shaped into heavy walls of midrange noise.
The noise elements cover all five tracks like a thick white blanket of snow, similar to the beautiful subtle artwork on the sleeve. I think this is the greatest shortcoming of the disc, however, in that it gives a monotone snowblindness to the disc that makes the individual tracks harder to discern and causes it to simply blend in with records of a similar ilk. The subtleties of the tracks that set them apart are noteworthy though: the sound which could only be described as a feedbacking vacuum cleaner alongside hollow percussion and a warm analog fuzz.
The first New York track and "Boston" lean towards the more open, atmospheric vibe of noise in that it is not dense, but is more vast and wide open in its sound. The former has a field recording quality, like the noisier elements were recorded from a distance: the mechanical hum and rough textures seem to be coming from somewhere just out of sight. The latter has a slower development that builds from a spacious opening to a dense, filtered closing, all the time having some wonderfully interesting crunchy static throughout.
Topography is an extremely accomplished release, which is unsurprising coming from Mueller and Kahn. The problem is that it doesn't stand out on its own amongst other similar releases. Both artists are clearly well established, and the fact that most of this release is sourced from the sound of percussion is certainly impressive, but on the whole it doesn't sound drastically different on this release than other artists of this ilk. It is enjoyable, but it feels all too familiar.
On ostensibly their first release, Foreign Bodies meshes '90s alternative rock, industrial, and hardcore punk thrash, and filters it all through a lens of Wolf Eyes scum noise (no doubt due to production assistance from Weasel Walter). Needless to say, much is accomplished across these 10 tracks in 15 minutes.
The opening "Colby Contrast" sounds like it could be a lost Sebadoh or Pavement demo someone found in a closet, and then decided to play back with an obscene amount of clipping and distortion. The overall sound is very much noise, yet it's not hard to hear the conventional rock structure of the track buried among the muck. "Conduct Case" and "Good Job" follow a similar structure, though with more of a punk edge to them. Even something vaguely industrial rears its head in "Transistor Radios + the Fuckin' Beeline" in which the drum machine is set to a much faster tempo and, mixed with the noise, could be an EXTREMELY lo-fi take on Land of Rape and Honey era Ministry.
Oddly enough, the noise is stripped away on "USS ADD" to allow fort he more musical elements to seep in, which are good enough on their own to not have to always be buried in the noise elements. The three tracks closing the EP, "Just Talk Talk," "Bachelor," and "Try Again, Punk" are a distinctly noise take on hardcore punk, which is unsurprising from their brief durations. Imagine someone’s broken boom-box blasting out random selections from the Minor Threat discography and that's a good description.
For a first, limited release, this is a pretty self-assured and focused disc that varies itself enough to not sound as if it is relying on one gimmick too long, and thus is infinitely more interesting than it could have been.
Given that the band has maintained a staunchly absurdist and secretive presence online, matched with the typically useless but nonetheless entertaining blurb on the Load Records website, it's hard to know anything about these guys other than a: they obviously have a sense of humor and b: they also love loud noisy rhythms.
The opening track is, unfortunately, the album's greatest misstep, which almost caused me to write it off entirely as not worth my time. Admittedly a great title, "Biggest Cock in Christendom" unfortunately chugs along for nearly 16 minutes on the same drum loop run through various filters and distortions. While it could be interesting, for that length it is more of an endurance test than anything else. Perhaps that was their intent, who knows.
The remainder fares much better, I am happy to say. "The Germans Call it a Swimming Head" follows the same blueprint as the opener, but with a greater amount of variety and a sub-five minute duration it works much better. "The Side of the Road" also relies on a drum machine run through a bank of effects, but with some additional noises here and there and some buried, muffled vocals to add more variety.
The two other epic length tracks on here, "Toilet Door Tits" and "Preventions Arise" also manage to completely go in different directions than the opener and are all the better for it. The former also features drums overdriven to the point of becoming just a wall of noise in addition to odd electronic whistles and whirrs, raging vocals deep in the mix, and what even resembles a guitar in the mix. Unlike "Biggest Cock…" the structure and mix changes throughout, so the 14 minute duration is perfectly acceptable. "Preventions Arise" is a more restrained piece built around deep, bass heavy percussion, odd noises here and there, and oddly enough a quiet, but audible spoken word narrative.
Obviously the boys of Shit and Shine like metal too, and it shows up on "Taking Robe Off" and "Mr. and Mrs. Gingerbread Hawaii," both being appropriately muffled cluster bombs of distorted grindcore thrash. Sort of like a neighbor a few doors down blasting Napalm Death's Scum and not having the common courtesy to invite other people over to enjoy it. The title track is a slower paced piece of near conventional metal that closes out the album, but with just as much fuzz and grime as the preceding tracks.
This is definitely a fun album to listen to, but it is unfortunately easy to just consider Shit and Shine another 'Load band' because they do walk a similar path that bands like Lightening Bolt and The USA is a Monster do. It's entertaining, but not groundbreaking or overly unique, and it doesn't really need to be.
There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that had not Death In June come along way back in the '80s, then today's martial/neo-folk scene would never have existed, spawning as it has numerous similar-sounding acts since that time; the same could probably be said of Boyd Rice in the 'industrial' scene, both as himself and NON. Plowing much the same furrow then it was perhaps inevitable that these two would eventually collaborate and indeed this they did back in 1996 along with John Murphy and others, recording as Scorpion Wind—and back then this album was released with the title Heaven Sent. Now, 12 years later, NERUS, the American division of the New European Recordings label, has seen fit to re-issue a remastered and renamed version of the album.
Here is 13 songs of heroism, war, the decay of civilization, grief and sorrow, and the death of heroes and gods—in fact, if one were to be unkind, the sole and only pre-occupations of the genre as a whole and not just of Death in June and Boyd Rice in particular. The difference, though, between this and a million copycat albums that have had their birth in the last nigh-on three decades since the emergence of Death In June, is that this is a document soaked in melancholy and a deep sense of the past, of a harking back to a time when things were very different and perhaps much more straightforward, when men's hearts were strong and true, and their limbs and sinews were of iron and steel. In some respects this is a rose-tinted vision (and version) of the past, but one which is nevertheless heartfelt and strongly delineated—and in that sense the conviction elucidated is genuine and is keenly felt.
All these attributes are broadcast through songs built up and sculpted out of strummed guitar backed with martial percussion, stirring strings and soaring brass, and a vocal delivery evoking the war-weary hero, returned once more to the land of his fathers and finding it irrevocably changed in his absence, bringing with it a sense of loss perhaps greater and deeper than that inflicted by the physical wounds and death of strife and warfare. It is not hard to imagine these as just more polished versions of songs sung around campfires on the night prior to engaging the enemy, or the battle-hymns of marching armies. Moreover, a peculiarity of this album is that its atmosphere seems to be firmly rooted in notions of old Europa; I had visions of massed ranks of uniformed soldiers on the roads of France and Belgium, or the roads leading to Rome, soldiers fighting on nothing more than a vision of freedom and a sense of country and destiny.
I could, of course (and I suspect that this might be the case), may be way off course in my assessment here and they could be having us all on. Witness, for instance, the cover of this album: a woodcut of a devil bending over, looking between his legs, and farting prolifically. Inside, there are more clues maybe: photos of Douglas P and Rice clutching koalas (the album was recorded in Australia), but certainly this isn't the species of behavior I would associate with an album of this kind. It is almost as if they are asking us, after listening to the songs, whether we out here think they're being serious or not. This is just one of the things I like about DIJ's music—that uncertainty regarding just how seriously they take what they're singing about, and whether indeed there is a deeper message behind it all, or that these two have a hugely mischievous sense of humor.
If there is to be any criticism at all to be levelled at this it is a relatively minor one, but one which some may find to be its main weakness; the songs do appear to be locked into a particular formula that spans the entire 13 songs, consisting of Rice's spoken word vocals set against the musical backing, meaning the whole only ends up sounding fairly samey. This is one of the reasons why I have such a love-hate relationship with the genre as a whole. There are times when its stirring echoes of times, philosophies, and wars gone by match my mood perfectly; conversely, that very same aesthetic and stylistic presentation irks me no end. This particular album will almost inevitably be subject to the vagaries of my moods no doubt, as others of this genre have been, but for the moment the winds of fortune blow in its favor; for now, indeed, this is spinning in the deck constantly.
As part of Tzadik's ongoing Composer series, this album highlights the many sides to Maja Ratkje's approach to sound. Ranging from her vocal work to her manipulation of recorded sound and all the way up (or down depending on your views) to her writing for other musicians. The versatility and flair she employs throughout this album, and indeed her career, is staggering. Even within a piece she shows more originality than many composers in a lifetime.
River Mouth Echoes begins and ends with a saxophone piece; Ratkje takes a recording and processes it into oblivion. The first, "ØX," sounds somewhere between a dial-up modem and Albert Ayler. At first, it is impossible to tell that it is a saxophone being played but gradually some recognizable blasts of horn come through the ethereal electronic sound. As the piece progresses, it gets more and more rambunctious; the modem is having trouble connecting and the computer is on fire. The second of the saxophone pieces, "Sinus Seduction (Moods Two)," is in a similar vein but with more unprocessed sax.
The only piece where Ratkje performs everything herself is the beautiful and sometimes disorientating "Wintergarden." Here she layers her voice; singing, screaming and talking to create a mesmerising atmosphere. It is at times sublime but shifts to being utterly dissonant, a sonic version of a sucker punch to the stomach. It was Ratkje's vocal work that I was first exposed to and it is the one thing I always look for when I see a release of hers. This is not to say I do not enjoy her other styles but there is something unique about her use of voice that hits me hard.
The remainder of the pieces are written for other musicians, catering for small ensembles to the Oslo Sinfonietta. The title track, composed for the strings of the group Fretwork, is the most straightforward piece on the album. The long, droning tones from the four viola de gamba capture the same gorgeous dissonance that Ratkje achieves with her voice, although if played on its own I do not know if I would recognise it as Ratkje. "Waves IIB" for the Oslo Sinfonietta is very reminiscent of Gyorgy Ligeti, the drama and depth of the composition being impressive to say the least. The Sinfonietta play wonderfully and the recording is superbly captured; it is fantastic to hear such a piece being executed with such care.
River Mouth Echoes is a great release, so many elements of Ratkje's skill coming together to form a very strong album. Despite it all being new music (or at the very least unreleased until now), this sounds almost like a greatest hits; it covers such a range of ideas that it is strange that it actually works as an album. Like a greatest hits collection, those unfamiliar with Ratkje might find this an ideal place to start as it gives such a good and positive view of her work.
The span of this Irish composer's recorded works encompasses 30 odd years, having released something on the order of 25 albums (including an LP, Rapid Eye Movements, on Steven Stapleton's United Dairies in 1981), in addition to creating scores of commissioned works for theater (Doyle is a co-founder, along with Olwen Fouere, of the Operating Theatre group) and others. The Ninth Set is the third and final volume in his major work Passades, which Doyle worked on between the years 2002 and 2007, composed as an accompaniment to a wordless Operating Theatre production with the music performing the role of the text.
I've had this CD for some while now, and during that time I have been trying to settle satisfactorily on an appropriate approach to it. Undeniably, there are many elements of the exotic and alien orbiting around the five parts of this release, ranging from the deeply unsettling to the haunting and to the reflective even, the whole shot through with a deep sense of melancholy and longing. In addition, a vein of sadness bubbles just below the surface which is only just being held in check, and which also ultimately threatens to overwhelm the dam at any moment and explode in torrents.
The one overwhelming emotion I take from this is immensely deep loss. Concomitant to that the one thing that kept running through my mind while listening was the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, and this is indeed a species of that myth—the lovers being unwillingly torn apart through death: one to remain in the world of sunlight and the other being confined to the underworld; and consequent to that the heroes' quest to rescue his love from the clutches of the kingdom of the dead by undergoing the arduous subterranean journey necessary to effect his ambition. Setting the tone, the introductory first part, with its long ringing sections of strings and choir-like voices building and stacking, stutteringly broken up here and there, and on occasion interspersed with the odd screeching of an exotic avian perhaps, establishes the main mood of the piece—that of longing and despair, and frustration even. Following on from this, the second part delves headlong into the subterranean regions, with all its attendant terrors and filled with the sounds of strange creatures and the ejaculations of lost souls.
Hades is indeed an unwholesome and unwelcoming place. Doyle paints a picture as descriptive, and as disturbing, as any painting by Hieronymous Bosch. Having intimated that though, let it be said that Doyle isn't as crass as to employ clichés in building up these sound-pictures. Instead, it is amply demonstrated through the use of animalistic sounds, of blasts of freezing icy winds and howls, along with a distinct air of hollowness, which allied to disembodied, placeless noises and scratchings, and mechanical creakings, is suggestive of deep, cold, and darkly suffocating subterranean spaces dripping with mold and ichor. In addition, these spaces Doyle is picturing for us are vastly cavernous, and harrowingly impersonal; warmth is noticeable by its absence here, and even the ghosts whose destiny it is to walk here cannot escape the cold’s bone-numbing clutches. Despair is ever the companion of those who call this their home.
There is a denouement of sorts, which although superficially calm and restful is also pregnant with a subtext of sorrow gestating within it, as if to say that no matter how much light there is in our lives darkness will inevitably follow and tinge our lives. In even this it is reflecting the Greek myth alluded to above—after leading his love back to the world of light, warmth, and vibrant nature, Orpheus is still destined to part with her for six months of the year, at the time when all is dead or asleep. This is what we are left with in the aftermath of The Ninth Set, that despite the hardships endured and the struggles overcome, that is not the end of it. This is 67 minutes of unnervingly dark and oppressive, yet strangely moving music, capturing within it the essence perhaps of life, love, and its consequences.
The Cryptic Corporation continues its reissue campaign on Mute records with two classic releases from the late '70s. Not only that but Ralph have also released a compilation of outtakes from the group's "storyteller" output. Needless to say, the Mute reissues are absolutely essential (and they are beautiful in the hardback book format that is now standard for Residents releases on Mute) and the Ralph compilation is great but maybe not as much interest to casual Residents fans.
Eskimo (along with The Third Reich 'n Roll) is the definitive Residents album. It may not be typical in terms of musical style (but there is no typical in their world) but all the vital ingredients are here: an avant garde approach to sound, big ideas, humour and eyeballs. Presented as both a document of Inuit culture and a commentary on how they are perceived in the south, this album is best taken with a liberal pinch of salt. The allegedly authentic Eskimo folk songs included here sound suspect to say the least (especially with the hilarious photo of The Residents on a fact finding mission to the arctic) but this is part of the magic of The Residents; pulling together disparate concepts and augmenting them to suit their own agenda.
Eskimo remains as strange today as it always has been, it is not an accurate portrayal of Inuit culture but it never seriously set out to be that. Instead The Residents have created their own idea of what this culture might sound like based on the written facts they have found. Many of these facts are given in the sleeve notes, making the whole experience all the more bewildering: What to believe and what not to believe? It's an apt question considering these are a group of artists who have made a career out of being a myth.
I was a bit worried when Mute made no mention of Buster & Glen when announcing the reissue of Duck Stab!. I was afraid that this would just be a reissue of the original Duck Stab! EP minus the extra songs later added to it under the Duck Stab!/ Buster & Glen title. Thankfully all the tracks have been included and The Residents have only shortened the title for the sake of convenience. Under any title, this release is astonishing. With its Beefheartian anti-songs from the edge of sanity, it is a far cry from the calculated approach to Eskimo (which was originally released only a few months after Duck Stab!).
Despite the sheer oddness of the songs, Duck Stab! is one of The Residents' most listenable albums. The brilliant "Constantinople," "Blue Rosebuds," and "Weight Lifting Lulu" are all toe-tapping fun at its strangest. I always think of this as their sole concession to normal rock music (in the vein of the aforementioned Captain Beefheart via Suicide). The Commercial Album may have been their idea of a pop album but this is still the closest they have come to being a traditional band. They could have easily pulled it off but fame and fortune were obviously not on the cards.
It is a pity that, unlike many of the previous Mute reissues, extra material has not been included with either album. In the case of Duck Stab!, this is understandable as there is not any companion releases to add. However, Eskimo did have a sister release in the form of Diskomo that would have fit nicely with the original album (much like the inclusion of Intermission with Mark of the Mole). Failing that, inclusion of the 5.1 mix of Eskimo would have been nice. At the end of the day, these extras do not really matter but some icing on the cake is always appreciated.
Smell My Picture is a limited edition compilation aimed at the more hardcore Residents fan. It is a mostly instrumental collection of outtakes from the Rivers of Crime, Tweedles and The Voice of Midnight sessions. The three albums were all quite different in terms of genre and style but somehow all the pieces here sound like they have come from the one soundtrack for a very strange film. As aforementioned, their recent storyteller releases have been a mixed bag, The Voice of Midnight being rather excellent and Tweedles being a bit crap. However, without the narratives taking the limelight the music here is quite strong. Indeed there are few, if any, tracks that stand out as being anything less than good. It is a far cry from the two Mute reissues listed above; although The Residents have certainly learned how to play their instruments in a more traditionally competent way, the spark of chaos that ran through their works from their earlier years is not as evident. Everything seems so much more controlled now, for better or for worse.