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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B.Baphomet's rough hand-cranked dark ambient is nowhere near the detached (I think they call it 'glacial') end of that market, its measured input of black/doom influences giving it a living cruder feel. The solid elements like bass notes on Einslpundahgn's "Dronedisciple" and "Rites Ov Catharsis" aid in preventing it from becoming a straight mood exercise or too dredging or sludgy. As enjoyable as this inward disdain is, it is only when B.Baphomet steps away from the darker moods that the music connects for me.
The two darker pieces suffer slightly from odd elements creeping into the blend of sounds. Bleeps and excessive use of oscillated noises means that moods are fractured and left unable to heal in time. When "Our Hearts Would Break," the final track arrives in a spooked-out rain of rhodes and vibraphone it almost immediately melts into gorgeous. There's such a great bass line and a huge positivity about the whole piece that it smacks of heavy ocular treats.
The whole thing breathes like some classic Hancock / Ayers track put through drone filters. It sounds like the work of a man who couldn't even comprehend the concept of misanthropy. Maybe Myk Colby aka B.Baphomet needs a new pseudynoum to explore this territory further.
On Stare of Dawn the Chris Hladowski (Scatter and The One Ensemble) helmed The Family Elan is intuitively shaping new music from traditional ethnic folk forms. With melodic phrases and sounds from (what sounds like it could be) the Baltic States, Turkey or the Middle East, Hladowski even summons up medieval folk to contribute to the mix of flavours. Playing instruments like bouzouki and long-necked lute (I think) he creates a drive and draw as the music falls in and out of stable forms, reluctant to come back to earth to settle as a model melody.
Complemented by Hanna Tuulikki's (Nalle / Scatter) tangling fiddle and woodwind, there are light circlets of drone around some of the playing. But Hladowski's playing feels most heavily indebted to rhythms, the individual layers may be gently picked and played but it is possible to hear his strumming as a refined thrash of tantalizing colours and notes. The actual rhythms played here, a tambourine's sharp petal shake, take second place to this more fluid playing. Movement feels an inferred recurring theme here, the spinning sense of dervish motion on "Monumental" and the river flow majesty of "Cascade Danse of Airs."
While not an obvious spiritually indebted record, Stare of Dawn feels like it delicately flirts with something above and beyond. The lyrics are reasonably scarce, seeming more like chants or entreaties than clear-cut lyricism. There is a snag in the splendor of sound that comes right at the album's end, "Over the Hills and Fields I Wander (The Dells of Earthly Wonder)" seems to unspool unsatisfying to its conclusion. Notwithstanding this slip, Stare of Dawn is an intimate and precious record.
The second full length from these American black metallers lives up to their feral and deadly-sounding name; each of the four songs on this disc stalk like the canine predator of the band's name. The group refine the techniques they developed on their first album; the mixture of classic black metal with other, gentler influences comes together wonderfully this time.
Two Hunters is a much stronger beast than the band's first album. While I enjoyed their debut parts of it were a little too melodramatic for me. This is not the case here. Opening with the genuinely surprising "Dea Artio," a slow and almost ambient exploration in mood, it is obvious from the start that Wolves in the Throne Room are not a one-trick pony. I could listen to a whole album in this style but like a razor blade through flesh the next song rips through the delicate mood of "Dea Artio."
The bulk of this album is the same sort of black metal that the group displayed on their previous release. Solid, crushing drumming with a twin guitar attack that veers from sand blasts of musical assault to more complex melodic sections with nods to classic metal like Iron Maiden and in part to folk music in general. This is especially apparent in the final section of "I Will Lay Down My Bones Among The Rocks and Roots" with its beautiful interlude before the final storm of guitars. "Cleansing" begins with a gentle bass line and vocal harmonies care of Jessica Kinney; the type of thing on Diadem of 12 Stars that seemed a little cheesy to my ears. However, this time around they have perfected the balance between heaviness and drama. This is the sort of album that I wished for.
Southern Lord's black metal releases are hit or miss; for every good one there are a couple of absolute stinkers. Two Hunters is one tick in the right column; Wolves in the Throne Room are worth a dozen boring Burzum-by-numbers. They may not be pushing the genre's boundaries in any significant way but within those boundaries they are creating some stunning music. As much as I prize innovation, there is a lot to be said for taking an almost dead formula and squeezing a gem out of it.
The improvisational, instrumental noise/rock trio known as Grey Daturas, hailing from Melbourne, Australia, have been kicking around making as much noise as is humanly possible since 2001, starting out by improvising live soundtracks to 16mm film projections and then over the years notching up many live shows, supporting such acts as Sunn O))), d. Yellow Swans, Dismember, and Isis. Dead in the Woods is actually a re-release of their second album, originally appearing on the Crashing Jets label in 2004.
These three nuclear alchemists of the impending apocalypse, Bonnie Mercer, Robert McManus and Robert Mayson have, through some arcane understanding of sound, built a weapon of total musical destruction, using nothing more than the standard formula of guitar, bass, and drums. Right from the get-go, when the nuclear furnace that is the album opener "Force is a Weapon of the Weak" explodes out of the speakers in a critical mass of fuzzed out radiation and high-pitched particle feedback, the Grey Daturas make it clear in no uncertain terms that they intend to level everything in sight and to strip the flesh from bones with the bright white hot flash of their monstrous sound. The immediate aftermath of that initial explosion continues with the onslaught of "She was the Cutie of Camp Cooke," starting off with a slow bass figure that then detonates into an irresistible momentum which lays to waste anything that stands in its path; and once that momentum has been gained and attained it doesn't let up. This is the sonic equivalent of shock and awe tactics.
Then just when it feels safe to raise above the lip of the trench in the silence that follows, along comes "A Japanese Romance" to first of all lull you into a false sense of security that everything's settled down.... however that illusion is swept aside as yet another wave of noise stealthily creeps up and demolishes what's remaining. So it goes on, wave after wave; the sheer weight of controlled aggression just keeps piling up and up, over and over, unrelentingly and unremittingly. "Running Amok with Knives" and the follow on track "My Sciatica" sound like the final breakdown, when the fabric holding everything together tears at last under the pressure; there is nothing now to stop the irreversible devolution. This is what the end of the world is going to sound like; as if to emphasise this "Overdue Resignation" indisputably underlines the fact.
The strength of this album shouldn't be measured in terms of decibels but in megatonnage. I have heard many similar albums in my time, but very rarely have I come across music of such heavyweight behemoth-like proportions. It is simply gargantuan.
The sparse credits that accompany this disc do not make clear if this is an actual collaboration or a split release, though it is obvious that Swedish electronics wizard Nilsen leads the way on the first piece, while everyone's favorite industrial percussionist is the focus of the second. Regardless, the cryptic liner notes and black-on-black artwork are completely appropriate visual representations of the dark expanse that constitutes this album.
The track credited specifically to Nilsen is a slow, sparse drift of electronics. Although obviously synthetic in creation, it feels like the sound of massive strings the thickness of telephone wires being played, creating thick, bassy waves of sound. What sounds like it could be some of Z'EV's percussion elements are treated down to a gentle vibration, like a loose panel on the side of vibrating machinery. It is a dark affair through and through, with the sweeping low end punctuated with bizarre mechanical hums that pile on a sense of impending doom and destruction.
In some ways, the second track specifically credited to Z'EV is the polar opposite: it is more explosive force and energy next to Nilsen's inertial drift. The track is heavily comprised of the heavily reverberating metallic percussion elements he is known for, with only enough processing to let their impact transfer fully to a recorded medium. Interestingly, there are some passages that take small digital delays of the sound and use them to shape and mould the sound, as opposed to just the actual percussive elements. The overall track becomes as much about the microcosmic sonic debris as it is about the explosive metallic pulse. Compositionally, there is also a great deal of moments in which the sound swells to an explosive, chaotic climax before dissipating to near silence, akin to some of Hermann Nitsch's compositional work for his Orgies Mysteries Theater.
Although only two tracks (both clocking in at, unsurprisingly, 22:22 excluding a few seconds padding for mastering purposes) are listed in the liner notes, a third, also of the same length, is on the disc as well. Although largely silent, there is a small, short reprise in the closing few minutes of restrained metallic thump and clatter that could be some original source material, and outtake, or something else entirely. Regardless, it is there, and makes an interesting footnote.
This is overall a somewhat difficult disc since it does stylistically shift greatly from one half to the other, and therefore takes a listener who is willing to accept both extremes. However, Nilsen's minimal electronics compliment Z'EV's maximal percussion nicely, and the dark, yet beautiful mood is surely consistent between both of the long pieces, and thus make it a more appropriate combination than words or descriptions alone would seem.
Titled after a Greek ritual that forms a conceptual background for the disc, this duo leads an ethnographic journey that is every bit as disturbing and frightening as expected, given that the title translates to "exchange of eyes." Marchetti's compulsive attention to detail couples with Murayama's creepy vocalisms to make for a compelling, dramatic work.
Across five tracks, they slowly introduce this hazy world of ritual, where nothing is overtly clear but instead provides only the rudimentary framework to allow the images to be brought up by imagination, and what vivid, disturbing images they become. Most elements of nature are even used in this ritual, with water splashes, crackling fire, and the sounds of stones crashing into each other. Murayama supplements Marchetti's regulated layers of sound with heavy percussion, sometimes sounding like oil drums being instituted in the classic industrial style, other times as dramatic and classical as traditional Noh theater.
I'm hesitant to refer to any of this as "found sounds" or "field recordings," because both imply a sense of chaos and randomness, when the use of them here is so structured and focused. These ambient sounds are treated in this case as another instrument, along with, what I can only assume, is more traditional electronic instrumentation being used to treat the sounds, as well as instruments in their own right, like piercing high end sine waves and swelling, low end bass pulses. The treatment of the natural sounds is used to quite a frightening effect on the second track, however. The sound of what could only be a dog playing with a microphone, sniffing it, snorting, yelping, growling, all things expected of a dog forms a major part of the track. Then, a bit of chaos and audio violence and, through treated effects, the barks become more pained and tortured. While it is obviously from studio processing, it is a disturbing and visceral effect.
Special attention should also be made to Murayama's vocalisms throughout the disc. Rarely processed or treated, he gives some of the most pained, agonizing rasps and growls ever recorded to disk. The only parallel I can draw is akin to Malefic's notorious casket vocals on Sunn O)))'s Black One, but more alien and isolated. Without the need of studio effects, he produces some horribly unnatural sounds, resembling a person trying to communicate as a heavy weight is slowly crushing them to death.
This realm of musique concrete is often painted as a dry, academic field that is more about building an artists vita rather than entertaining, but this is not the approach these two artists take. Although no less complex than such pursuits, it is both highly conceptual and infinitely fascinating: a harrowing, frightening, and compelling audio drama that reveals different facets of this ritual with each listen.
This new semi-regular feature of notable new dance singles is inaugurated with reviews of Holy Ghost!, Syclops, Professor Genius, Kavinsky, Surgeon and Blast Head.
The two guys in Brooklyn's Holy Ghost! released an album under the name Automato a few years ago, an indie HipHop album with the distinction of being produced by Tim Goldsworthy and James Murphy of the DFA. The album was poorly received by many, including me. On paper, the idea sounded great; in reality, it was boring. The duo went on to be part of The Juan Maclean's live touring band, and something major rubbed off on them. Their first single as Holy Ghost! is a thing of rare beauty: a soulful, sophisticated slice of thumping vocal disco capable of snapping spines and concussing heads. The elements are all familiar: gated synth lead, air-pushing bassline, phased electric piano, snappy hi-hats. What pushes this over the top is the vocals, which add an unbelievable melodic hook, turning this track into something that cannily straddles radio-friendly pop and uptown groove. The lyrics are suggestive but meaningless: "Hold tight, don't make no plans/Don't talk, don't say no words/Be still, don't move like this/Hold on, until it kills." The whole thing is unbelievably cool, and is well-served on DFA's usual slab of plain-sleeved DJ vinyl, which adds an instrumental and a remix by French disco-house producers Blackjoy. Usually I'd be excited about an instrumental version, but the vocals here are half the fun. Blackjoy's remix adds layers of compression, wokka-jawokka bass and funky percussion. They make it sound more professional, but they also kill the wide-open spaces of the original in the process. The A-Side wins, hands-down.
Syclops, "Where's Jason's K"/"Monkey Puss" Another fabulous new single for DFA, who have finally ended a bit of a losing streak after lackluster full-lengths by Prinzhorn Dance School and the Shocking Pinks. Syclops is yet another nom de guerre for Dr. Scratch himself, Maurice Fulton, surely one of the more mysterious members of the techno/house elite. As Syclops, Fulton makes geeked-up robot funk that is minimal in architecture, but maximal in effect. The synthetic kick drum on "Where's Jason's K" threatens to get boring quickly, before it is joined by itchy maracas, cowbell and an indescribably infectious 1/16th note lead melody that keeps changing subtly, but never fails to give up the goods. It's like the best possible cool jazz piano solo ever, but abstracted into plasticated Ketamine land. The B-side is every bit as fucked-up, constructed from chirpy, ultra-compressed 8bit chiptune kinda sounds, layered with a crisp, snappy rhythm section that just doesn't quit, even when it is unceremoniously dropped into the dub chamber. This one is right out of left field, and all the better for it.
Self-important music blogs the world over have already done a good job fawning all over the Italians Do It Better label, acting as if IDIB had singlehandedly engineered the Italo-disco comeback. The truth is that Italo-disco never went away, it just stopped being cool for a few years while critics and tastemakers busied themselves jacking off all over minimal house and flabby electro bullshit. For good or bad, it's officially "back" now, and the unprecedented popularity of the IDIB label sampler After Dark certainly proves it. Of all the artists represented on that compilation, far and away the best is Professor Genius, who recently released a stunning full-length CD-R on the hopelessly obscure Tropical Computer System label. This single contains three tracks from the full-length, and got a nice 12" vinyl release on IDIB. Professor Genius works his analog synths with the panache of a seasoned pro, creating sparkling atmospheric disco numbers that stretch out into a rainbow-colored infinity. If Goblin and Giorgio Moroder could have conceived a love child while listening to Kano, it would probably sound nothing like Professor Genius. "La Grotta" has an insistent rhythm section which serves as a foil of the whimsically enfolding synths, which vacillate between nasty and angelic. The infernal "Hot Dice" is darker and druggier, with plenty of ear-massaging bass polyphony, while "Across the Spree" brings things back up to heaven again, the soundtrack to an episode of Miami Vice in which Crockett and Tubbs try to intercept a shipment of black tar heroin into Cloud City.
I've been a little bit underwhelmed by the preponderance of hyper-compressed, sample-heavy French disco-house groups lately. As far as I'm concerned, Daft Punk, Justice and the whole Ed Banger crew need to learn some new tricks, because overcompressing samples of old Cerrone tracks is only amusing the first five-hundred times you hear it. Kavinsky is certainly a member of this crew, but he keeps things fresh by injecting a goodly portion of Italo-disco into his headbanging disco-house. Making use of clean synth lines, purposely cheesy string stabs, hyper-tweaked guitar solos, and crunchy kicks that still retain a nice, hard snap to them, Kavinsky creates a thrilling retro-disco concoction that doesn't feel completely claustrophobic and deafening. The tracks on the 1986 EP are frequently blood-pumping, heart-pounding examples of how to do retro right. Things falter a bit with SebatiAn's remix of "Testarossa Overdrive," which succeeds at cramming Kavinsky's sound back into the stifling straightjacket of Ed Banger-style compression-house, and can't sustain its five-minute length. However, the EP ends with the beautiful and triumphant "Grand Canyon," which makes it sound as if nothing has really changed since 1986, except for everything.
Surgeon, "Whose Bad Hands Are These? Part II" Dynamic Tension
Anthony Child has existed at the very brink of techno for more than a decade now, a reliable purveyor of intense, machinic 4/4 stomp compounded with layers of hellish resonance. The music is hard as nails and dances at the giddy, vertiginous edge of industrial and power noise, but always lands firmly inside the realm of hardcore techno. Child has never been shy about wearing his influences on his sleeve. As an ardent fan of Coil, Whitehouse and other such non-traditional fare (for dance producers, anyway), Surgeon has carved out his own niche in the world of dance: the pleasurable punisher, the enforcer of sado-ecstatic technoise. This new one on Surgeon's own Dynamic Tension label, the second part of a conceptual pair, is just what everyone looks for in a Surgeon record: a devastating mixture of doomsday dirge and apocalyptic rave-up, complex crunchy textures slamming into resonated plonks pulled straight from Satan's asshole. There is a bit of an influence from British dubstep in evidence on this EP, and not just because Vex'd turns in a remix. Something about the way the surface noise and echo are used seems to suggest the work of Burial and Vex'd, without falling into their annoying habit of just giving up on the groove completely.
I don't know anything about this Japanese duo, and I don't really care. This tasty slab of hard-to-find DJ vinyl reproduces two tracks from their full-length album Outdoor, and evidences two different approaches meeting and shaking hands on a crowded dancefloor. On "Slide Out," the idea is percolating synthesizers, dub-style circulations of compounding delay, and sunshine-bright sequences of beeps and boops. Blast Head's music displays the Japanese gift (or curse?) for preciousness and cartoonish pastiche, but a complex backbone of jazzy electric organ gives this a sophistication that would make it fit right in with the classiest uptempo lounge music that NYC, Paris or Ibiza could hope to produce. "Soft Step" takes the jazz a step further, a whacked-out samba-house number that pours it on thick, but keeps things bubbly and light as air. The effect is reminiscent to some of Japan's weirder, exotica-tinged entries into hyperspeed jungle (think The Lift Boys or J.O.Y.), but the microscopic precision and care with which this track was obviously constructed make it a pure and guiltless pleasure.
While this review may seem a bit out of context to most Brainwashed readers, a closer listen to the seemingly pop elements of this demo reveal a greater depth, indicating the potential for great things.
On the surface, Map of the Universe seem perched in an early position for the inevitable 1990s revival that is sure to begin any day now. Across these 10 minutes they certainly do remind me of a great deal of the alt-rock scene once documented well on 120 Minutes. There's a more experimental, dissonant undercurrent to most of these tracks that put them in league with the likes of Spacemen 3 or Loop as opposed to the Breeders or Belly.
There are some obvious nods to the 1970s punk sound as well, both "The Cop" and "Animal Peace" have that early Ramones sing-a-long chorus vibe to them, around rapid fire verses. Luckily they stay much more faithful to the roots of punk than the bands who came along in the '90s doing the same thing that most of us would prefer to forget. The two slower tracks are more apt to demonstrate this noiser side of things though.
"Plastic Form Beauty" moves along at a calmer, more bass driven pace, with a seething bed of noisy guitar that's more Robert Hampson or Sonic Boom than any other forgettable 1990s guitarist. The closer, "Social Royal" is a particular high point for me, as the greater sheen of distortion, coupled with the pacing, apes classic Sonic Youth in a somewhat more accessible way.
It's not an insult to consider Map of the Universe a pop band, because that's what they are. But more in a classic, song oriented sense instead of a commercial entity one. The more dissonant elements are supposed to form the foundation of their next EP, which will probably be even more interesting. It is not going to rock your world, but this little EP will surely give a nice, warm, nostaligic feeling.
Alessandro Tedeschi's got a serious fixation with ice. A self described "glacial ambient" musician, he established the Glacial Movements label to release works evocative of the Arctic. Netherworld is Tedeschi's recording project intended to explore that aesthetic.
Morketid is a Nordic idiom used to describe the boreal winter. The region's harsh cold and lack of light were Tedeschi's inspiration, but the result is much tamer than its namesake. The component loops, synths, and field recordings are sparse and simply arranged, but alone those qualities alone don't evoke the polar landscape. The point would have been lost to me if not for the liner notes. Tedeschi genrates some pleasing sounds, but their charm is worn away by pridicible programming and plodding tempos. If anything, Morketid reminded me of an almost interminable direct flight from Portland to Germany a few years back. The plane crossed over Canada, Greenland and Iceland, but a heinous case of jet-lag induced insomnia prevented a full apprciation of the sights. The landscape the glided below me was beautiful, but I was too tired for it to make an impression. Read More
Arrayed in dystopian garb and armed with righteous indignation, Black Mountain's newest record explodes and pounds in unison with the bombs and wars that populate Stephen McBean's lyrics.
The world is a bleak place in McBean's eyes. It is full of violence, injustice, doubt, and little else. What hope that does exist lays dormant in a shelter under the constant threat of dehumanazing and near-invisible evils; there's plenty of melodrama on In the Future and much of its bombast serves to positively amplify Black Mountain's unusual approach to rock 'n' roll. "Stormy High" begins with a sudden and heavy jerk. It stomps about wearing tattered guitars and half-moaned vocals with confidence, drawing its sex and grit together closely enough to warrant thoughts of "The Lemon Song" and Robert Plant convulsing on stage in a rage of orgasmic delight. McBean's idea of danger, however, revolves less around his penis and more around enslavement and the kind of demons that haunt lazy or uninspired men. Their debt to blues and '70s rock made apparent, the band proceeds to carve the lazy "Angels" out of sweet pop mechanics and epic synthesizer swells. This is the first sign that Black Mountain is about to attempt something a little bizarre, which is the fusing of psychedelic pop, rock, and metal with the stylings of America's "southern rock" music. It is true other bands have done this, but Black Mountain's particular blend of these elements is especially bold. They sacrifice little of the elements that make each of these genres distinct and instead mash them together with tremendous force, pulling equal amounts of heavy guitar mashing and LSD-inspired madness from their instruments and tongues.
"Tyrants" represents the first all-out mashup on the record. When it begins it sounds like a titanic march across a barren desert, a march so large that war drums are an unnecessary addition to the stomping of the army's feet. With a dusty bass line and resigned drum beat, the song quickly shifts into a lower gear. Enormous spaces open up in the music and a seething synthesizer begins to circle through the song like a vulture. The lyrics and music then work themselves back into a frenzy propelled by an infatigable disdain for the evil men do. A deep serenity pervades much of the song in the form of cascading electronic melodies and a rubbery rhythm, but its all sandwiched between heavy guitar riffs and a solo that calls Satan to mind more than Timothy Leary. In contrast, "Wucan" emphasizes psychedelic rock's influence on the band. After a fuzzy and vaguley funky rhythm section sizzles out, the music is shot through with thick, almost cheesy keyboard atmospherics. They shimmer and wobble in acidic light while the band plugs along beneath their vast reach. I had to make sure Richard Wright wasn't listed anywhere in the liner notes after the song ended.
The bombast doesn't always work in the band's favor, however. There are moments where the music is as awkward as some of McBean's introverted and indecipherable lyrics. "Stay Free" clunks along with a beautiful melody and an ethereal vocal performance, but it sounds flat sandwiched between "Wucan" and "Queens Will Play;" the band's more playful elements are absent and the lyrics are, for lack of a better term, confounding. Perhaps someone with more time than I have can make sense of these lines: "Bodies at sundown / Stiff on their knees / Beautiful ponies / So beautiful / They'll kill us all." Even when the band is firing on all cylinders, their tendency to shoot for the epic causes some amount of stumbling. "Evil Ways" could be a great voodoo jam spiced with American brute force, but ends up sounding awkward due to the rather lackluster employment of an organ and a chorus that feels out of place on this album.
"Bright Lights," the album's 16 minute dénouement, brings every song's best and worst qualities together. The lyrics are less than stellar, but the instrumentation blends the bands gentle and aggressive qualities without flaw. The entire middle portion of the song is an extended psyche-jam with all manner of minutae populating the drone that serves as the song's core. The band's physical and creative energies shine through on this song most clearly. "Bright Lights" also highlights just how fragile some of the band's compositions are; in their quest for fusion they sometimes overlook the fact that some of their songs offer little more than that fusion. Their energy helps to carry them through some rough spots, but without it a few of these performances might've ruined the record.
This quintet's energy is their greatest virtue and when it is paired with solid songwriting Black Mountain sound both unique and as massive as their name implies.
Kevin Doherty of Sleep Research Facility originally released this album in 2001, based on the first eight minutes of the film Alien and named after the freight ship of which Ripley was a crew member. At the end of 2007, it was reissued with new artwork and a bonus track on the original label.
Going to see director Ridley Scott's groundbreaking sci-fi space epic was one of those markers of my teenage years that I will not easily forget; principally so for the fact that the claustrophobic atmosphere and edge-of-the-seat suspense was superbly drawn and masterfully handled but also secondarily because this was the first '18' certificate film I ever saw. The viewing was accompanied by a certain frisson of excitement because I had lied about my age in order to get into the cinema (I was barely 17 at the time). I was also (and still am) a fan of the work of HR Giger, he being one of the profoundest influences on my own artistic output both then and now. Needless to say it made a huge impression on me at the time and it appears that it made an equal impression on Kevin Doherty.
Alien is nearly three decades old now but is still a deeply affecting film, on both a straightforward action level and a deeper psychological one, and has passed into the canon of films that are essential viewing. The scenes on which this album is based are the ones in which the Nostromo (the interstellar ship in which all the action takes place and a reference to Joseph Conrad, the author of Heart of Darkness—a particularly apt metaphor for the ship and what happens on board) is slowly coursing through the deep black void of space. The film above all dwelt on the claustrophobia, tight confines, and isolation of the setting along with the helplessness of the characters confronting the unrelenting, unthinking, and instinctual face of evil—oppressively dark, dank, and dripping corridors, little hiding places where anything could be lurking and the heightened sense of dread and fear palpably stalking the ship. Doherty successfully translates all these qualities of the film into sound: low bass rumbles and gentle susurrations (some just barely discernible and some ebbing and flowing wave-like) get deep and firmly into the psyche and create a sense of unease, creating a feeling that something brooding and malevolent is stalking or lurking just around the corner.
Additionally present is the feeling of intense freezing coldness and vast isolation, of immeasurably incomprehensible distances and voyages lasting years, and that whatever happens you are far from the ken of man and safety; that whatever you face you face alone. Just like in the film, the evil was for the most part not necessarily an overt in-your-face species of evil, but implied; indeed for most of the film its face was not even revealed—nevertheless the tension subtly telegraphed imbued the film with a sense of impending soul-crushing doom. Reflecting that aspect the same is true of all the pieces on here. They are not overtly dread-inducing but the insistent quietness and subtle deep undertones impart a tense anticipation and expectation, a feeling that something unwelcome is just out of sight and hearing but whose presence is nonetheless felt.
Bearing in mind that this was Doherty's debut release, the album is a tour de force of atmosphere and tension building, pitched at just the right level and judicious in its use of sounds. Subtlety is the keyword here and the vein of implied dread running through the music on here is all the stronger for that subtlety.
B.Baphomet's rough hand-cranked dark ambient is nowhere near the detached (I think they call it 'glacial') end of that market, its measured input of black/doom influences giving it a living cruder feel. The solid elements like bass notes on Einslpundahgn's "Dronedisciple" and "Rites Ov Catharsis" aid in preventing it from becoming a straight mood exercise or too dredging or sludgy. As enjoyable as this inward disdain is, it is only when B.Baphomet steps away from the darker moods that the music connects for me.
On Stare of Dawn the Chris Hladowski (Scatter and The One Ensemble) helmed The Family Elan is intuitively shaping new music from traditional ethnic folk forms. With melodic phrases and sounds from (what sounds like it could be) the Baltic States, Turkey or the Middle East, Hladowski even summons up medieval folk to contribute to the mix of flavours. Playing instruments like bouzouki and long-necked lute (I think) he creates a drive and draw as the music falls in and out of stable forms, reluctant to come back to earth to settle as a model melody.
The second full length from these American black metallers lives up to their feral and deadly-sounding name; each of the four songs on this disc stalk like the canine predator of the band's name. The group refine the techniques they developed on their first album; the mixture of classic black metal with other, gentler influences comes together wonderfully this time.
The improvisational, instrumental noise/rock trio known as Grey Daturas, hailing from Melbourne, Australia, have been kicking around making as much noise as is humanly possible since 2001, starting out by improvising live soundtracks to 16mm film projections and then over the years notching up many live shows, supporting such acts as Sunn O))), d. Yellow Swans, Dismember, and Isis. Dead in the Woods is actually a re-release of their second album, originally appearing on the Crashing Jets label in 2004.
The sparse credits that accompany this disc do not make clear if this is an actual collaboration or a split release, though it is obvious that Swedish electronics wizard Nilsen leads the way on the first piece, while everyone's favorite industrial percussionist is the focus of the second. Regardless, the cryptic liner notes and black-on-black artwork are completely appropriate visual representations of the dark expanse that constitutes this album.
Titled after a Greek ritual that forms a conceptual background for the disc, this duo leads an ethnographic journey that is every bit as disturbing and frightening as expected, given that the title translates to "exchange of eyes." Marchetti's compulsive attention to detail couples with Murayama's creepy vocalisms to make for a compelling, dramatic work.
This new semi-regular feature of notable new dance singles is inaugurated with reviews of Holy Ghost!, Syclops, Professor Genius, Kavinsky, Surgeon and Blast Head.
Arrayed in dystopian garb and armed with righteous indignation, Black Mountain's newest record explodes and pounds in unison with the bombs and wars that populate Stephen McBean's lyrics.
Kevin Doherty of Sleep Research Facility originally released this album in 2001, based on the first eight minutes of the film Alien and named after the freight ship of which Ripley was a crew member. At the end of 2007, it was reissued with new artwork and a bonus track on the original label.
