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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Vienna's Vegetable Orchestra is one of only two vegetable musicprojects worldwide. They make music using only instruments crafted outof vegetables and various kitchen appliances. No sampling or looping isinvolved, and all songs are composed for live performance, the soundsgathered by what must be some of the best contact microphones in theworld. The group protests that this is no "just-for-fun project," andsuch a claim is easy to believe after listening to this, their secondfull-length release. Trying to decide just how this record, soundinglike a nice enough mix of spacious glitch-tronica and the windblown,percussive sound of early Kraftwerk, was rended from curiously alteredradishes, carrots, and eggplant, is at least a unique experience. Theorchestra's stated goal is "the interpretation and reconstruction ofelectronic music with organic means," the first part of which is anastounding achievement. With the aid of microphones alone, anincredible range of drone, crackle, and even straight noise travels theshort distance from vegetable to ear. They do house; they do dub; hell,they even cover Kraftwerk's "Radioactivity" with an amazing amount ofclarity. The large number of sounds and reference points within Automatekeep the novelty cooking for far longer than one would expect. Thealbum falters, however, in accomplishing the "reconstruction" proposedin its concept. True, the element of surprise enters first as therealization sets in that these are all vegetable sounds, then againwhen it's clear that none of the sounds have been run through computersor looped. But the music, taken alone, is nothing shocking. Somestrange, noticeably unique sounds emerge every now and then throughout Automate,but no archly organic vibe is launched. In a time when computers canreconstruct and often augment any sound under the sun, vegetables thatmerely replicate computer noise, and do so somewhat derivatively, failto make a lasting impression. That said, the Vegetable Orchestra'sfirst album may not be directed at a reinterpretation of electronicmusic, and therefore may not find the same shortcomings as itssuccessor. Also, the orchestra's bimonthly performances are surelyspectacles to be reckoned with; at the end of the show, the group's ownchef cooks the instruments into a soup that is shared with theaudience!
Omid's Monolith is a platter of underground hip hop that could easily be an overground hip hop record in most respects, which begs the question: "What separates indie hip hop from its corporate older brother when commercial records are more experimental than their indie counterparts?" That's the prevailing question that Monolith raises as I listen, which is not to say that it's not a fun and engaging record. The instrumental cuts placed on the oddly numbered tracks are nicely twisted, thought-out and groovy collages that never sound too stilted in the 'cinematic downtempo' tradition. The even numbered tracks (and yes, the album's sequencing is distracting) feature a host of guest vocalists from Hymnal, Buck65, Slug and others and like most hip hop records that team up a producer with a slew of voices, some tracks work more effectively than others. "I'm Just a Bill" with Spoon's quick, dark delivery evokes a heavier, less retarded dirty south sound while Hymnal's contributions are more akin to deft spoken word spewed over laid-back beats. Love or hate Buck65's raspy Tom Waits of hip hop routine, his rhymes on "Double Header" are some of the record's funniest moments. However, the remainder of the album's vocal-centered tracks and about half of the instrumentals just don't seem to take the album as far. When producers like Timbaland are twisting tabla and Hindi vocal samples into crazy funky beats, the same kind of sounds with a more straightforward approach here on "Sound of the Sitar" are almost too obvious, although they do create a nice bounce. So, what keeps this record from being a major-label, minor-name act instead of an underground collective? What divides those who can't quite compete with Puffy and Outkast from those who aren't even trying? The answer for Omid comes on the album closer, "Club Apotheosis," an intelligent, poetic and unbelievably pleasant track that is both hip hop and everything that hip hop isn't at once. The difference is all in the attitude, which on the best tracks of Monolith shines through just fine.
Recorded in Australia in 2001, this CD is further documentation of what is now a frequent collaboration. It's essentially an old-school guitar drone record, but with a modern, digital edge. The four tracks, which I'd guess were extracted from a single improvised session, add up to 45 minutes of reasonably novel dark ambience. Of dead-guitar godfather Rowe's techniques, those evident here include the use of a hand-held electric fan, brushing the strings of his guitar, and live radio mixing. As for Ambarchi's contributions, I'll admit to hoping for some of the fresher, emotionally neutral sounds of his breakthrough release 'Suspension'. But at least there's his trademark bell-tone drones and subtle use of digital effects. 'Flypaper' manages to construct an atmosphere that's undeniably engaging: the gently handled strings clunk and rattle in a concrete foreground narrative, in firm contrast to the thick, soupy drones beneath. The dynamic duo's dramatic improvisational timing also helps provide some oustanding moments. But nonetheless 'Flypaper' sounds a bit hackneyed. When we have Keith Whitman, Christian Fennesz, and Ambarchi himself proving that experimental guitar doesn't always have to be so grimly post-industrial, then even such an accomplished recording as this will sound like a blast from the early nineties.
The Legendary Pink Dots might be the best-kept secret of the independent music scene. The band has been playing together for more than 20 years without a single brush with the mainstream, occupying a nebulous space between gothic rock, the avant-garde, progressive rock, the "esoteric" and psychedelic rock. Too goth for the indie fans and too rock for the apocalyptic folk, the Pink Dots have fallen into an odd little niche where few are familiar with them and even magazines like The Wire seem unaware of their existence. It is said that the best environment for artists to produce great work is one in which no one gives a damn, and this could certainly be true for the Pink Dots. Over the course of their career, they have produced a huge catalog of worthwhile music, much of it totally out of step with its time, and always shot through with boundless experimentation and amazingly original soundworlds.
'All the King's Men' is the quieter of the two albums, with many of the songs only consisting of minimal keyboard melodies and Edward's deep intonations. The dizzying psychedelic studio effects usually present on LPD albums has been toned down to some very subtle flourishes that are all the more affecting for their subtlety. Over the course of the first eight tracks, this minimalism begins to wear a tad thin, but then we are rescued by the last two songs—the title track and "The Brightest Star", by far the highlights of 'Men', where Niels and Martijn reappear for two lengthy instrumentals. "The Brightest Star" is a masterpiece, representing the most awe-inspiring epic track by the Dots since "Evolution". Clocking in at 13 minutes, this last track is an ecstatic, house-influenced psychedelic jam that succeeds in lifting me into orbit every time I hear it. Silverman's trance-inducing beat programming merges with Ka-Spel's swirling synths, Martijn's breathtaking violin swells, and Hoornblower's mindbending electronic saxophone blasts. This track alone (the Pink Dots' current "grand finale" song on their US tour), is worth the price of the album.
This is Jason Lescalleet's first full length release of studio produced material. I have known Jason's live tape-loopery for about four years and I deeply appreciate its visceral, human-organic quality and a gnarly expressiveness. With this background, 'Mattresslessness' came as a shock. The album opens with a sine tone composition in the Vainio/Ikeda style. I wonder why would this artist, whom I consider to have a truly rare and original talent, stoop to aping established artists? The next track seems to continue the pattern with a repetitive click pattern in the Nicolai style. The source of the third is harder to identify but it is also familiar: a noise collage, perhaps in the Lanz style? And so it goes on. I was, to say the least, bewildered and a somewhat concerned. However, after some head and chin scratching I put together a theory to answer this. With each piece being of a different character, the album covers a lot of space, touching on several well-established areas of endeavor in music, sound and noise. And these areas all have their well established masters. The European and Japanese masters, such as Lopez, Akita, Tietchens, Ikeda, Behrens, Nakajima et cetera, are able to turn out their quality set pieces with the apparent ease that Hayden did his symphonies, Mozart his concertos or Elton John his songs. All these masters were established as such through a combination of talent, PR, funding, and consistency; the aesthetic, political and financial aspects are all necessary; and it is fallacious to think that the former is sufficient. This CD sets out to challenge the essential authoritarianism inherent in this hierarchy. Jason, armed only with the aesthetic, moves into, by my count, nine different domains, turns the handle of the respective digital machine and shows us how the respective set pieces are constructed. He then proceeds to transcend each, exceeding the achievements of the masters, moving beyond the respective area's confines by adding acutely personal expression and original brilliance. The incendiary subtext is that the masters are false gods and the hierarchy itself is a false intellectual product of broken rationale. I'm not suggesting that Jason is challenging the validity or value of anyone's work; I don't think he is. I think he is taking aim at the authoritarian logic, so prevalent in Western culture, that bestows master status on a few and pretender status on the rest. Now then, with that theory of its intent in mind, how does the music sound? Actually it sounds wonderful. The sine tone piece descends into a gorgeous Eraserhead-sounding dreamscape, the metrical click patterns are transformed into scintillating diginoise only to emerge again fattened on a throbbing bed of bass, and the collage noise is run through the degenerative tape-loop process to make it good and sinister. My favorite piece, "Ineinandergreifen 08 Dezember 1912," has a melody that sounds like scraped or bowed metals on a 78 record that is then consumed by the tapes; degraded, subdued and eventually killed by an aging process to wrenching emotional effect. The whole album is immaculately turned out with excellent sound and tasteful packaging. Jason Lescalleet has exceeded himself. 'Mattresslessness' is a major achievement: brilliant music and a valid political message.
This first full length release from Toronto-based multi-instrumentalist/producer Sandro Perri is a collection of two previously released 12" EPs (of very limited quantities) from his own Audi Sensa label with new interlacing compositions that sum up the title's concept. First off, an accompanying insert card in the Russian nesting doll-type of packaging provides textbook descriptions of four basic types breathing techniques (high, mid, low and complete) with there being a compositional collage to correspond and convey a sense of each one. The "breathing" tracks are generally comprised of subtle pulses, distant keyboard drones and washes of white noise with tremolo effects which could be heard as the equivalent of each individual style being translated by a high-end piece of music software. Previously released tracks such as "Acqua," "Rottura" and my personal fave "Riva" are somewhat more straight ahead in the style of a slightly funky deep house meets IDM, layered over what becomes the familiar elements throughout the course of listening. Perri handles the mixes of synths and samples with an exactness and still manages a nice, loose feel by adding some treated guitar and other stringed nuances to provide a more human quality. Spanning over forty-five minutes, the disc's eight tracks flow very agreeably, blending into each other so as not to leave you holding your breath.
It's been a long time since 'This Last Night In Sodom' and to be honest, who would have thought they will ever come back with a new album. Rumors floated around for years, Marc Almond even mentioned it in his autobiography from 1999, and it's great that the finished product has finally materialized. Of course Soft Cell (like their audience) aren't screaming teenage TOTP stars any more. They've both grown through their solo work, Dave Ball most remarkable with The Grid and as producer and Marc Almond as, well Marc Almond. 
The limitations of the 7" single medium dictates that songs need to be brief and to-the-point. While this seems like a confining space to work in for a group who has a reputation for lengthy drones, Windy & Carl have actually been doing this for years. 'Introspection' is the first career-spanning evolutionary tour guide of the Dearborn duo, chronologically arranged in triplicate.
When I first saw Out Hud, they were playing to a crowd of Chicago's finest at the Fireside Bowl in the midst of an old-fashioned Midwestern heat wave. Two feelings prevailed that night, as the crowd anxiously awaited the headlining Locust to come on: the first was the "my god, I could not be more sweaty in this sauna of a club appropriately named the fireside" feeling. The second was the "I don't know who this band Out Hud is or why they are playing this show, but I guess it's cool" feeling. This second sentiment was actually voiced by Out Hud bassist (and !!! vocalist) Nic Offer himself in the banter between two songs. All the perspiring punks could have cared less why Out Hud were there; what mattered was that they were in fact there, and for a 40-minute set on a night when movement was excruciating, everyone forgot about the oppressive heat and started to dance and move and shake to this strange band whose music demanded that our bodies dance and move and shake, regardless of whether we wanted to or not.
This CD release of Nurse With Wound's compilation track collection LP from 1989 will not come as a surprise to any of the insane fans, who, like me, have already tracked down this material long ago and are very familiar with it. However, it's always nice when these works are given the CD treatment—often it means improved sound and extra tracks. Well, I can't detect any difference in sound from the LP edition. As for extras, the one bonus track, "New Dress," is not really that special, having already been issued (and still readily available) on the United Dairies edition of 'Crumb Duck,' the Stereolab collaboration. It is an awesome track, however, one of Stapleton's better ambient works. The tracks on 'Automating Vol 2' run the gamut of Stapleton's various styles. The first track "The Strange Play of the Mouth" is a good example: It begins with a woman singing, her voice being distorted and phased into psychedelic oblivion. Then the track suddenly shifts into an industrial drill attack along the lines of 'Thunder Perfect Mind', then the voice returns and is placed into a sound patchwork featuring old records and wacky sound manipulations a la 'Sylvie and Babs.' All in the span of eight minutes. "Elderly Man River/Dance of Fools" is a Jacques Berrocal-style free-jazz improvisation, with one of the most absurd takes on the old standard "Old Man River" that you will ever hear. The absurdity quickly segues into an aggressive Whitehouse noise attack, then a chorus of girls saying some deeply weird things about a hobby horse. "Lonely Poisonous Mushroom" (a collaboration with Organum) and "Lea Tantaaria" (renamed as "Wolfi") are eerie, atmospheric sound collages, featuring bell tones, randomly plucked guitars and nonsense piano. "Human, Human, Human" is my favorite on the album, utilizing the mutated sounds of a typewriter behind a truly odd New Age cult indoctrination record. A male and female speaker read a text aloud that is so full of psychobabble, twisted logic, and space cadet reasoning, it puts Heaven's Gate propaganda to shame. Although it's far from a great Nurse With Wound album, the variety of music on this disc might be a pretty good place for NWW novices to get an idea of the breadth and scope of Stapleton's oevre. 
As part of Aaron Turner's (Isis, Greymachine, and Hydra Head Records) new Sige label, this split vinyl captures both the look and feel of classic noise LPs, right down to the hand-stamped labels and lo-fi inserts. The aesthetic carries over to the sound as well, with both artists contributing tracks that share a creepy, heavy sound that joins the best of metal and harsh noise.
