After two weekends away, the backlog has become immense, so we present a whopping FOUR new episodes for the spooky season!
Episode 717 features Medicine, Fennesz, Papa M, Earthen Sea, Nero, memotone, Karate, ØKSE, Otis Gayle, more eaze, Jon Mueller, and Lauren Auder + Wendy & Lisa.
Episode 718 has The Legendary Pink Dots, Throbbing Gristle, Von Spar / Eiko Ishibashi / Joe Talia / Tatsuhisa Yamamoto, Ladytron, Cate Brooks, Bill Callahan, Jill Fraser, Angelo Harmsworth, Laibach, and Mike Cooper.
Episode 719 music by Angel Bat Dawid, Philip Jeck, A.M. Blue, KMRU, Songs: Ohia, Craven Faults, tashi dorji, Black Rain, The Ghostwriters, Windy & Carl.
Episode 720 brings you tunes from Lewis Spybey, Jules Reidy, Mogwai, Surya Botofasina, Patrick Cowley, Anthony Moore, Innocence Mission, Matt Elliott, Rodan, and Sorrow.
Photo of a Halloween scene in Ogunquit by DJ Jon.
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This URSK series by Utech has been establishing itself as a force in bringing wider attention to projects that otherwise may have lingered in obscurity. For example, this Malaysian band has had only a few, very limited releases before, but with this higher profile disc more will get to hear this distinctly unique take on dark, murky free jazz.
Sonically based around dueling saxophones and underpinned by dark, heavily reverbed guitar ambience, Schwarzhagel is an extremely dark, tense listening experience. The short opening track of black, reverb drenched ambience and violent guitar string bends serves as a more than adequate prelude to the pummeling that awaits.
The second, longer piece begins similarly with wobbling pitch guitar and carefully controlled feedback that swells and sustains violently, but never feels unnecessary or unfocused. However, once the saxophones enter, the bleakness is replaced with pure violence. Tham Kar Mun and Yandsen both manage to produce the most tortured, pained shrieks from their instruments that rivals anything Peter Brotzmann or John Zorn has done similar in sheer brutality. Unrelenting, the guttural screams continue, occasionally dropping off into a death rattle just to come back strong. Finally, the horns retreat and the piece retreats into the calmer darkness of the guitar that opened it.
The third long track is more focused on noise laden guitar riffs that are punctuated by subtler, but still uncomfortable horn blasts. The guitar grows noiser and noiser until the latter half where it erupts into pure unhinged noise that could have been the work of Hijokaidan or Solmania for utter guitar raucousness. Throughout this piece, however, there is a greater variety of dynamics taking place. While the former piece was one unending blast, this one allows for some breathing room in the first half, with the volume and density of sound swelling and then retreating, allowing for more tension and less pure chaos.
Ending with another short track, the album closes is a much more softer manner than it opened, chiming, crystalline guitar tones shine through the mist of reverb, and the piercing feedback swells stay carefully under control. As a whole, it’s an interesting take on what is usually just considered free jazz. Even with the sonic parallels to the FMP label and other such camps, Klangmutationen retains a darker, more sinister quality that was never quite as apparent in other similar works.
At its core, this spilt CD has monolithic foundations of thick, oily, viscous slabs of broken-down and tar-black overdriven guitar and feedback. Here, the Australian Grey Daturas' familiar line in bonecrushing doom-laden oppression is ably bolstered and reinforced by the equally weighty French female-fronted Monarch, both outfits commanding an impressive array of heavy weaponry. Between them, their down-tempo gargantuan dirge is seemingly capable of crushing whole continents. One gets the impression that they would like to physically obliterate the miles between Australia and France if they could, and for the most part it succeeds.
Having already reviewed the Daturas' Dead in the Woods CD a short while ago, I was anticipating a sustained barrage of raw granitic blockiness and in that respect I wasn’t to be disappointed. Despite that, their sixteen and a half minute slice of doom, “Golden Tusk the Endearing,” left me somewhat unconvinced. All the right ingredients are there: slow-moving tectonic plates of gravelly guitar, interrupted by splintering, sharp flinty shards as fault-lines shift and break, along with the protesting squeal of feedback, with the whole culminating in cyclopean seismic ruptures in its fabric. Yet, there is still something missing. Compared to the previous album, this one seems to wallow in a sludgy one-dimensional pit of its own making, and just self-indulgently stays there. It never really appears to elevate itself beyond that, determinedly staying in the lower registers without attempting to inject a measure of personality or dimensionality into it, which I found massively disappointing. I got the impression that it was too self-limiting and unwilling to break bounds, preferring instead to root around in the mud and muck, simply for its own sake.
Monarch follows a similar path, equally subterranean and equally monolithic in execution, on their somehow appropriately titled “Rapture.” The difference here though is there is palpable heat and electricity being generated as the geological processes stack up in coiled-spring tension, releasing energy in tectonic spasms of high Richter-scale detonations. Utilising the same dirty filth-inflected instrumentation of granular guitar explosions and feedback, but this time augmented with the behemothic percussion of Stephane and the hellishly demonic vocals of Eurogirl (aka Emilie), “Rapture” dives and plunges into the lightless Stygian depths. Apart from any other consideration this adds the multi-dimensional layering missing from the Grey Datura’s entry. Miasmatically black swirls of noxious, asphyxiating essence clog the senses, enveloping and suffocating. Knife-sharp feedback and chainsaw guitar slice through, wielded by unseen hands, cutting and dicing with malign abandon. A genderless angelic voice rises from the airless gloom, enticing and pleading, until all pretence is dropped and its true demonic nature is finally revealed. One feels the weight of both the subterranean gloom and the mass of rock above. Oppression and dread take on a physical form here, cowing and buffeting the soul mercilessly.
I was more than a bit disappointed with the Grey Datura side, but it was more than redeemed by Monarch’s effort. Compared to it, “Golden Tusk the Endearing” lacked any energy or drive, remaining nothing but monochrome in the process. In contrast, Monarch ignited their engines, stuck them on full throttle and just let go. Consequently it felt like whole landmasses were moved and crushed, and mountains crumbled. Sadly though, the Grey Daturas never managed to emerge from their little pit.
The second, larger installment of their collaboration,following a double-3” on Phonometrography, is another deep slicing into the insurmountablevisions that make both peerless examples of sound artists driven by discoveryand new substance over stylized forms. It is also another immaculate package as expected from Hafler and Die Stadt. Die Stadt
What brought these two (rather these three—a trio again!) back for asecond take at the arch abstraction that has protected their careersfrom scrutiny thus far can only be guessed at, left unanswered orforgotten by those with the courage and the will captivated enough tostretch prone across these two discs, these vast hollow spaces. I havenever been to space, but I’ve been trapped in the funnel of a bedroom’srestless blanket-mess enough times, absent and terrified, alone in asearch for clues that might be miniature parts of myself, to know wherethis is coming from.
“Post-technoid” this is not; switch on the lightand you might see it evaporate, petrify in sepia, graft onto an inch ofwallpaper. Here is glitch as the subtle-supreme counterpoint to anotherfragment of McKenzie’s masterpiece of micro-strata exposed. Glitch asdistinct and spare as Autechre can make it, set, as if upon silkenpaper, as if in an ancient dressing, with proportions easily projectedbut also perfectly, so very regularly, aligned.
It's funny how logic cantrip such a wide hole. Autechre, the neat sutures to the Hafler game ofplaying sweet orchestra for those deeply paranoid. Droning, descending,solemn innerspaces get ruptured, even painfully, but never without anhonest recoil, to the oceanic calm that is more reticence thanacceptance, a cold glow across distances whose shortness is beyondmeasure. No beats save that heart-click, the slow break of a bodyturning in on itself, the thuum-ph of an eyelid that has only to riseon things changed in their own deceptive degrees.
I have fallen asleepin these silences (there are many), only to be awoken by the swingingof latches and humming and swirling of machines in warm-up, again, forme. (He has awoken; he will not quit us; he has visioned the walls ofthis room in their true dissolve; he can see again) No rust, nothinghangs, nothing weeps or weezes and everything moves with a purpose thatis the only the assertion of its own maintenance. I cannot be astranger traveling through, all is part of and one with; I have willednothing but exist on the obliterating fringe of every new noise.
Haflerdrones forward and around, Autechre finds, binds, and questions, whatcan stifle and disprove this atmosphere, which details can push thisdrift into harrowing reverse? The answer is none, and the answer ispart of a continued method of questioning bent on perpetual negationand discovery.
I am at a loss to describe this painful union of forces.
Swim Two enigmatic men from the centre of Britain want to take you on amagical mystery tour. Imagine sitting on a train. As it pulls out ofthe grimey station the motion rocks you half asleep, into thatsemi-dream state where shifting realities collide and merge. A chime, adrone and an accelerating heartbeat cross the tracks. The ultimatedestination is bright light, but the journey glitters, as you passrolling hills and emerald forests, out into the wasteland where the sunis blinding and obscures vision. The name Aurelie was chosen for thistrip due to its phonetic beauty, and since beauty is hard to describeorally and lies in the eye, it has to be heard aurally. Make no mistakethis is beautiful music, finding hope in the loss of each passinglandscape. This trip is the perfect one to take out of the crowded citythat inspired labelmate Akatombo. Aurelie are a much more delicate yetequally dreamy proposition, and the final dronesongs on Trace Elements almost lead into the opening chimes of Desde Que Naci.Swim, run by Colin Newman of Wire and Malka Spigel of the recentlyreformed Minimal Compact, now has such a strong roster with anover-riding future music quality aesthetic that it'd be no joke to hailthem as the un-UK's finest record label. Whilst Aurelie are certainlyout there dreaming their own pure visions, there is some room forcomparison with Colin and Malka's mighty Immersion duo, and maybefellow middle Englanders Magnetophone. Aurelie is however more subtlethen either, but it would be a mistake to call this ambient or chillout because Aurelie's warmth and drive are all too human. Once againSwim have given us music beyond genre boundaries, from a time thatwasn't a time.
V/Vm Test Records What a mess! Pig entrails and mash-ups? Demented children and piracy?Who's going to clean up this sticky filth? Certainly not me! To attemptto review a compilation of forty six tracks from various artists (whoaren't all V/Vm alter-egos) related to and enjoyed by V/Vm over twocompact discs is an exercise in futility. According to the V/Vmwebsite, contributions have come from all over the world, andconsidering the eclecticism displayed by these selections, I'm notsurprised in the slightest. Setting the tone for this absurd andsometimes entertaining collection is the goofy title track, performedby The Krankies, who are purportedly a "sick Scottish comedy duo".Unfortunately, this awkward children's song is a highlight on thisuneven compilation. Somewhat dull rock music bastardizations and blandnoisescapes are served here in heaping portions by several no-name actsprobably better off being unknown. The only tracks here that get myattention and praise are the pop and rap bootleg mixes. Toecutter's"DMX On Tick" takes the gruff rapper's standard shouts and turns theminto a glitchy freakout. Skkatter thrashes the BT-produced 'NSYNC track"Dirty Pop" with potent DSP fuckery. I would be remiss in my duties asa contributor to this fine publication if I did not mention KevinBlechdom's tribute to our fair-skinned editor-in-chief Jon Whitney."Jon Whitney Houston" is a touching, sentimental tribute to the man wecall Mom, a wonderful cover of "I Will Always Love You" sung word forword. All gushing aside, this really is an iffy release from the V/Vmcamp. After their tributes to love, Aphex Twin, and The Shining, Iexpect more from this shapeless collective of mad hatters and supergoons.
Quarterstick Dreams never end. Savage freedom time has begun in avenues all linedwith trees. Times have been strange. Do you hear her enlightenedlaughter? Another reason to cut off an ear? Maybe not. Blixa Bargeldmused upon beauty in the night sky over Berlin, but decided that noarms would ever be able to stretch wide enough to form an adequategesture to capture beauty. Beauty, he decided, remained in theimpossibilities of the body. Rachel's music is a music of such heavenlybeauty they must be tapped into something primal, way deeper than merechord charts and floating tailed black dots on lines. Their logoincludes a crescent moon emblem, recalling a darkness before dawn or asweet scented flower just beginning to bloom. Jason Noble used to playguitar and holler for those monster bird rockers Rodan, who weresacrificed on the alt-rock altar a little too early. Maybe he cut outthe noble heart of the beast and transported it into a rotating chamberensemble in perfect harmony. He was definitely running on the same lineas me at Shellac's All Tomorrow's Parties. Rachel's enchanted and transfixed that weekend, but Systems / Layers is even more gorgeous than that singular performance suggested. Their last album Significant Otherswas a rare bird - the only time I ever saw it was that weekend. They'vetaken some of the minimal play from that and put it into a moreluscious frame, guilded by a theatrical group called SITI. Rachel'spulled an improvising system known as "The Viewpoint" into their orbitand they seem to have caught a glimpse of the music of the spheres.Rachel's discovered a lot, learning new ways of creating andcommunicating. Singer Shannon Wright helped significantly, singing sucha quietly lost yet deeply hopeful song as ever there was. Peel thelayers of an onion and tears run down, but there are no tears as theleaves of a lettuce fall and cover routine systems of dreary urbanlife, and as they rot let roses and chrysanthemums bloom throughcracked concrete. Rachel's transports me to emerald woodland glades ina primitive dream where words are no longer necessary. There is so muchwarmth and compassion in Rachel's music it could burn away all theimpurity in the blackest heart. To describe this music in the way of aregular review would debase it and spoil it's magic. Then the songbecame alive - so glorious!
There's something unspeakable wandering the halls of a deserted hotel somewhere in the past and its sound has been captured so that all can know it. Salvaged from dusty records in plain white and brown sleeves, these recordings take a decidedly darker stroll into the halls of forgotten happiness and celebration. The Caretaker has managed to take the deserted and neglected and give them new life by expanding their sound: horns blasting for the satisfaction of dancing men and women are slowed down to funeral marches and the static and hiss of old records become the wind and rain as it toils outside the windows of a shining and elegant ballroom. There's an element of surgery in The Caretaker's approach: that which must've seemed so vibrant and brimming with life is torn open so reveal something betraying that image inside. Everyone had their demons at this party and each of them were quite desperate to hide that little part of themselves; fear had its axe in everyone's back. But there's more going on here than just psychological investigation: The Caretaker strips back a little bit of reality to reveal the void underneath everything.
This explains the reason for all the sounds being so spacious: voices extended into the unintelligible, drums turned into drones and smoke, and strings diminished to hollow wails. The good news is that the fear never becomes too great and the void never feels all-consuming. The sounds and sights to be found on this release can be explored with confidence: whatever it is that is lurking through these distorted and destroyed melodies certainly cannot cause any permanent damage, right? Even this seems uncertain, really. "And The Bands Played On" is a reminder that nothing is for certain and that whatever certainty is assumed is truly dangerous. From start to finish, We'll All Go Riding on a Rainbow is filled with absolutely haunting and unmitigated sound. There are points when it is impossible to tell whether the sounds being heard are really from a lost record or from some lurking and abnormal creature not subject to a name or description.
Static Caravan EPs are a tough sell. Ounce for ounce, this is probably Jonas Munk'sbest release. It combines all of his best skills in four songs whichnaturally play out with a complete indifference to a 4-6 minuteunwritten guideline for album collections of 8-10 songs. At 24 minutes,it's the perfect amount of time to experiment without wearing out yourwelcome. In addition, it's a good breather from the wealth of outputthat's not been the easiest to keep up with. However, priced as high asit is (and as most EPs are), it'll probably be his least heard. On the(not-so-ironically titled) opener "A Familiar Place," Munk hasn'tstepped far from the sounds and styles of his other output: simple butlush, heavily emotional, slightly pitch-bent synth melodies loop intime with a steady pulse and musical electronic percussion. Both hereand on "Wake," angelic female vocals have been added, but the additionis never oppressive nor distracting from the music. On "StealingThrough," and "Horizon," however, Munk takes a step in removingelements, yanking beats out completely and leaving the former as asimple guitar piece with faint echoes and the latter as a stunning 8½minute gem of bright swelling synths that are as blinding and gorgeousas a setting sun. With this, I look forward to hearing the directionManual moves on to but at the same time, I'm patiently satisfied fornow.
Amish Records It's always funny to hear how environments affect certain albums, fromthe way the musicians felt to the actual physical environs of thespace. One recent winter, Dan Matz was in an upstate New York farmhouseafter a horrendous snow storm. There was no power, and all he had wasan acoustic guitar and dulcimer, and a friend who played piano to seeit out. So, they wrote and played some songs to pass the time. When thepower finally returned, it was time to record these songs that had keptthem company for the past few days. Carry Me Overis the result, and it sounds just like what I'd expect given thecircumstances under which is was composed. There is a stark beauty tothe arrangements, with very few instruments and virtually nopercussion. A chill passes through these songs, mostly due to thehaunting male-female vocals and the minor key progressions, but thereis also a closeness, as though people are trying to keep warm. Matz andAnna Neighbor play and sing with a staid and complacent nature, asthough this delicate music will break them if they let it out too much.They sing songs as poetry and prose, as declarations and pleas, urgingand convincing at the same time they are weak and afraid. Matz has avery calm and smooth though untrained voice, which means most notescome out solid with minor cracks, a fitting addition to the music thathas the same qualities. "Downpour" is a perfect pop song, withmulti-tracked vocals and keyboards to accompany the deliberate guitarstrums and drums. The title track and "Matthew" also approach thisbeauty, with an all-encompassing sanguinity and human frailty. Othertracks feature eerie choirs, reverb, and bare vocals that inject justenough variety to please even the most stubborn with at least one song.As a whole it is at once a dark, pretty, warm, and barren release, andthere are great songs within that show Matz isn't through crafting hisbrand of off-kilter pop.
Earlier this year Autechre curated the fifth All Tomorrow's Parties festival, and of that bounty comes this, actually the fourth ATP compilation. All Tomorrow's Parties comps have never been more than glorified mixtapes ("ultimate" mixtapes according to Thurston Moore), thoughtfully scratching the surface of one of the best large-scale concert series; Autechre's volume, though, is the first with potential to transcend its posterity-building, afterthought status, becoming an (almost) essential collection.
This is the first double-disc (or album) of the ATP comps, making the odds of finding something compelling even greater. This is also the first ATP comp to focus almost entirely, and understandably so, on the electronic realm, giving it, though twice as long, a common thread that was lacking on the first two, curated by Sonic Youth and Shellac. An increased cohesiveness is particularly achieved in the sequencing of the tracks across the two discs. Disc one is undoubtedly more of a "daytime" collection. It begins with two hip-hop songs, the first new material from Public Enemy and the second a stellar remix of the Masters of Illusion track "Bay-Bronx Bridge," a Bollywood-breakified gem that would be at home in a DJ/rupture mix for sure. Two hip-hop infected instrumental tracks follow, by Autechre's upbeat alter ego Gescom and Miami's Push Button Objects, whose "ATP track" features sitar plucking and operatic vocals floating above a cracklin' beat. These songs are "pop" enough to follow the hip-hop and segue nicely into a laptop piece from Jim O'Rourke sounding like the more pleasant bits of recent Fenn O'Berg stuff. This is music for relaxing in the backyard after an afternoon of driving around with the beginning of this disc in the ghetto blaster. Two Autechrian, yet nonabrasive tracks from O.S.T. and Made begin the evening's journey into night. Somewhat uneventful, these leave room for the third and final hip-hop track, this time from Kool Keith's ! Dr. Dooom, whose "Leave Me Alone" is a hilarious tirade against the music industry containing one show- stopping verse that begins, "Why you think I should wear a motorcycle helmet—why don't you wear it?" Detroit techno guru Steve Pickton's Stasis project closes disc one with a wonderful piece blending spacious drones into rumbling electro and beginning a trip to the dancefloor that will be continued on the second disc. More of a "nighttime" disc, with most of its tracks primed for the dark spaces of the dancefloor, disc two kicks off with one of its nicest surprises, faceless technoid Anthony 'Shake' Shakir's "Ghetto Futures," a track whose slashing breaks sound played by a live army. A fragile, beautiful track from Disjecta (Seefeel's Mark Clifford) allows a brief moment of peace before the beefy, though unremarkable techno throbbings of Baby Ford and Mark Broom. A lengthy and exceptionally soothing Pita track begins the final and most abstract segment of the comp. Surprises herein include an Autechre track that, despite its title ("/]-/](II)"), is relatively accessible, even danceable, and a sprawling new track from Sub Pop sludge/drone stoners Earth. The typically harsh stylings of Bola (one of four Skam artists on this comp) and Hecker round off the disc in predictable, though enjoyable fashion. If ATP comps of the future provide the same variety, tempered by the same degree of cohesion and consistency evident here, these collections may become as valuable as tickets to the events themselves.
DFA The production team of James Murphy and Tim Goldsworthy has been theobject of some of the most exalted praise that the music press iscapable of bestowing. Their productions and remixes as The DFA and thestring of releases on the DFA label have been so hyped and oversoldthat it's rather hard to wade through all of the hyperbole and justenjoy the music, which is unfortunate, because more often than not itis extraordinary. Building their reputation on a series of incredible12" releases by the new wave of post-punk and mutant disco-influencedgroups such as The Rapture, The Juan Maclean and LCD Soundsystem, theyhave also branched out into decidedly more experimental territories,releasing a full-length LP and a 12" single by the psychedelicnoise-metal improvisers Black Dice. Tracking down their sought-afterreleases has been a little difficult since the explosion of pressattention, so the idea of a CD collecting their 12" output is anappealing proposition. Unfortunately, DFA's Compilation #1seriously jumps the shark, as it is far from a complete collection,with glaring omissions and some annoying inclusions. For a relativelyyoung label that has released only seven singles, you'd think that theywould be able to include all seven tracks and even b-sides on thiscollection. However, they omit almost all of the b-sides (except forthe mysterious inclusion of The Rapture's b-side "Silent Morning"), andbizarrely choose to include an incongruous 15-minute noise track fromBlack Dice's Beaches and Canyons LP. Plus, the disc is short atonly about 60 minutes. If they had removed the extraneous Black Dicetrack and used up the rest of the space on the disc, they could haveincluded The Rapture's new "Killing" single, the killer LCD Soundsystemb-side "Beat Connection," the hallucinatory EYE remix of Black Dice's"Endless Happiness," and maybe even the Morgan Geist remix of TheRapture's "House of Jealous Lovers." Instead, we have a disc made up ofmost (not all) of the a-sides, and two rather bizarre songs thatshouldn't be included. I have no complaint with the music, however. TheJuan Maclean's dirty, bottom-heavy electro-disco tracks are infectiousand charming, without being too heavy-handedly retro. LCD Soundsystem's"Losing My Edge," a hilarious minimal electro ode to hipper-than-thouindie cred, sounds as great as ever. The Rapture's "House of JealousLovers" is still one of the best raw, energetic dance-punk songs youcould hope to hear on a crowded dance floor. Black Dice's primitivemetal-scrapings and This Heat-style abrasive madness make "ConeToaster" a terrific avant-rock side. However, the distinguishing musicconsumer is much better off staying away from this woefully incomplete"compilation", and instead trying to track down the original 12"releases, which boast amazing b-sides, remixes and the same level ofaudio fidelity. The DFA's Compilation #1 is, sadly, a missed opportunity.