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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Chris Hakius and Al Cisneros invert their formula on their third album. Instead of only creating tension through loudness and distortion, they also generate an uneasy mood through a judicious balance of softness and clarity. Recorded by Steve Albini, Pilgrimage finds them branching out into more delicate yet no less intriguing territory for what may be their most consistent album yet.
On the title track, Cisneros explores the timbral nuances of the bass more than he has on any of their previous albums. Rather than just exploding forward with a fiery crackle, he repeats a quiet melody that highlights the tones of his instrument's untreated strings. His vocals are hushed on this song like his bass, and Hakius' drums, mainly rumbling toms, are mixed accordingly. The production on this song heightens the brooding anticipation, drawing me in and making me curious about what happens next rather content to follow them at will.
One of the other benefits of opening with this contemplative, moody track is that when they do choose to amplify things, it's much more dramatic. The ear-crushing "Unitive Knowledge of the Godhead" rears up like the Om of albums past after a brief echo-laden intro. It is vintage Om, and a welcome haven after the haunting opener. "Bhima's Theme" continues in this vein, although here Cisneros' vocals are more prominent and have a different rhythm than usual. Halfway through the song, the drums disappear, leaving only the bass and vocals for another meditative section before erupting with a cacophonous finale. The fourth and final song is a reprise of the title track, which may be unnecessary since the memory of the first version is still fresh, yet it is a faithful reminder of how things started.
While "On the Mountain at Dawn" from Variations on a Theme remains my favorite song by them, I'm more likely to listen to Pilgrimage from beginning to end than any of their other albums because it has the most variety and depth. Even though the music at times is less visceral than I'm used to from them, I found myself more attentive to the details than usual. The chances they take with their songwriting and the variety of subtle production touches they employ go a long way toward making this a satisfying and rewarding album.
While the album's philosophy is an integral part of its success and woven into the music, and packaging is undoubtedly personal (wax seal, unique piece of photograph as gift), still Tracks is not giving anything personal away with the liners. In terms of vision Everything Judged by Success Alone is about as close as possible to a one man vision of Godspeed You Black Emperor as anyone's likely to be able to conjure up.
Creating a minimalist reduction of GYBE's almost-orchestral widescreeners, Tracks manage to create just as internalised a vocabulary through instrumentals and obscure vocal samples. This album's worldview is just as (if not more) bleak than that collective's ideas. The borrowed narrator on "Starts with Cans" starts with a sad sinking story and then plummets into alcoholism, the post-rock strum plays an ideal balance and backing. When near the song's end a sound emerges that could either be guitar work or a passing train horn, the attention is so deep in the narrator's world that there is no way of telling. Much of the album follows this stripped sepia guitar setting, simple patterns with minimal effects and some field recordings keeping everything intimately close at hand.
Feeling like a single lonely ride, "Everything Judged by Success Alone," Tracks slowly begins to flesh out the second half of the LP. The slowly building "B Flat, D Flat, A Flat, C" pushing the meter into the red of eroding emotional control, the song's sharp notes tempering the content from the cold. There is percussive stringplay on "Special Powers," beating a tattoo below sinister samples, the additional elements never infecting the atmosphere. The only time Tracks fails to hit the target is on "Snowstorm into Blood Spattered Sheets" (superb title though) where a traditional band format recording feels imposed. Feeling like a totally different band, the mood is splintered but it is still not enough to even dent this record.
The title of this album translates into "everything open again," especially fitting considering that this band have been going for nigh on three decades and continue to evolve. Many a younger band would be delighted with this as a debut, let alone the 20-oddth studio album of a consistently innovative career, not just musically but also the very means by which a record is made. With Radiohead taking a leaf from their book in terms of cutting out the record label middleman, this album is as much a statement of the healthy state of independent music as it is a fine collection of songs.
The fact that Alles Wieder Offen was fully funded by the fans and recorded without any constraints, artistic or otherwise, could have lead to two very different situations: the first being a turgid, self-indulgent mess or the second being a quality work of art done with the full respect for those who have helped and trusted them with their money. Granted Neubauten's track record of exceptional album after exceptional album weighs the odds in their favour but it is always great to hear the final results and confirming that yes indeed, they have spent our investments well. How a similar model would work for a less established artist is unclear (a fan base is undeniably necessary) but it is still a forthright middle finger displayed proudly in the direction of the record industry.
Everything may be open again but not everything is completely new. Like the Kurt Schwitters- esque collage that graces the album's cover, many of the songs take bits and pieces from Neubauten's past and superimposes them on the new material. Musical and lyrical elements from older songs like "Sehnsucht" and "Redukt" make appearances in new guises. Out of the ten songs on Alles Wieder Offen, two will be familiar to anyone who has been following their subscription only releases. The opening track, "Die Wellen," was first released on the piano only album Klaviermusik. Here the vocals and piano are supplemented with a throbbing bass and percussion rhythm, propelling the song on and on until it topples over a precipice and ends suddenly and dramatically.
This is followed by the second familiar song which is also one of the finest songs to come out of Neubauten's bunker since the band's inception. "Nagorny Karabach" was originally performed and recorded at a concert for neubauten.org supporters in Berlin three years ago. Taking the original live take from that night, the band have added some very slight overdubs and Bargeld has finished the lyrics. The finally completed song is beautiful; a tender bass line by Alex Hacke provides a canvas for Bargeld's new and improved lyrics. E-bow guitar and a stripped jet engine played with brushes complete the magical sound.
I could go through the album track by track as each song has enough ideas to it to warrant a paragraph of its own but I will rein myself in. Only one of the songs disappoints: the music to "Ich Hatte ein Wort" sounds a little like something from The Lion King, I cannot help but imagine antelope galloping across the Savannah in time to this song. Aside from that, Alles Wieder Offen is faultless. Those expecting any return to the confrontational Neubauten of old will of course be disappointed, this should be obvious but there still seems to be a core group of people out there who expect the group to revert to their older, wilder style. To those with open ears, it is clear that Neubauten are still as cathartic and evocative as they have always been; "Weil Weil Weil" and "Let's Do it a Dada" are their big 'hits' like "Feurio!" and "Yü Gung" of yesteryear, "Unvollständigkeit" and "Ich Warte" are the sounds of the band looking forward again. As much as I am enjoying this present work, I too continue to look forward to what the future will bring.
Fernando Corona is back with another Murcof record, and this time he's tackling nothing less than the entire cosmos. In terms of creative process, Murcof leans further away from his previous micro-programmed pieces with Cosmos, and relies more on sounds derived almost entirely from recordings of classical instruments. He has not, however, abandoned the idiosyncratic precision or faith in structure that have served him so well.
Both "Cielo" and "Cometa" recall the blip-vertiginous swinging rhythms of earlier Murcof tracks like "Memoria" and show just how little is needed to get down with one's bad molecules. If the progressive music show from BBC2, Old Grey Whistle Test, were to be reborn in the year 2525, either piece would be perfect for the opening credits (where the stars took human form and jigged around). Murcof's work usually adheres to an increasing pleasure per play ratio so I fully expect to like Cosmos more than I currently do. For now, though, when listening to some sections of this record, I felt as simultaneously impressed and unengaged as when I went to the rim of the Grand Canyon. Gazing down and wondering when I would be able to articulate my feelings, before realizing that either the ones I briefly held had dissipated like dust in the wind, or that I didn't really have any. (In the end, "Wow, it's really big" is not saying much.)
The pieces "Cosmos I" and "Cosmos II" (which I like to call "Max Richter v. Blade Runner") are appropriately huge, dense edifices. They remind me of spectacular giant glass skyscrapers: places you can admire without wanting to live in (or opposite). Of course, we all do live in the cosmos, it's pretty great, and maybe this recording will make more sense when heard in the planetarium gigs that are mooted. I hope so, because on headphones and in the car, Murcof's portrayal of the cosmos seems pretty uninviting.
By the end of the album I felt as removed from the action as the Squire's under-gardener Percy Cullerne from Adam Thorpe's miraculous novel Ulverton. At the outbreak of the First World War, despite 32 other young men of Ulverton accepting the Squire's bidding to join up and fight, Cullerne declines, simply stating that he would "rather bide at home." The Squire is absolutely livid, Cullurne becomes an outsider (mocked and avoided) but slowly and surely the death notices arrive. In 1923, overcome by guilt, the Squire kills himself. There's no reason for Murcof to be anything other than proud of his work, but, while Cosmos is undeniably impressive, for now I'll "bide at home," thanks.
The music industry needs a new genre about as much as it needs another RIAA, but here is one of the self proclaimed torchbearers of "skull music," apparently characterized by garage rock production values and owing as much debt to sludge metal as early 1980s goth rock. So, naturally, it's going to be pretty awesome.
The eight tracks that make up this album can be classified by their length: there are the shorter, more up-tempo tracks, and the slower, more dirgy anthems. The opening "New In Town" is more of the latter: a slow, distorted rhythm not far removed from the early days of Swans with a more post-punk bent, while guitarist/vocalist John Sharkey III simultaneously channels Peter Murphy and Lux Interior with his just slightly over the top, to the point of sarcasm delivery.
The latter comes up even more on the up tempo, shorter songs, with a more punk, less country approach to rockabilly on tracks like "Caliente Queen" and "Daddy Issues," which bounce along somewhat jauntily despite the overall dark, sinister atmosphere of the album. "Vomiting Mirrors" exemplifies this dark feeling, in spite of its bouncy sound and Stooges-style backing, the unpleasant title and lyrics about a "dead doggy on the tracks" keep it firmly grounded in the dark and morose.
The longer, slower tracks focus more on the bass and distortion, capturing the dissonance and, especially in the case of "Human Pigeon," where tribal punk rhythms echo of early Killing Joke (before Jaz went to Iceland and got gothy). These also end up being more anthematic in feel, more spacious arrangements that, I'll probably burst into flames for even mentioning this, have the vestigial traces of early U2 in their vastness.
Above all, Clockcleaner aren't afraid to simply 'rock' without the need of a gimmick or to paint themselves as post-modern ironists. They play loud, sleazy garage rock and occasionally even have guitar solos. They love distortion and making a racket and it is very, very good.
One wouldn't expect a disc with pretty pastel shades on the cover to just be so dark and ominous on the inside, but even the gentle female vocals add to this dense, disturbing haze of an album that is difficult to specifically pin down, but its brilliance makes that unnecessary, and what is left has to be one of the most ominous and captivating records I have heard all year
Some combinations seem like a natural fit, and others, on the surface, seem completely absurd.As a kid, I remember a kindergarten snack of apples and cheese one morning sounded absolutely atrocious.However, I gave it a try and, well, it was pretty damn good.
Mixing ethereal female vocals with full on digital noise also sounds, superficially, like a bad fit, but it is not. In fact, it works just as well as the aforementioned childhood snack.The ten tracks across this disc do have that strange combination. The gentle, ethereal vocals of Jenha Wilhelm appear alongside the blasting, shredding electronic sounds of Mark McGee like a lone human in a world of machinery gone mad.In some cases, the tracks transition from a gentle introduction into a harsh ending, like the guitar & vocals that open "Lovers & Liars," which segue into a blasting harsh noise burst that can only be described as the unholy paring of Lush and Wolf Eyes.Though structurally the noise elements are more restrained and less junky than the boys from Michigan, the electronics still manage to evoke the same sense of disorientation, dread, and oppression, but in a more subtle manner.
Others focus less on blasting electronics and more on subtle treatments, like the vaguely IDM rhythms that back the noisy (but less aggressively so) "The Man With The Shovel, Is The Man I'm Going To Marry."There are also moments of pure ambience, like the thick, hazy, drumless space that opens "Very Lovely" before the strong rhythm comes in at the end.Probably the most shocking moment comes in "I Box Twenty," with the mostly conventional, non-electronic backing which, with the overt guitars and bass, almost resembles a more rock focused Portishead.
If there were a single word description that would fit this album, it would be 'textural.'In some cases, the electronic textures are almost so thick as to be tactile and tangible:the noises of "Long Arms" are like jagged rocks enshrouded in soft, thick gauze, a haze of buzz and squeal over a low end distorted crunch.The long titled, but short length "Dedicated Secretary, Liaison, Passionate Mother" is a short instrumental of modem connect tones, and a sense of slow drift, like Pangaea separating to the Earth as we know it today.
The Patron is a disorienting album that reveals more and more layers of itself with subsequent listens, and one of the most exciting discs I have had the pleasure to spin recently.
Minneapolis legend Michael Yonkers has been busier than ever lately, releasing two new albums as well as reissuing an essential lost classic from the '70s. On the all-new Carbohydrates Hydrocarbons, he is backed by heavy-hitters The Blind Shake. Having first played together when paired randomly at a club, the experience was so much fun that playing more shows and recording together seemed inevitable. Thank the stars for random occurrences, because this album of pounding anthems and mind-melting guitar frenzy is easily one of Yonkers' best releases yet.
They are a remarkably tight unit, sounding like they have been playing together far longer than the facts would indicate. The Blind Shake seem to know what makes Yonkers tick by the way they augment the strengths of his particular style of songwriting while still remaining distinctly themselves. They accent all the right moments without obfuscating the focus, adding complementary texture and rhythm that serve the songs perfectly. There's no filler on this album, free of both digression and bullshit.
Yonkers is in exquisite form here, his singing and songwriting particularly well-suited for this band. Many of the song titles are half-formed, unanswerable questions such as "Can It Be," "Why Don't," "Don't I Get," or "When Will We," and the anxiety caused by such imponderables fuels the songs' insistent, driving rhythms that pull listeners along like a riptide into deeper waters. Similarly entrancing are the discordant moments like "Don't Even Try" or the bluesy dirge "Here's What I'm." Even brief but fascinating instrumentals such as "Mega Folly" and "This One Again" induce ecstasy through blissful washes of effects and monstrous slabs of distortion.
Yonkers has persevered through periods of obscurity, not to mention some debilitating health issues, only to prove that his idiosyncratic take on psychedelic rock has remained consistently ahead of the curve the whole time. This album, not to mention its more experimental counterpart Circling the Drain, is essential proof that Yonkers is just as relevant and important today as ever.
Balancing between brittle noise and gauzy ambience, this album has a spacious atmosphere that stays even in its most clamorous moments. This lightness makes the album listenable throughout, but it saps the intensity of the music. The electronic arrangements are often engaging, but they dissipate into formlessness too soon to reach catharsis.
Dour ambience aside, WZT Hearts have a jokey fixation with nerd culture, evident from the candy colored artwork and adolescent titles like "Jeep Uzi" and "Lava Nile." The thin line between laptop musicians and geeks in general has been regurgitated enough not to merit much discussion here, but that influence is felt in the music. "Hearth Carver" uses the neon twitterings of a Commodore 64 as a sound source, and a careful listener will find the call sign for Public Radio International buried in the digital sediment of "Lava Nile."
For such a chaotic album, there is quite a bit of restraint. In more vehement hands, the sputtering sheets of static would roar right in front of the mix, but thick layers of reverb and lower volumes dull the music's sharper edges. Yet the band is most effective when they turn up the intensity. "Spells" lives up to its arcane title, unleashing gusts of warbling electronics and ghostly moans. They crash over each other like the wake of a ghost ship, each wave building on the previous, until the song vanishes abruptly.
More often, the songs fizzle out before than can reach a crescendo. "Hassler" begins with some nimble drum flailing, but it peters out mid song, leaving the attendant clatter to drift without a rhythmic backbone. The closer, "Viszla," is more engaging. A lone shaker hashes out a lazy beat while languid guitar strums and crackling electronics bloom in the foreground.
It is tough to pass judgment on this record. It certainly snaps and pops in the way that a good abstract electronic music should, but there is a lack of muscle behind the layers of noise. In each case, turning up the volume, repeating a phrase, or adding a beat would conduct the energy needed. With a bit more forcefulness, WZT Hearts could make something very compelling.
This double album sees Ruth Rosenthal's poetry set to music by her musical partner, Xavier Klaine. Her words and his music create a delicate whole although moments of black humour and irony break through the elegiac moods. Winter Family deal with weighty issues from the most personal to a haunting passage on the Holocaust. Yet this album is surprisingly easy to listen to, despite the serious nature of the words.
While Rosenthal's poetry is more often than not enthralling, there are times when it does seem a little amateurish. This tends to be mostly due to her delivery rather than her words, on "Ray of Light/No Bad Animals" her voice sounds a little off as she tries to instil some drama into the piece. It does not quite work but it is far from a disaster. Elsewhere, her intonation suits the poetry far better. On "Auschwitz" she plays the part of a child trying to comprehend the incomprehensible, "something for grown-ups I guess." Klaine's jaunty piano is a million miles away from the horror of the concentration camp, much like a child's innocence should be.
Klaine's beautiful arrangements are what make this album work so well. I feel that on its own the poetry does not really stand up to scrutiny, it is good but for the most part nothing particularly special (at least when the poems are in English, I cannot comment on the segments in Hebrew). However, with musical backing the poems are stronger, the weaker passages have something to anchor to and the already strong passages become magnificent. Rosenthal's vocals over the harmonium drones of "Psaume" make for a sacred atmosphere; it is exceptionally beautiful.
Although all of the pieces could have easily fit on one disc, the album has been split into two rather short chunks across the two CDs. This is probably just as well as Winter Family's musical poems can be pretty intense. The break between switching over the CDs provides a welcome breather in the middle of the album. I must admit that by the time the album ends I am in no rush to put it back on but this is not due to it being bad or difficult, rather that it is a lot to take in. Overall, Rosenthal and Klaine have created a wonderful document of their work, it is a very natural and human sounding album.
Perhaps I am just not as well versed in my post-punk as I thought I was, or it is a direct result of their short career, but I must admit to have never even hearing of the Young Marble Giants until this box set, but now having heard them, it is safe to say their legacy should be appreciated, and their contributions to music should not be neglected.
The post-punk era of the late 1970s and early 1980s expanded the boundaries of punk, and the likes of Wire, Cabaret Voltaire and Public Image Ltd. integrated a great deal of other elements into a more experimental framework. However, while those bands had long careers that continued exploring new styles and routes, Young Marble Giants broke up after the release of just a single full length album, Colossal Youth, and a few singles and compilation appearances. In that regard, this set is like a time capsule, an in-depth study of a band at a particular point in time.
Given that this is for all intents and purposes a compilation of their entire body of work, there is a decent amount of redundancy, with some tracks appearing in album forms, alternate/demo takes, and a single John Peel session. With this in mind, there is a great deal of opportunity to hear tracks taking shape, and how different approaches were taken to the sound.
The three discs that make up this set are structured very logically: disc one is the band's sole full length, Colossal Youth, while the second disc is the Testcard EP, the "Final Day" single, a compilation track from Is The War Over?, and finally the Salad Days compilation of demos and unreleased tracks. The final disc is reserved for an August, 1980 Peel Session that draws on the studio material.
As a whole, YMG worked with a very Spartan palette: guitar, bass, an electric organ, and a chintzy drum machine that could have been stolen from a Bar Mitzvah band. This skeletal instrumentation was used to create tracks that, at their core, were pop songs. Usually driven by the disconnected vocals of Alison Statton, they were simple, yet catchy songs that managed to show the post-punk penchant for dub at times ("Eating Noddemix," "Include Me Out"), while also mixing in elements of rudimentary industrial as well.
Both "N.I.T.A." and "Wind in the Rigging" on the Colossal Youth album are reminiscent of YMG's touring partners Cabaret Voltaire in their drum machine/bass drone and cheap organ leads. However, while the Cabs used that setup on the aggressive Mix Up and purely evil Red Mecca albums, YMG keep things much lighter and buoyant throughout, an entirely different approach. Other tracks are less experimental and more conventional, the shared male/female vocals on "Brand-New-Life" and the Peter Hook-style bass work on "The Man Amplifier" will surely be familiar ground for many listeners.
In spite of their short career, the band were far ahead of their time in some regards: the repetitive kick drum backing of "Clicktalk" meshed with the funk bass lines and scraggly guitar predate the likes of LCD Soundsystem by some 20+ years is but one example. Other nods to contemporaries are interesting to hear as well, the synth and rhythm focused "Have Your Toupee Ready" could resemble the rough demos of Kraftwerk or Suicide (without the confrontational aspects of the latter, of course). The Peel Session disc that closes the collection is by no means revelatory or ground breaking, but shows a more immediate version of the band, possibly due to the use of a BBC producer.
While in some ways a sprawling collection, Colossal Youth & Collected Works is a fascinating document of a band who did quite a bit in their short career, and it isn't common that a band is able to release an entire discography in such a small, affordable package. The booklet included with liner notes penned by Simon Reynolds also provides a complete history of the band that is well worth reading, along with photos, flyers, original cover art, and even the full lyrics. For the price Domino is selling this at, anyone with an interest in the so-called post-punk era would be remiss to not pick this up.
This collaboration between cellist/electronics wizard Rawlings and percussionist/mixer Feeney lays out its agenda immediately on the first part: swelling, high pitched sine waves that pierce and barely relent. However, for the listener willing to endure the harshness, there is a vast array of subtleties to be found.
In this first track, a subtle click of percussion emerges from the din, which begins to shift in pitch and channel, bouncing from left to right. It is a cruel joke on the part of the artists, because the shifts mimic hearing loss. I caught myself pausing the track and taking off my headphones, just to make sure. The shrill tones become a recurring motif throughout, coming up a bit more moderated in the second part, and yet louder and more piercing in the final piece.
The artists appreciate the lower frequency tones as much as the higher ones, as the second, third and sixth pieces all feature a massive sub-bass rumble that will give woofers a workout. A lot of the other sounds are far less easy to describe however. The wet rattling and cloth ripping sounds towards the latter half of the disc are among the oddest I have heard in recent memory, and though I know a treated cello makes up a sizable portion of this disc, I'll be damned if it is recognizable on too many of the tracks other than the fifth one.
Throughout the entire disc there is an alien, yet organic sense to the tracks that propels the listener towards the final, long piece that combines the previous punishing tones, occasional bursts of noise, and pulses of the previous pieces into a grand finale, with the addition of percussion treated to be a massive industrial roar. Not industrial in the genre sense, but in the cavernous warehouse full of dying machinery sense.
Feeney and Rawlings have made a disc that is purely of the beard stroking academic variety, and I doubt either of them would take offense to it being called such. However, a degree from INA-GRM is not required to appreciate the sheer variety of sounds and subtle textures that are on this album.