Podcast Episodes 721 & 722 are live!
Mid-November midweek special
Two new episodes are now available.
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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The collection of 12" singles from the Detroit group came right in themidst of a slew of other retro-analogue electro acts a few years back,but was unique enough to stand out from the crowd. I liked the childishsimplicity and cold, rigid plasticity of Adult's repetitive beats, andthe humorously reductive, robotic lyrics of Nicola Kuperus ("Do youhave a phone/I need to accommodate/My communication needs"). Thepurist, technological aesthetic of all the releases on their ErsatzAudio label, including Kuperus' series of "dead secretary" photographsadded a great visual element to the odd postmodern satire, and theirlive shows were also quite a lot of fun. Not satisfied to continuallyinhabit the same synthetic, climate-controlled interiors forever, Adultstretched out on their follow-up album Anxiety Always,producing an aggravating concoction of minimal techno and brutallyascetic no-wave that I still find very difficult to listen to. With D.U.M.E.,their first release for Thrill Jockey, Adult go further down the samerabbit hole, leaving behind their Detroit techno roots for increasinglydarker and pricklier post-punk territories. The result is an album evenless approachable, a series of anally retentive goth pastiches thathighlight Kuperus' deliberately piercing, grating vocals. Noisy stabsof subterranean guitar, spiky psychedelic touches and simplisticprogrammed beats give these songs the feel of early Cure, Tuxedomoon orDNA music stuffed into tiny, vacuum-sealed plastic containers and leftaround for 20 years. When the seal is removed, the stink hits you rightin the face, relentlessly obnoxious and quite repellant. I think Adultdeserve some praise for so single-mindedly pursuing a sound so angular,ascetic and uncommercial that most will not even get all the waythrough a three-minute song. However, in their dogged stylisticpursuits, they leave the listener far behind, choking on their toxicexhaust. I couldn't help but notice how Kuperus' confrontational vocalsare a pitch-perfect recreation of the "Me and My Rhythm Box"performance from the film Liquid Sky, which was a welcomereminder. However, it's something I can only take in very small doses.And though this EP is only 16 minutes long, it's already far too muchto take in all at once.
For a group whose music is so implicative of a richesoteric heritage, the death of Jhonn Balance, while certainly tragicand accidental, seems somehow wholly appropriate, a corporeal sacrificein pursuit of some higher pitch of magickal experience. These omens andbeckoning mythologizations are all over ...And the Ambulance Died In His Arms,which documents a unique Coil performance at the Camber Sands HolidayCentre, part of the Autechre-curated All Tomorrow's Parties festival,weekend of April 6, 2003. I was in the audience during thisperformance, and have been repeatedly listening to a fan-recordedbootleg of the show in the two intervening years, so this material isvery familiar to me, and brings back gloriously hallucinogenicmemories. This official release is superior in many ways to both mymemory and the bootleg, boasting a higher quality soundboard recording,song names, track separations and packaging containing fantastic photosfrom the performance. The front cover is a particularly choice snapshotof Jhonn Balance in his Victorian madman costume, sporting a D.H.Lawrence/Will Oldham beard and hair combed sharply sideways. After abrief introduction of the now-familiar Coil-trademarked electronics—allshuddering gurgles, ripples, dimensional buzzes and distorted analoguemelodies—the lengthy, seemingly improvised "Snow Falls into MilitaryTemples" begins. The song is all icy ambience: a chillingly glacialcombination of distorted, sidereal synths, unidentifiable percussiveclatter and irregular trills on the marimba. Jhonn Balance pipes inwith a series of nonverbal ululations and incantations, eventuallysettling on the mantric repetition of the song's title. Then Jhonnreveals the guiding principle behind this uniquely understated Coilperformance: "We're doing a quiet set today...we've had too muchshouting over the past year." And a quiet set it is, at least whencompared to the Constant Shallowness-era, baptism-through-noiseset I'd witnessed a couple years earlier in NYC. However, quiet in thiscase does not suggest that it is any less powerful, and in fact, thereis a simmering, deliberate intensity to this material that brings itcloser to the group's Musick To Play in the Dark phase than anyof their other live appearances. "A Slip in the Marylebone Road" is anaural dowsing rod, Jhonn Balance recounting hazy memories of a druggedrobbery near the aforementioned tube station that left him bereft of avaluable green notebook full of ideas and song lyrics. The story istold in freeform style over a quiet rhythm punctuated by Sleazy'ssampled Speak-and-Spell spitting out computerized nonsense syllables.The last two lengthy tracks seem the most prophetic of all, "TripleSons and the One You Bury" ("I drank a cup of mercury...If you're goingto bury him, bring him home first.") and a radically retooled versionof "The Dreamer Is Still Asleep." Subtitled "A Somnambulist in anAmbulance," a reference to Balance's alliterative mantra, impossiblenot to read as an eerie portent of tragic events to come. This is anindispensable live document, a set of songs never performed before orsince, with a uniquely atmospheric mood steeped in morbid augury.
This is the long-delayed sequel to the mad Welshman's 2003 Double Vulgar album, which was intended to follow closely upon the release of the first, but because of various problems surrounding the pornographic artwork and the dissolution of World Serpent Distribution, it has been delayed until now.
Far moreglitchy and filled with non-linear messes of static and random noise,the majority of Yearlonghas a less polished and more improvised structure than what I amaccustomed to from either composer and so, upon first listen, I was abit shocked by what I was hearing. The first Knitting Factory track isbasically a series of highly edited pulses forced into envelopes ofecho, reverb, sudden decompression, and 90 degree turns. There's verylittle room for continuity. Similarly, the recording from the Bottom ofthe Hill in San Francisco comes off as a noise performance edited anddisjointed on the spot; gone are the smooth curves that populated bothDavis' and Whitman's releases from last year. On the other hand, thetwo WFMU Radio pieces and the Kontor Gallery recording in Köln, Germanyfit together quite well: the bells, whistles, reversed signal hums andguitar samples all flow in and out seamlessly, as though they weremeant to sit side by side on a disc. The La Casa performance inWashington is a beautiful mix of kitchen sink percussion and simple,spacious piano bits and the massive WNYU-FM track from New York(recorded on the same day as the Washington performance) is a blissfulmix of contemplative bells and shuffling utensils. These two tracks, inparticular, are amazing because of how different they are. Recorded onthe same day, they're indicative of how diverse both composers are andjust how willing they are to try new ideas. The Impakt Festivalrecording, the last track on the disc, is particularly fun, too, andseals my feelings on this album up. A combination of crackling hiss andmarching band samples, it lights up the end of an album that, at first,can be a little daunting, but ends up being excellently diverse andaddictive in all its playfulness. - 
For the most part, Blumm's tunes originate from guitarand bass strummings and pluckings that warmly become enveloped withinstrumental layers of harmonium, accordion, vibraphone and minimalkeyboard effects. Having devoted serious studies towards music, hisknowledge, placement and performances with such instruments has beendone very tastefully and with no discordance. Although a pop musicelement is present on the disc's compositions, the one facet notincluded (and not at all missed) is the bright tempos. Tracks such as"Nie" and "Langen" move at a slower, yet comfortable clip for pluckedguitar progressions to leave the ample space which is beautifullycolored by strokes of xylophone and blocks of harmonium with melodiesfurnished on melodica and glockenspiel. Brisker tempos would onlymuddle these brilliant and emotive performances. "Blick" consists of abase of sparse, drop-tuned acoustic guitar strumming and weavingmelodica lines propelled by subtle vibraphone flams. Already rife withcinematic-styled orchestrations and evocations, the addition of asoaring French Horn performance from Harald Ziegler seals the deal tomake this my favorite track on the disc (not to mention a new-foundrespect for the French Horn). The musically rich David Grubbs lends hisunique vocals to the disc's closing track, "Nachhall/Chroma Key," withlyrics verging on stream-of-consciousness based around the set of atelevision show. Zweite Meer is a disc of warm and amicabletunes, and as its cover suggests, is the musical equivalent of layingback on the grass and picking out cloud shapes as a lazy afternoondrifts by.
Various trumpets, handpercussion, vocals and the occasional stringed and wind instrument areused to worship deities through prayer and invocation. Levy used stateof the art recording techniques but aimed to capture events as theyhappened, therefore these recordings have an air of authenticity. Thefact that he did not bring the participants into a studio and attemptto recreate their performances also lends the set a timeless quality. Atrack simply titled "Monks" is described as "monks, clown and publicenjoyment." This two minutes of seemingly random chanting and informalvocalizing simply would not have been heard had Levy not made hisrecordings as an observer. The immediacy of the recordings gives them avisual quality. It is easy to envision layers of dust being releasedfrom ancient cymbals as they are struck together. Although the set islong at 143 minutes, it is conveniently divided into three sections:"Rituals of the Drukpa Order," "Sacred Dances and Rituals of theNyingmapa and Drukpa Orders," and "Temple Rituals and PublicCeremonies." Much of sections one and two are trance-inducing, andperhaps this is entirely the point, as this music is not being createdas entertainment. Levy was granted special access to record these ritesbased on his track record of excellence in field recordings made inother countries. While this music of Buddhism is normally only heard bythe general public on special occasions, Bhutan's folk music isperformed publicly and enjoyed by all. Many examples of this type areheard in section three, which offers a wider variety of styles than theprivate Buddhist rites heard in sections one and two. Here we aretreated to music performed during processions, festivals and dances.There are also examples of pieces for solo vocal, cymbals and flute.Music that is devotional in nature and ritualistic in practice is oneof the most pure and genuine forms of expression, and these recordingsare free of the baggage that plagues so much Western music.
Completing the doubleentendre, the album uses a motif or montage of death and relatedimagery as its unifying principle. In doing so, Daedalus informs theworld that hip hop—the category in which Daedalus's uniquely arranged,densely-packed beat-driven sound best fits—can offer elegies far moreinvolved that merely pouring some out for one's homies. Adhering tohabit, Daedalus uses primarily analog samples of 1950s cocktail-loungesingers, ancient-sounding 1920s and 30s piano and organ notes andcheesily ambiguous post-war string arrangements as source material. Putin front of a simple snare-and-cymbal beat or a bossa-nova percussionsample, the sound of Exquisite Corpse is more akin to classicalelegy rather than a Gothic dirge: a welcome surprise as nothing isworse than a melodramatic hip hop record. And the material is no Antigone,either. After a few minutes of instrumentals to set the mood, MF Doom'srapid fire and witty opener "Impending DOOM" mates a frantic, freneticbackbeat to his signature flow, with a string sample to keep the moodslightly mellow. Two versions of "Welcome Home" hint at some sort of anauthentic cadavre exquis; a glitch-heavy beatdown that is unmistakablyPrefuse 73, and a typically thoughtful and esoteric Mike Ladd poem,read over the original Daedalus beat: "Waiting on Pompeii/ my brain's awar machine/ waiting on the next/ another shoe is another day/ long asit doesn't fall I'm ok/ welcome home." "I Sent Off" is the closest Exquisite Corpsecomes to more "typical" electronic music, the strings-and-singeropening duet fading into a dance-club worthy crescendo of gyratingbeats. Among the more notable guest appearances is the pleasing sleeper"Drops," featuring obscure MC Cyne, laying a heartfelt rap over arelaxing jazz-inspired loop. The album's zenith is "Crippled Hand," asix-minute tour de force that showcases Daedalus's ability to dowhatever he wants with any conceivable sound, from Andean pan flutes toclipper-ship era pennywhistles. In Greek mythology, Daedalus's skill asan inventer was legendary, able to manipulate anything with dexterityand aplomb. It's hard to think of a more appropriate moniker for thehip-hop Daedalus.
Our Bed Is Greenis a massive recording of several different styles of music, all ofwhich are only hinted at on more recent releases. Between the soft,eerie opening of "Tea" and the hissing, open sound collage aura of"Finale" is a mish-mash of country, soul, blues, and spiritual musicgrinding upon each other and unleashing a full, dense steam of tenseatmospheres and playful, melodic pictures. Songs like "Bid YouGoodnight" and "I Don't Know You" are composed of relativelystraight-forward guitar and organ phrases harmonizing togetherperfectly, with either Christina or Tom singing, but without thestrange or alien characteristics of their more recent work (think Joy Shapes).On the same CD, however, are droning and meditative guitar sonatas like"The Treadmill" and "Stuttgart." On these noise is king and the guitaris bled of every last ounce of electricity before Tom Carter eventhinks about letting it go. Crystalline notes seep through the walls ofsound that Charalambides lay down, providing a center to the chaos theysometimes unleash, and through their wails that familiar and hauntingspirit rolls out of their music. It's hard to imagine any other bandsitting such distinct musical styles side by side without soundingsloppy, but Charalambides can be quiet and spectral one moment, igneousthe next, and end up resolving themselves into a country-folk hybridthat eases on by as though it were carried on the wind. There might bemore recognizable elements on Our Bed Is Green, but the musicis undeniably unlike anything else I've heard; Charalambides wereentirely unique from the beginning. The songs on their first record arealready composed of anti-matter and numinous non-sounds, placing all ofthem well outside this world and somewhere in the nether places of mythor mysticism.
"The Meat in the Street" and thehideously-titled "The National Republic of Harelip" feature the rapid,rolling stop-start rhythms that are usually associated with so-calledIDM, but in this environment they work well to heighten the tensioncreated by layers of atmospheric synths and brooding melodies. Thismusic seems more the work of a singular vision than most melodicelectronic music, bearing evidence of human hands through the emotionalresonance of tracks like "Letter Puncture PNX Pass" and "Johnny 123.""Johnny" features irregular rhythms escaping all over the stereo field,yet is grounded by a bed of plaintive, melodic synthesizer tones andstrange vocal samples. The cut-up whispered vocals on "The Coal MineWorker" give the track a sense of pending doom that is heightened bythe eerie, claustrophobic ambience of the music. Other tracks, such as"Not Down That Alley," "Slave News," and "17 Fidelity Guards" arebeatless and evoke apocalyptic visions through introspectivesynthesizer washes. These relatively sedate pieces offer contrast tothe hectic beat programming featured on many of the other tracks, yetretain a connection to the whole by evoking a similar atmosphere ofdesolation. This contrast is one of the strengths of the album, andsaves it from being a dull collection of tracks that each pit beatsversus ambience. "Bleak Purple" is by far the noisiest track here, withshort bursts of digital detritus weaving in and out of skittery beatsthat vary from the quiet pitter-patter variety to full-on industrialstomp. The dub-inflected techno rhythms and keyboard stabs of"Lockerbroom Rumble" would sound derivative of Pole and the BasicChannel crew were they not combined with waves of sharp static andplaced within the context of the rest of these tracks. Although Nodernwas recorded in Venice, London, and Johannesburg, it doesn't sound asif it was pieced together from various sessions over a period of threeyears. None of these cities come to mind when hearing the album, asNodern has successfully created a work that is borne of his ownuniverse.
In the summer of 1989 after an extensive tour for that album, perhaps with a desire to escape from chart success and return to his Joy Division roots, Hook got into the studio with musicians Chris Jones and David Hicks to begin writing the first lackluster material for the band. In January 1990, Revenge played their first live show with an expanded lineup featuring Ash and David Potts, the latter of whom became Hook's co-collaborator in the redeeming and poppier Monaco project. The five-piece band toured throughout the world in support of their One True Passion album on Factory, and the recordings on this entirely unnecessary release are culled from two different performances from the tour in Manchester and Kawasaki, Japan respectively. 
Using bugs, frogs and the occasional mammal forinspiration, it's not quite clear if the anonymous Residents are tryingto make a Darwinian statement or if they just decided to (once again)do something no one else had thought of. Just in time for spring—therelease was originally scheduled for February but was pushed backseveral times for unknown reasons—and the lovely mating calls andhordes of insects the season brings, the cacophonous collection callsupon the whole breadth of the Residents' musical abilities in order toreplicate the sounds of nature. Jazz horns recreate the bleat of abullfrog, classical strings and cellos emulate the buzz of cicadas or aswarm of flies, elements of their musical beginnings as and every"human"-made vocal is put through enough synthesizers and effects tomake them sound like a bug or some other creature. To the extent thatthey are decipherable, the lyrics are also animal-inspired. The opener,"On The Way (to Oklahoma)" in part follows the travails of a fly as itflies about, stopping to "feast on a dog/ lying in the heat." Most ofthe other vocals are too distorted to hear clearly, and are sometimesso adulterated as to be unbearably grating, not actually sounding likea bug but a train derailment. There are some very enchanting melodieson the more instrumental tracks: "Ingrid's Oily Tongue" features alonely opera soprano vocal dueting with a mellow horn and synth (mademe think of a snake), and the busy backbeat of "Mr. Bee's Bumble"manages to overcome the nearly insufferable vocal interludes. AnimalLover's most enjoyable moment is "Inner Space," when the femalevocalist's (the Residents have refused to reveal their identiesthroughout their forty-year career) hauntingly beautiful alto isallowed to be heard unruined by the effects, keeping time to a starkand mysterious background complete with tintinnabulating bells.Disturbing and lovely. As a novelty, Animal Lover is notable andunique: in my knowledge, nothing quite like it has ever been donebefore, at least not to this extent. As one of the Residents' manyaccomplishments, however, which include scoring Pee Wee's Playhouse,Dadaist interpretations of Elvis and the Beatles, and a memorable40-song album that snuck its way onto the Billboard Top 40, it ranksway down the pecking order. Fans of the Residents may dismiss suchcriticism as uncomprehending, or Phillistinic, but it's spot-on: asmusic most of Animal Lover is neither pleasing nor impressive (asidefrom being very, very different), two key components of any enjoyablealbum with lasting appeal aside from mere novelty.
