Sub Pop
One of the highlights from this year's Terrastock festival was the blowout performance by Kinski. The EP they're selling on tour (and on the net) is their first release through Sub Pop, a precursor to their Sub Pop debut (their third album) next Spring. At four songs, the disc acts as a wonderful introduction for those who haven't been won over by the band yet. Kinski cleverly disguises their unbridled rock tendencies with lengthy drone openings and noise fillers. While the formula is old hat (two guitars, bass, drums), the songs are straight up fun to listen to. Anybody familiar with Ride's "Leave Them All Behind" could probably predict that the opening guitar effects on "Semaphore" (no relation to Fridge) merely hint towards the bombastic arrival of all the other instruments. About 2/3 of the way through, however, the song takes an unexpected turn and speeds headlong through the finish line. Continuing on with that same motion, the peppy, punchy "Point That Thing Somewhere Else," originally by the Clean, is the only vocal track on the disc. The energy completely drops after that for the improvised noise of "The Bunnies Are Tough," which, honestly could have been either avoided or completely exploited. The closer, "I Wouldn't Hurt a Fly," opens with the serene sounds of wonderfully delayed guitars (you know, the kinds mama used to make) but is soon shattered by the loudness factor again. With two minutes left, the track gets completely fucked up. I can't tell if this is intentional or a complete glitch as it happens on all of my CD players. Look for this Seattle four-piece on tour with Acid Mothers Temple right now and try your damndest to track down any of their older recordings. (Best of f'n luck.)
One of the highlights from this year's Terrastock festival was the blowout performance by Kinski. The EP they're selling on tour (and on the net) is their first release through Sub Pop, a precursor to their Sub Pop debut (their third album) next Spring. At four songs, the disc acts as a wonderful introduction for those who haven't been won over by the band yet. Kinski cleverly disguises their unbridled rock tendencies with lengthy drone openings and noise fillers. While the formula is old hat (two guitars, bass, drums), the songs are straight up fun to listen to. Anybody familiar with Ride's "Leave Them All Behind" could probably predict that the opening guitar effects on "Semaphore" (no relation to Fridge) merely hint towards the bombastic arrival of all the other instruments. About 2/3 of the way through, however, the song takes an unexpected turn and speeds headlong through the finish line. Continuing on with that same motion, the peppy, punchy "Point That Thing Somewhere Else," originally by the Clean, is the only vocal track on the disc. The energy completely drops after that for the improvised noise of "The Bunnies Are Tough," which, honestly could have been either avoided or completely exploited. The closer, "I Wouldn't Hurt a Fly," opens with the serene sounds of wonderfully delayed guitars (you know, the kinds mama used to make) but is soon shattered by the loudness factor again. With two minutes left, the track gets completely fucked up. I can't tell if this is intentional or a complete glitch as it happens on all of my CD players. Look for this Seattle four-piece on tour with Acid Mothers Temple right now and try your damndest to track down any of their older recordings. (Best of f'n luck.)
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It should come as no surprise that the album Hefty gets this year from Marco Haas as T. Raumschmiere is considerably more cerebral and noticably less ass-pounding as the one from Shitkatapult (see 
Quick, my cat's purring, grab the microphone! Seriously, I'm continually impressed with Karla Schickele's songwriting and singing abilities, both as an integral piece of Ida, and as the boss here as K. Shickele's lyrics never sound anything less than painfully honest, and never, for once, are they remotely predictable or trite. On this, the second K album, the musical styles vary so greatly that I'm unfortunately having a hard time at certain points being completely won over musically. The broken continuity works amazingly well in the powerful "Crush Mine," as the magical superglue that seems to hold most rock songs together (the drummer) is showing strong desires for an improvisational angle. The country twang of the steel guitar on "I Am Not Willing," and "Everybody Knows Your Name," however, seems almost forced and unnatural. Instrumental diversions like the metronome, guitar and gong sounds on "More Than Wanted" are warmly welcome while the bangy-bangy piano on "Keep Your Eyes on the Road" simply grates on my nerves. Songs like "Ballad" and "Bounty" are destined to become fan favorites, as they're both bleedingly emotional and have the sound of a band who is in perfect synergy with each other. K is on the road right now, and while I might not have given this album the highest marks, K's shows have never let me down.
The year was 2001. I was in Columbubs, Ohio selling merchandise for a touring band when I only briefly shook hands with a friend of the guitarist, a really charming young gentleman named Brian. The following year, I was completely blown away by the sounds Brian (as Boom Bip) was generating in collaboration with the rap of Dose One in a small concert in Boston. I look back on that one concert night with fond memories as the sound was loud and the feeling was wonderful. Later on that year, he released his album, "Seed to the Sun." After Hollywood caught wind of the phenomenal breakthrough, he was soon composing film scores left and right and nobody ever heard from Brian again. His success was rightfully deserved, however. On the first seconds of that album he wowed the crowd by his sharp sense of musical composition, structure, playing abilities and production smarts, with an electronically-based driving beat layered by live bass guitar playing and thoroughly enjoyable musical progressions. From track to track, the feeling varied (ear-tingling beat-less digital drones of "Pules All Over," a campy drunken trumpet calliope on the brief "Newly Weds," a raspy rap by Buck 65 on "The Unthinkable," and the nasal, beat-poetry prose of Dose One on, "Mannequin Hand Trapdoor I Reminder") but the consistency never faltered. Influenced by hip-hop beats, New Order-esque high-fretboard bass guitar playing, synth pop, sampleadelics and space rock, Boom Bip was indeed a well-rounded child, albeit a bit unfocused at times, yet impressively talented.
If I didn't know both the name of this band and their album title, I honestly would have guessed they recorded this with the full intention of creating a overpoweringly bright image of a glass lense amplifying the sun's light to such an unbearable degree, that everything else in sight becomes a mush of yellowy wash. Hold your hand up to your face but you still can't block the intensity.
The name of this musical act should give you a clue about it. Unfortunately the guitar recordings are the most redeemable part of this album. Guitar is the musical project of somebody who refuses to be known as anything other than Digital Jockey. He (this is just a guess here) has a real mastery of guitar effects and layering which is wonderful to listen to, but has been done for years since that unavoidable reference point, My Bloody Valentine. In addition, he has enlisted vocalist Donna Regina on a couple songs and Ayako Akashiba on a few others. While this album will most certainly go over very well with anybody obsessed with 'Loveless' and/or thick-accented Asian girls singing in Enlish, the lyrics are so irritating some times that I can barely make it through each song. "Honey bee, me and me, see sea, bee and me" over and over and over and over again (with two appearances even) gives me frightening visions of Asian girls with long fingernails, digging deep into my skin to climb up my body and chew my eyeballs out. Admittedly, I was enthusiastic about this album after hearing the rich guitar and simple drum sounds of "House Full of Time" on 'Blue Skied an' Clear,' but sadly, that has become the only song remotely bearable to my ears any more.
While I have been listening to Colin Potter's output (as part of other projects) for years and own a couple Monos releases already, I feel the latest full-length release is clearly a turning point for Darren Tate and Colin Potter as a duo. For years, the two, in various different combinations along with the usual suspects (Andrew Chalk, Jonathan Coleclough, and the circle which extends to Christoph Heemann) have been creating a seeminly endless stream of limited records of lengthy drones: anti-compositional in nature, exploiting sounds for super-extended periods of time. On this, Potter and Tate display a clear evolution in simply 'putting the pieces together,' and for five tracks incorporate the proverbial field recordings and drones with actual compositions, evolving sounds and musical movements gracefully both with and without various pulses keeping strict tempo from introduction through demise. Recorded in 2001, this disc opens with what has almost become a mainstay for these folks: a gradual fade in. The hum on "Intro" doesn't last long, however, as a number of other tones and pulses begin to make themselves heard. Quivering echoes and very, very (almost inaudibly) low undertones mainly propel the spacey "Moon Environment" while tinny pitch-bending, crackling (either leaf-rustling or a fire), and thumping analog synth bass sounds make for a hypnotic aural feast on "Brittle." Unsurprisingly, the purveying visual images I get from this album is a very, very bright night lit by an amazingly large moon. It's the point where night vision takes over and the shadows come alive. The scene could be a forest or a field, relatively close to civilization, but grand enough to seem untouched by modern man. Thankfully nearly all of these pieces end somewhere relatively close to the ten-minute mark, despite the almost unnatural fade of each. There is more, and while I generally dislike fadeouts, I'm somewhat relieved these things don't go on forever. 'Nightfall Sunshine' ends with a marvelous ten-minute piece, "Sunrise," with bird recordings, a subtle synth melody, what sounds like the shivering wiggle of an Arp and the warm drone of an organ. It is the end of the night, the rise to the next day, as animals wake and we, the humans, need to return to reality.
Just when I was about to abandon all hope of possessing a dub record to play while kids in Jar-Jar Binks outfits come knocking on my door this materializes!
All the noises and frequencies on this record have been produced using self-constructed equipment, resulting in a sound not very far away from early analog synthesizer experiments or a tone generators humming. These home made drones are divided into three parts, add up to a total of 46 minutes, and are nicely packed in a miniature album-like gatefold sleeve. Two of the three parts were mixed, edited and mastered with fellow Australian Oren Ambarchi (and Section Two with Scott Horscroft). Without this name dropping, however, I doubt this disc would have been released. There are no warmly welcomed richly layered textures or multi-level sound structures, instead, the result is, on numerous levels minimal (minimal in conception and minimal in effect). The balance between disturbing and hypnotizing sounds is so well-kept that it lacks a certain excitement besides the hidden gimmick—a subliminal overdrive when the speakers start to crackle as the mastering job pushes the CD output level in the red zone of the LED display. Somehow this release leaves me slightly puzzled with an isolated feel. From the start to the end, Walls musically guides us through the middle of nowhere without any clue or destination. I like my music to be a bit more expressive or excessive but for more settled minds this might be a welcome refreshment in noisy drone ambience.
