Episode 721 features Throwing Muses, Eros, claire rousay, Moin, Zachary Paul, Voice Actor and Squu, Leya, Venediktos Tempelboom, Cybotron, Robin Rimbaud and Michael Wells, Man or Astro-Man?, and Aisha Vaughan.
Episode 722 has James Blackshaw, FACS, Laibach, La Securite, Good Sad Happy Bad, Eramus Hall, Nonconnah, The Rollies, Jabu, Freckle, Evan Chapman, diane barbe, Tuxedomoon, and Mark McGuire.
Wine in Paris photo by Mathieu.
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A note for note cover of any Atari Teenage Riot song is a silly idea but that is what D-Trash Records have offered up with The Virus has been Spread. Nearly every track here is a straight-up cover lacking in any imagination, vision, or sense of danger. As such, The Virus has been Spread is a limp and impotent attempt at a tribute. It is most likely a way for this label to get its acts some spotlight; it has bitten them in the tail because after listening to this CD I do not want to hear any of these artists again.
What made Atari Teenage Riot special was not the music nor the lyrics but the attitude. The music got fairly mundane quite quickly and the lyrics were always a bit suspect. However, the conviction in the delivery of the songs was always enough to make Atari Teenage Riot live up to their name. Unfortunately, every single artist on this compilation has missed this integral part of the equation. The only times when I felt any element of chaos or danger were when the artist making the cover has sampled from the original version of the song. This again overlooks an important part of what made Atari Teenage Riot more than another techno-cum-metal band: all their samples were home made and not lazily borrowed from someone else's music. It is especially depressing when the Atari Teenage Riot samples are followed by pure garbage like DHC Meinhof's "Revolution Action."
While I am impressed that many of the bands here have managed to replicate some of the frenzied feedback featured on the original tracks with high fidelity, their pedestrian plod through the songs is less than inspiring. Rabbit Junk's "Start the Riot" sounds more suitable for a bingo hall and regrettably it opens the album; hardly an encouraging start. By far the most heinous of bad covers on this compilation is Howard Roark's take on "No Remorse (I Wanna Die)" as it is not only an insult to Atari Teenage Riot but to the one good song that Slayer have done since 1990 (the original being a collaboration between the two). The one decent attempt comes from Hansel with their version of "Ghostchase," instead of trying to out-Digital Hardcore the kings and queens of Digital Hardcore they remove nearly all the metal aspects of the music and replace them with orchestral instrumentation and silences. It is not a particularly great cover but compared to the rest of The Virus has been Spread it is leagues ahead.
If I sound harsh, it is only because Atari Teenage Riot are close to my heart and it pains me to hear so many mediocre versions of their songs used in a crass attempt of self-promotion. I have only managed to sit through all of this a couple of times, I keep getting the urge to put on 60 Second Wipe Outat obscene volumes instead. The Virus has been Spreadintrigued me as D-Trash have had a long history with Digital Hardcore Recordings so I hoped it might be a competent attempt at paying tribute to an often overlooked but great band but I was sadly deceived.
This project takes a unique approach to music: rather than instrumentation, it is based around the sound of writing and drawing. It makes for some original textures but it lacks a coherent feeling and compositional structure that would have made it more compelling.
The audial byproduct of a pencil or pen scraping against paper is often ignored as the necessary and forgetable side effect of a different artistic project entirely. Craig Dongoski (aided by Aaron Turner of Isis with numerous album covers to his credit) chooses to focus on this subtle element and make it the basis of an experimental work.
Samples of writing and drawing are processed and utilized throughout, sometimes very clearly and overt ("Scattered Shavings," "A Choir Speaks") while in other cases are stretched to a different texture entirely ("Mask," "Being Born Broken"). Other samples are utilized such as female voice fragments on "Mask" and Turner himself contributing some highly effected guitar, most notable on "Shrine of Wreckless Illumination." The sounds vary widely from track to track: both of the "Being Born Broken" tracks are based upon lo-fi samples, rhythmic synth sounds and loops of digitally processed noise while "Scattered Shavings" has the recognizable sounds of drawing paired with segments of disembodied voices, rough field recordings, and digitized rain sounds.
Taken as a whole, the disc features some rather exceptional textures and sounds, especially given their source. However, the weakness of the disc is that it feels more like a pastiche of sounds rather than a specific composition. It lacks the sense of structure and development that the bigger names in the avant garde field tend to build upon. Given the unique approach to the work, I think it is something Dongoski can build upon and refine with future work.
This fag tapes release features a bunch of unidentified nut jobs exploring out-of-the-ordinary vocal sounds in what is probably an abandoned cellar in Ohio. Depending on which way they are interpreted this collection of tracks can either be a set of anthems for despairing mental patients or the sound of really depressingly sour group sex.
The main male vocalist probably wouldn't need a Mortis mask to get into character for his role here, the unsightly ringmaster of this session, as he seems to only know how to express himself in barely human terms. Uncontrolled screaming wails, repeating wolf howls and grunts, groans and moans all mesh to build blocks of very human, but very disturbing, musical clots. Exploring the sounds ignored by even the ugliest of sound poets, even when it sounds on the verge of monstrous collapse, it retains a structure and brief flits into melody. The higher female voice carries most of the repeating lines, spewing sounds as brutally as the male vocalists. With all the pieces sounding too structured to be a straight live take, the sometimes reverbed singing creates a soft mass of vocal sounds. From whimpering lonely orang-utans to Japanese ceremonial belches, this could provide awesome source material for some some budding bedroom cut-up artist. Expressed a bizarre union in a thin layer of chaos, this brutally deep male and female onslaught is complex to enough to inspire repeated stopovers in spite of its unattractive surface.
Split over a C10 cassette, this wheezy grind and its dark cousin lie in the middle ground between their big label releases and the scratched nothingness of some of their CD-R jams. Nate young's unintelligible vocals on the untitled A Side say more about his possible profligate ways than any lyric sheet could.
This sliver of no-fidelity grate of beat and fog and the distant growled vocal is proof again of why so much of the current noise crop is nothing but a crowd of arrivistes and poseurs. This brief chunk of multi-tracked nastiness soon runs out, echoing metal percussion and muffled bangs swimming in rivulets of tar with minute glimmers of clear sound. They may not be as well known for their isolationist traits as their noise, but this is a great example.
The other side is a falling evil clone choirboy, a distorted descent into damnation. It feels a lot longer than its counterpart, not because it is or because its crap, but because it sucks tension like marrow from a bone. This is the sort of Wolf Eyes release that'll see the Sub Pop buying public bringing a charge of sedition against them for refusing to do what's expected.
The Caretaker has abandoned darker and hard to grasp memories in favour of an altogether warmer journey which upon exposure invades the very core of your being. This is a very personal album for the listener, pre-soul music from a bygone era which will attack your senses in a way both comfortable and uncomfortable all at once.
There are no titles for the tracklisting; you are encouraged to find your own way through the release, searching for your own reference points. "Deleted scenes..." is:
-a very important artifact and document -an album for personal introspection -your own personal and individual soundtrack
It was mastered and cut by the legendary Berlin Dubplates and Mastering team and released by our friends on Belgian based WeMe Le Disque. The cut (as you would expect) has been done beautifully and has been set a little lower volume wise than normal to allow for additional surface noise from vinyl playback over time to individualise your own experience. The release also features artwork by U.K. based artist Guy Denning and will be limited to just three hundred copies for the world.
In addition, special pre-orders are being taken for a signed and numbered copy of this album for just £13, which includes p&p anywhere in the world. Only pre-ordered copies (placed before the release date of April 30th) will be signed and numbered.
"Family Tree", to be released on June 19th, 2007 on Tsunami, will feature previously unreleased tracks from the vaults of the Estate of Nick Drake. The album, produced by Drake Estate manager Cally, tells the story of Nick Drake's musical development in the years prior to recording his official debut, "Five Leaves Left".
"Family Tree" explores the upbringing of an artist who--in his tragically short career--produced three albums which continue to be treasured by fans. Recorded in the late 1960s, the 28 tracks feature lo-fi recordings made on a reel-to-reel tape recorder at his home, Far Leys in Tanworth In Arden, as well as eight songs recorded on cassette during his sojourn in Aix En Provence. The inclusion of two songs, "Poor Mum" and "Try to Remember", written and performed by Molly Drake bears testament to her musical influence on her son, conscious or otherwise.
After Nick Drake's death in 1974, his parents Rodney and Molly Drake began to receive visits from fans compelled to understand more about the source of his music by traveling to the place where he lived and died. For Rodney and Molly, this was no invasion of privacy. On the contrary, aware that this might be the beginning of the recognition that their son had longed for in his lifetime, they invited those fans in and quite often shared the music a young Nick had recorded on an early reel-to-reel recorder. Often fans left with their own cassette tapes of those songs.
Some third and fourth generation versions of these tapes circulated among collectors on rare bootlegs for decades. The overwhelming fan demand for unreleased material or stronger versions of these poor-quality bootlegged songs has thrown up a challenge to the estate to release something worthy of his legacy.
The "Family Tree" release will include a letter written from Gabrielle Drake to her brother in which she reminisces about their growing up, their family life, and explains how she has tried to preserve his legacy as she thinks he would approve. "I hope that, in the circumstances, you could have given "Family Tree" your blessing. Or if not, that you could have at least looked on with that wry smile of yours."
"Family Tree", unlike Nick's albums which contained only his own material, features the young artist mastering the compositions made famous by Bob Dylan, Blind Boy Fuller, and Jackson C Frank. It also showcases his early songwriting skills on tracks like "They're Leaving Me Behind", "Blossom" and "Come Into The Garden". In segues between tracks, the listener hears Nick speaking aloud to himself, even laughing in between takes. The album also includes two versions of songs that ended up on Nick's first album "Five Leaves Left" which were recorded by his arranger Robert Kirby whilst they were both studying at Cambridge University in 1968.
You need only hear Nick and Gabrielle's exquisite blood harmonies on "All My Trials" - or Nick playing clarinet with his aunt and uncle on Mozart's "Kegelstatt Trio" - to realize that this was a house whose inhabitants entertained themselves and each other by playing music. In the album closer "Do You Ever Remember?" Molly Drake sings not just for their sorrow, but also for the laughter that once resounded throughout a happy, loving home. It's a laughter that resounds - sometimes literally - throughout the whole of "Family Tree". In doing so, it brings us closer to who Nick Drake was than perhaps any written account of his life thus far.
In addition to the release of "Family Tree", 2007 will see the release of an upgraded version of the "Fruit Tree Box Set". It will include Nick Drake's three original studio albums and a new book, as well as a DVD of the "A Skin Too Few" documentary. "Fruit Tree"will also be available in limited edition vinyl.
The complete track listing is as follows: 1. Come In To The Garden (introduction) (Nick Drake) 2. They're Leaving Me Behind (Nick Drake) 3. Time Piece (Nick Drake) 4. Poor Mum (M.Drake) performed by Molly Drake5. Winter Is Gone (Traditional, arr: Nick Drake) 6. All My Trials (Traditional) performed by Nick and Gabrielle Drake 7. Kegelstatt Trio for clarinet, viola and piano, (W.A. Mozart) 8. Strolling Down the Highway (Bert Jansch) 9. Paddling In Rushmere (Traditional) 10. Cocaine Blues (Traditional) 11. Blossom (Nick Drake) 12. Been Smokin' Too Long (Robin Frederick) 13. Black Mountain Blues (Traditional) 14. Tomorrow Is A Long Time (Bob Dylan) 15. If You Leave Me (Dave Van Ronk) 16. Here Come The Blues (Jackson C. Frank) 17. Sketch 1 (Nick Drake) 18. Blues Run The Game (Jackson C. Frank) 19. My Baby So Sweet (Traditional) 20. Milk And Honey (Jackson C. Frank) 21. Kimbie (Traditional) 22. Bird Flew By (Nick Drake) 23. Rain (Nick Drake) 24. Strange Meeting II (Nick Drake) 25. Day Is Done (Nick Drake) 26. Come Into The Garden (Nick Drake) 27. Way to Blue (Nick Drake) 28. Do You Ever Remember? (M. Drake) performed by Molly Drake
The latest entry in Southern Records' Latitudes series is from Finland's mighty Circle. Even though the combination of the band's name and the title of the album seems like a nod to one of Celtic Frost's classic songs, this release focuses on the band's more spacey sounds than on their classic metal-worshipping moments. Like most of their previous albums, there are some amazing moments on Tyrant but also a few stumbles along the way.
A recurring problem that plagues most Circle albums is that they get a good idea but never quite pull it off properly. This problem occurs during opening song, "Screaming Luovutus," which was initially the weak point of Tyrant. I was disappointed with the overly frenetic and formless drift of sound that greeted my ears. The interlocking rhythms sound wrong together at first but on the second and third time around the piece began to click with me. I still think it's not quite as strong as the other two pieces on the disc but it is most certainly not the chink in the album's armor that I originally took it to be. On the other hand, despite covering similar ground to the first piece, "Steel Torment Warrior" is immediately accessible. Perhaps its strangeness is softened by having already experienced "Screaming Luovutus" but even so, it works so much better than the preceding track. Part of the appeal is the pulsating synth in the background which is painfully close to Nurse With Wound’s "Intravenous" in spirit. Both of these pieces are good but not fantastic.
The final track, "Amputation Crusade," is where Circle fully engage in their Krautrock revival and this is the role that I always feel is their strong point as a band. The motorik rhythms and spaced out atmospheres are in a completely different league to their heavy metal setting. The languid and hypnotic "Amputation Crusade" is not their best take on the Krautrock theme but it is definitely head and shoulders above a lot of their more recent back catalogue. The slow moving synths and grunts over the almost country-ish guitar melody followed by a supernova of drums and guitar is exceptionally good. This unsettling 15 minutes caps off Tyrant perfectly.
Along with the recent double album Miljard, Tyrant is proof that Circle still have plenty of music left worth listening to. I think their glory days may be behind them but definitely the band is too young for retirement. They could even show a new burst of inspiration rather than re-treading the same worn paths that they have been doing. While I enjoyed their heavy metal edge, I think that edge has become blunted in recent years and in any case, it was always overshadowed by their more psychedelic tendencies. With Tyrant’s looser style I feel the band are shifting in the right direction and I'd like to see where they take it to next.
This extremely long-in-the-making (five years!) collaboration between these two titans of the avant garde finally arrives with high expectations that are summarily met. Rather than something academic and difficult, it is instead a captivating and visceral work.
To avoid getting too deeply into the realm of art interpretation, it would seem that Wehowsky and Rainey were heavily inspired by the nature of personal communication. Perhaps a given from the nature of their interactions: this entire collaboration was performed via postal mail, the track titles are relative to communication, as well as recurring motifs through the tracks, such as disembodied voices, fragments of phone calls, etc.
The title track is flanked on either side by two shorter pieces, beginning with "Awaken Elsewhere, Unforeseen." An overall intensely dark feeling permeates the track, using a collage of metallic scrapes, breaking glass, and a percussive knocking. Music that is focused on found and abstract sound, then treated with processing such as this can often just come across as a mish-mash of recordings that don't go anywhere, but Bhob and Ralf rise above this pitfall. Both show an excellent ear for composition, and it is obvious in this first track, allowing the collages of sound build and build in depth and volume until it becomes massive, then the tension dissipates, letting everything fall away to rebuild again.
The title track encompasses more than half of the volume of this disc, opening with a disorienting mix of loops and metallic reverbs that build upon each other until reaching a towering wall of noise that cuts away to reveal the distant field recordings of children playing, footsteps and movement. A bit later some tortured saxophone on behalf of Rainey can be heard, barely recognizable after both have treated the sound. This interplay between the processed electronic sounds and field recordings continues throughout the 20 minutes of the piece, alternating between the spacious recordings of the outdoors and dense analog electronic drones that would be appropriate on some of Sunn O))) or Wolf Eyes work. Not only is this stylistically similar, but in intensity and mood as well. Throughout the 20+ minutes of this track, it's almost like an audio document of the mind of a stalker or some inhuman creature hunting its prey, lurking in the distance just out of sight. Cinema for the ears, indeed.
The final track, "Re: Hi!" is a little more assaultive on the senses with bursts of feedback, vacuum cleaner white noise, and car horns which eventually give way to minimal analog crinkling sounds and digital birds flying in the distance. A bit less subtle than the prior tracks, but just as interesting.
Rainey and Wehowsky have created a sonic journey out of some of the most unrecognizable sounds. It's hard to pinpoint exactly what is going on here and that's exactly what makes for such a captivating listen. It's unfortunate that this collaboration had such a Fitzcarraldo level of difficulty in its completion, because a follow up would be a very good thing.
The thick oily pulse on the opening "Beerbath Two" is the only thing here that resembles that morning after feeling of an actual hungover breakast. This unseemliness is short-lived as this three-track cassette spreads itself between the gaps of noise and rhythm without the need for comforting but extraneous fatty musical factors.
The first track soon falls into a cauldron bubble of noise, a regular pace of snorting static scored by impish electronics skittering across its ugly froth. Where others might have settled for this mash, Hungover Breakfast adds further difficult to decipher parts to the mix. The oscillating siren that could be a much distorted vocal carves out a niche, and what are possibly single sliding guitar tones out of nowhere takes this several steps beyond mere noise experimentation.
The other two tracks also use rhythm, but in a much clearer, linear fashion. "Beerbath" seems content to quickly spend itself as a brief and subdued trapped groove, but "Happenin’ Sunrise" takes the Hungover Breakfast sound where it hasn't seen daylight before. A bouncing southern hip-hop beat, almost jolly in its repetition, covers up some high-end frequency abuse that continuously morphs throughout. This attempt to batter the percussion into submission fails, but it's a great sound clash of the endless squirreling sounds and the immoveable object. With this cassette, another original voice is spitting itself out of the tape culture.
Throbbing Gristle activates a certain part of my brain that immediately responds with the idea of noise. Then, after more careful reflection, harsh noise, death, industry, sex, pain, exploitation, and a host of other generally negative and exciting responses come to the fore and resolve the picture I have of the band, however incomplete and misinformed it is. Part Two - The Endless Not surprises me because it doesn't evoke that picture of Throbbing Gristle and in fact calls the presence of that name on this recording into question.
Change should be expected, especially from a band that hasn't released a full-length recording in over 20 years. That lengthy absence as a unit calls into question the existence of this album. A number of aging groups have experienced a renaissance of sorts in the last few years, basking in the glow of their perpetual youth thanks to the medium of recorded sound. Young fans, probably unborn when these bands first released their music for consumption, and old fans have been equally willing to shell out large sums cash to see and hear bands that haven't had anything to say for quite some time. In many cases it's all in the name of nostalgia, a whole lot of effort spent to remember what's already been saved on tape or an attempt to experience an idea or belief that came too soon for many people, myself included. So, after such a long absence, it's hard not to question Throbbing Gristle's reason for coming together to make new music. Peter Christopherson has, since the demise of Throbbing Gristle, recorded a monumental catalogue of strange and beautiful music with Coil. Chris and Cosey have produced no small oeuvre, either, each recording, writing, and performing successfully across the entire spectrum of media. And Genesis P-Orridge has not become any less infamous or visible in all of his projects; his name is virtually omnipresent among hipsters, artists, miscreants, and record nerds alike. There's no doubt each member of the band has remained vital in some way, but as it turns out the dynamics between these people have changed in such a way that the appearance of the name Throbbing Gristle on the cover is almost inappropriate.
Part Two sounds nothing like Throbbing Gristle and, despite all the original members being present, seems to have less to do with Throbbing Gristle than it does with each member's later projects. Highly developed electronic compositions dominate this record, as they did on TG Now, all of the teeth provided by absolute noise removed in favor of something more contemplative. Even the psychological and iconic imagery employed by the band in the past has been replaced, not by something more grotesque, but by an image of one of the holiest sites on the planet. There's little doubt that the members of this band have something to say, but there's a sense that the name Throbbing Gristle is on this record because it's a familiar title people will be familiar with and excited about. In some ways that's a disappointment, Throbbing Gristle is the rare example of a band that seemed dangerous and exciting during their birth and remain that way in the eyes of many people. Read an interview with Genesis and Sleazy to anyone unfamiliar with them and some strange responses are likely to be returned; play some of their early records for the uninitiated and be ready to either do a lot of explaining or promptly turn it off. Part Two, on the other hand, might actually win the group new fans, thanks in large part to the more exotic sensibilities inherent in Chris Carter's and Sleazy's work. Powerful rhythms, enjoyable melodies, densely layered effects, solo instruments, and less transgressive performances from Genesis all make this Throbbing Gristle record strangely palatable. After listening to it a number of times, it's hard not to think that Throbbing Gristle should remain in the past and that whatever this is should drop the name before it taints the mythology that surrounds the name.
On its own terms, Part Two is fantastic. It harbors all the qualities that make the individual members' music so powerful and exciting. Each individual is highly creative, perhaps brilliant, in their own right and they all still work incredibly well together. As a result, much of this music sounds like little else, though the signature of each member is unabashedly present on nearly every song. "Rabbit Snare" is a seedy, black vision of brushed snare drums, rubbery bass, and piano, Genesis' crooning amplifying the image of sick cabaret lounge tucked away somewhere in a hidden part of London. "Almost A Kiss" is perhaps less immediately stunning than the original 10 minute version from TG Now (titled "Almost Like This"), but within the framework of the slightly more synthetic Part Two it sounds excellent and is also Genesis' finest vocal performance on the record. "Lyre Liar" is the most caustic thing on the record and the only place where the horrifying spirit of the band's original work seeps through unaltered. The spitting electronics and diseased moans recall the ghost of "Hamburger Lady" and situate all the careful composition in a kind of sick malaise. It's a fantastic piece and, despite its singular nature with respect to the rest of the album, it sits quite well between "Greasy Spoon" and "Above the Below."
Part Two is a great record, but not because it's Throbbing Gristle. It is decidedly different from anything else in the band's catalogue. So different that it seems pointless to tack that name to the record. Whether it was all put together because the name was familiar or because the record label thought it could make some money, the music itself is representative of four highly talented people who are still pushing boundaries and challenging themselves. Don't go in expecting to hear your favorite band from 20 years ago, however, you'll only be disappointed. Instead anticipate a record that will stay in rotation for awhile on its own merits. I expect some will hate this record for some of the reason I outlined above: it doesn't sound like 2nd Annual Report or it doesn't have the same attitude the earlier records had. Don't fret over those details, though. Just remember, this isn't even Throbbing Gristle, it's just four members of that band making some of the best music they've ever made together.
Anla Courtis and Ralf Wehowsky combine their talents to create an album of distorted, erratic textures that scrape the eardrums to inspired, ecstatic effect. The spirits they conjure don’t seem very happy to be awakened, unleashing their exquisite vengeance with a wrath like the Furies.
Most of these tracks were recorded live in the sense that there were no further alterations of sounds after the fact other than minor edits and mixing, and appear much the same way as when they were formed. Only one track was created from layering two separate recordings, but it’s an aspect that not easily noticed.
The first couple of songs are the most jarring. "Cristalizacion Espontanea" starts with a chittering sizzle that's soon cut by what sounds like a distorted power drill demolishing stone, giving rise to insects angered at the intrusion. The next track is even wilder and louder as extended distorted passages interspersed with brief bursts of melancholy seep through the cracks, capped by tortured screams of amplified metal. The album gets quieter from here as bass and feedback drone solemnly while something like scissors cuts against the track before household machinery wails like sirens signaling trespasses, ascending warning tones that give way to open vents. The quietest track is "Han Sido Atrapados Antes Que Se Agote El Reloi De Arena…" with sounds reminiscent of ripped packing tape, a dot matrix printer, falling objects, and an unwinding toy. Quiet and cacophony combine on the monster "…Mit Ihren Weidenringen Die Steingesiter Zu Fangen," seemingly made from syncopated muffler riffs and a large, imploding machine. Feedback billows in the ears and howls like a form of communication, perhaps the voices of the stone spirits themselves.
As noisy as their music is, none of it has any irritating squalls or high frequency screeches that send me searching for earplugs. The textural balance is impeccable and held me fully enthralled for the entirety of the disc. Music this abstract can be hit or miss, but on this album Courtis and Wehowsky carve out my skull in the most blissful way.
A note for note cover of any Atari Teenage Riot song is a silly idea but that is what D-Trash Records have offered up with The Virus has been Spread. Nearly every track here is a straight-up cover lacking in any imagination, vision, or sense of danger. As such, The Virus has been Spread is a limp and impotent attempt at a tribute. It is most likely a way for this label to get its acts some spotlight; it has bitten them in the tail because after listening to this CD I do not want to hear any of these artists again.
This project takes a unique approach to music: rather than instrumentation, it is based around the sound of writing and drawing. It makes for some original textures but it lacks a coherent feeling and compositional structure that would have made it more compelling.
The latest entry in Southern Records' Latitudes series is from Finland's mighty Circle. Even though the combination of the band's name and the title of the album seems like a nod to one of Celtic Frost's classic songs, this release focuses on the band's more spacey sounds than on their classic metal-worshipping moments. Like most of their previous albums, there are some amazing moments on Tyrant but also a few stumbles along the way.
This extremely long-in-the-making (five years!) collaboration between these two titans of the avant garde finally arrives with high expectations that are summarily met. Rather than something academic and difficult, it is instead a captivating and visceral work.
Throbbing Gristle activates a certain part of my brain that immediately responds with the idea of noise. Then, after more careful reflection, harsh noise, death, industry, sex, pain, exploitation, and a host of other generally negative and exciting responses come to the fore and resolve the picture I have of the band, however incomplete and misinformed it is. Part Two - The Endless Not surprises me because it doesn't evoke that picture of Throbbing Gristle and in fact calls the presence of that name on this recording into question.
Anla Courtis and Ralf Wehowsky combine their talents to create an album of distorted, erratic textures that scrape the eardrums to inspired, ecstatic effect. The spirits they conjure don’t seem very happy to be awakened, unleashing their exquisite vengeance with a wrath like the Furies.
