We have finally cleared out the backlog of great music and present some new episodes.
Episode 711 features music from The Jesus and Mary Chain, Zola Jesus, Duster, Sangre Nueva, Dialect, The Bug, Cleared, Mount Eerie, Mulatu Astatke & Hoodna Orchestra, Hayden Pedigo, Bistro Boy, and Ibukun Sunday.
Episode 712 has tunes by Mazza Vision, Waveskania, Black Pus, Sam Gendel, Benny Bock, and Hans Kjorstad, Katharina Grosse, Carina Khorkhordina, Tintin Patrone, Billy Roisz, and Stefan Schneider, His Name Is Alive, artificial memory trace, mclusky, Justin Walter, mastroKristo, Başak Günak, and William Basinski.
Episode 713 brings you sounds from Mouse On Mars, Leavs, Lawrence English, Mo Dotti, Wendy Eisenberg, Envy, Ben Lukas Boysen, Cindytalk, Mercury Rev, White Poppy, Anadol & Marie Klock, and Galaxie 500.
Skolavordustigur Street in Reykjavík photo by Jon (your Podcast DJ).
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Omar Souleyman's work inhabits the blurry region that separates "embarrassingly misguided and inept pop" from "brilliant outsider art." Despite that, this cadaverously aloof Syrian is the reigning king of his country's cassette kiosks and an extremely popular wedding singer (and rightly so). This is bizarre even by Sublime Frequencies standards.
Aside from his striking appearance (mustache and omnipresent big '70s sunglasses) and somnambulant demeanor, there is (probably) nothing particularly bizarre about Omar Souleyman. Sure, he's a character, but he is a fairly conventional and soulful vocalist and he specializes in a style of music that is rather mainstream (in Syria, of course). However, he has two secret weapons that elevate him into something wholly outlandish: lyricist Mahmoud Harbi and multi-instrumentalist Rizan Sa'id. Harbi adds an element of surreality to live performances by stoically standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Souleyman, chain-smoking and whispering lyrics into his ear. Sa'id, however, is the one that deserves most of the credit for the strangeness herein: it is his zeal for modern electronics and striking lack of musical restraint that prevents Souleyman from sounding at all like other dabke artists (a traditional style of music that accompanies line-dancing).
"Atabat" opens the album in a surprisingly tame way, as Souleyman passionately bares his poetic soul over a somber drone, punctuated by tasteful bouzok or saz fills. It is quite pleasant, but not especially unique. Notably, Souleyman sounds like he is singing through a thin layer of static or battling a microphone that just can't handle the sheer power of his world-weariness (a production quirk that is maintained for the entire duration of the album). Oddly, this works in his favor, giving his vocals a rawness and immediacy. Then, however, comes the indescribably weird and confusing "Lansob Sherek" (I Will Make A Trap), which roughly resembles an early Cabaret Voltaire trying to drown out a drunken bagpipe ensemble. I don't think my bafflement is a result of any cultural bias or lack of understanding: the distorted percussion fills and unhinged synthesizer shredding would sound clumsy, overenthusiastic, and somewhat demented in any cultural context.
Thankfully, not all of the tracks are in that vein, as Dabke 2020 compiles a variety of tracks from dozens of cassettes recorded over the last decade (as does its recently reissued predecessor Highway to Hassake). For example, "La Sidournak Sayyada" (I'll Prevent The Hunters From Hunting You) is far more accessible, as it marries a big thumping house beat to relatively unmolested traditional melodies and instrumentation. Souleyman then slows things down a bit for the next track (one for the ladies, perhaps?) with the melancholic "Jamila" (Beautiful Woman), but it is sabotaged (or enhanced?) by some over-aggressive percussion and space-y/proggy synth noodling.
"Qalub An Nas" is another frenzied party jam, which I believe is in the Iraqi Choubi style (although Middle Eastern ethnomusicology is not one my strengths). Again, the synths are a bit characteristically crazy and over the top. The same is true for "Laqtuf Ward Min Khaddak", although this track stands out from the others due to Sa'id's more liberal (and possibly arbitrary) use of effects (I definitely hear a phaser, at the very least).
The album closes in rather unexpected fashion with the slow, sensuous groove of "Kaset Hanzal" (Drinking From The Glass of Bitterness). This is probably the best song on the album in the conventional sense, as Sa'id keeps himself relatively reigned in and Souleyman's heartbroken laments are augmented with some beautiful (and untreated) violin and bouzok (or saz).
Usually, world music albums that find their way into the US are either quite serious or influential, so it was jarring to hear something come out of my stereo that initially sounded like shrill and disposable contemporary pop. After several more listens and witnessing some very amusing YouTube clips, however, I was ultimately charmed. I am not sure how much of Souleyman's unique artistic vision is intentional and how much is happy accident, but I am certain there is no other group on earth that sounds like this. Also, Souleyman's inimitable blend of passion, exuberance, and sheer absurdity make for arguably the best party music in the world. It would be nice if someone would invite me to a Syrian wedding, as it seems increasingly unlikely that I will catch any of the remaining Sublime Frequencies European tour dates.
Despite having numerous releases on nearly every format imaginable, this is the first 7" from this Ohio threesome. I was afraid that two sides of a 7" would not give them enough time to generate the intoxicating music that I expect from Emeralds but they have conjured up two beautiful miniatures that encapsulate their long-form compositions without sacrificing any quality.
Side A features a glassy guitar and synth shimmer over a dreamy analogue synth rhythm. As with many of Emeralds’ works, the piece changes ever so slightly over its course (which is definitely on the short side when it comes to this group). Melodies never seem to repeat and even the tempo appears to mutate towards the end. The trio are pushing the sound they explored on last year’s What Happened and they are pushing in the right direction.
Side B is more similar to soundscapes they employed on Solar Bridge and on their many tape releases. Slowly evolving and revolving drones create a deep backdrop for Mark McGuire’s guitar to shine like starlight on a clear night. Unfortunately, the constraints of the format mean that it is all over too soon (even with it being a 33 RPM 7”). However, Fresh Air is yet another exceptional release from Emeralds so even a few minutes of audio bliss is worth the money.
Another chapter in LTM's Boutique Label reissue campaign of obscure Manchester post-punk label Object Music, this collection presents more than 100 minutes of experiments, improvisations, skewed pop, drone-laden blues, minimal electronic synthpop and weird, dislocated Nurse With Wound-style audio surrealism. A reissue of a double-album originally issued in 1980—a collaborative release by labelmates Steve Solamar (Spherical Objects) and Steve Miro—Sheep From Goats was certainly the most adventurous release by Object Music during its brief existence.
Elsewhere in these pages (here and here), I have addressed the bundle of contradictions embodied by Object Music founder and Spherical Objects frontman Steve Solamar, who ceased label operations in 1981 to undergo his own radical operation, resolving his inner contradictions by becoming a woman. At the time of the sessions which eventually became Sheep From Goats, Solamar's contradictions were in full flower. From the name of the project down to the absurdist, eclectic content of the album, paradox seems to have been the key artistic strategy at work here. Steve Miro chose the name The Noise Brothers, but Solamar made a point of changing the spelling of "noise" to "no/yes," in order to carry through the concept of inner contradiction. The album's recording process was somewhat unique as well, with the two Steves meeting for recording sessions over a period of months, a collaboration which produced sides one and four of the double LP. Then, the two each recorded six songs separately, which were distributed over sides two and three. This process results in an album of largely electronic, often improvised music which uses dissonance, incongruity and divergency to its advantage.
The music made by the Steves doesn't much resemble the solo work of Miro or the work of Solamar's Spherical Objects. Although there are a few moments in which he channels the same cryptic blues that he later revisited on the final SO album No Man's Land, most of Solamar's contributions are utterly dislocated and strange, wobbly synthesizer excursions that launch the gray, industrial atmospherics of Thatcherite Manchester into the outer reaches of space. By contrast, Miro recruits his wife Jill/Jae Boyer to sing on three of his tracks, delivering a suite of melancholic, psychedelic pop songs that must have sounded terribly unfashionable at the time of the album's release. Both Brothers' solo contributions are notable in their own way but without question the centerpiece of the album is the sidelong "It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time," which in some parallel universe is considered a seminal milestone of electronic music. In our universe, it is rarely considered at all, a 25-minute dirge through a burning brain, all chugging primitive drum machines and art-damaged synth drone, keyboard noodling and mostly wordless vocal improvisations by Solamar. If Steven Stapleton had decided to form a coldwave synthpop band instead of Nurse With Wound, this would have been Side A of the debut album. The closest analog I can think of for this utterly bizarre moment in post-punk history would be John Bender's incredibly obscure Pop Surgery LP, though even this comparison fails to capture the idiosyncrasies at work in The Noyes Brothers.
Boutique's reissue juggles the original tracklisting somewhat, which has the effect of making the album seem even more disorienting, as "It Seemed Like A Good Idea" comes halfway through the listening experience, rather than at the end. This decision was probably made out of pragmatics more than anything else but I appreciate the way in which it augments the album's eclecticism. Listening to Sheep From Goats multiple times, what begins to stand out are not isolated moments or individual tracks, but rather the combined effect of the album's dynamic and scattershot approach. Had the album contained only Solamar's improvised electronic excursions and "Good Idea," it might be easily pidgeonholed as another example (albeit a good one) of early 1980s proto-industrial coldwave, alongside acts like Portion Control, Fad Gadget or Absolute Body Control. However, any album which contains ingenious psych-pop nuggets like Miro's "It Must Be Vibration" alongside Solamar's mind-zapping guitar effects phantasmagoria on "Decision Time" demands to be liberated from the usual genrification schemes applied to musical movements of the past.
Although I do have a certain affection for Miro and Solamar's individual takes on bluesy post-punk, I think Sheep From Goats is at its best when the Steves stop adhering to any kind of song structure. Standout tracks include Solamar's "Pneumonia Bridge," an aquatic sound collage that transforms whalesong into the screams of seagulls, envisaging jaw harp twangs through the disorienting vision doubling of intoxication. One of the best collaborative tracks, "Bo Scat Um I.D." uses the basic building blocks of the new wave—melodic, minor-key basslines, drums, chiming guitars, oppressive synths—but disassembles them, putting them back in an order that no longer makes sense, adding Solamar's incongruous blues harp and throaty, asexual vocal yelps and moans. "Byte To Beat" is a dislocated, claustrophobic samba from another dimension, marrying the UFOs-on-heroin aesthetics of the Liquid Sky soundtrack to the logic of punk in the wake of Throbbing Gristle and Industrial Records.
Boutique's reissue tacks the lengthy collaboration "Good Question" to the end of disc two, a track originally included on the Object Music compilation Do the Maru. It represents the very last recording session by Solamar and Miro, who convene here for a piece which bears some resemblance to "Good Idea," but locates a dark urgency and Krautrock-style propulsion that the shambolic sidelong track on Sheep From Goats never finds. Soon after this collaboration, Solamar quit the music business altogether, and Miro only ever recorded one further album. Boutique's reissue of The Noyes Brothers is an incredible document, an intriguing collection of false starts and loose ends, musical question marks without an answer, experiments which succeed because of their myriad failures. It is complex and evocative soundtrack to the Ballardian, posthuman landscape of early-1980s Manchester, and the mental landscape of artistic methods, creative tensions and gender identities captured in a state of flux.
This vinyl-only release from one of Japan's finest psych bands has truly snuck out without fanfare. Currently only available as a very small run LP (although the label appear to be planning to repress it), this is the best releases in Up-Tight's already impressive catalogue. This LP sees them thrust their sound into the abyss and they jump fearlessly in after it.
It is immediately obvious that Up-Tight have upped their game since their last studio releases. Both Lucrezia and Up-Tight & Makoto Kawabata had that typical PSF Records Japadelica sound, they hit all the right spots and were shit heavy when they needed to be. However, now they seem to be following their ultimate influences, The Velvet Underground, into a wider creative territory. Each of the four pieces that make up The Beginning of the End sound like they could have been from a different but equally great band (exactly what made the Velvets so good).
The first side of the LP opens with “Our Own Portrait” which sees Up-Tight move away from their Les Rallizes Dénudés Junior image and into something even more psychedelic; primal drumming and an insistent bassline allow for Tomoyuki Aoki to unleash some fantastic fuzz guitar. This is followed by “A Song for Your Pain” which is a gentle, sleepy ballad with, of course, more fuzz guitar solos. It is more in line with the quieter parts of previous Up- Tight albums and is the one moment on the LP where they play it safe. Though playing it safe for this band is still something special.
The second side is a different kettle of fish as an oppressive bass buzz and distant cracks of guitar herald in (the aptly titled) “The Destruction.” As the drums join in the din, Up-Tight start to take on the form of early Boris yet create a wall of noise with more power, mass and menace than Boris ever managed to muster. By the end of the piece my turntable has almost rattled itself to pieces; it is one of the most sublime examples of noise freakout to come from Japan (and that in itself is some achievement). The title track rounds off the album, seeing the trio return to a more familiar style. It brings to mind the live jams that appear on the 2007 reissue of the eponymous debut: a languid rhythm and years of reverb drenching the guitar and vocals.
By far this is the best thing Up-Tight have put their name to. It covers all the things that makes Japanese psychedelica interesting to me; the extremes of bludgeoning noise and the delicate beauty without ever becoming something clever for the sake of being clever. The Beginning of the End is worth every mistaken or wayward purchase from the Japanese section of record store, it is superb.
This album is currently vinyl only so unfortunately no sound samples at this point in time, apologies!
As part of a campaign to reissue the neglected discography of Manchester post-punk label Object Music, LTM's Boutique Label presents this collection of the entire recorded output of Grow Up, the project of Spherical Objects guitarist and Manchester Musicians Collective member John Bisset-Smith. A six-piece featuring brass and woodwinds, Grow Up combines stripped-down, youthful pop-punk with sophisticated chamber pop and hints of Beefheartian skronk.
Perhaps all too aware of their obscurity, the liner notes by LTM's James Nice go out of their way to connect John Bisset-Smith and Grow Up to the lively Manchester scene in the late 1970s, playing up the MMC connection as a way to drop some famous names: Joy Division, The Passage, Crispy Ambulance, etc. Perhaps this kind of name-dropping is inevitable, but it seems unfortunate in the case of Grow Up, who possess an idiosyncratic sound that seems to have been conceived largely in a state of obvliousness about their contemporaries, both temporally and geographically. I can't think of anything else that sounds quite like Grow Up. Though all of the elements in isolation aren't unique, taken together they add up to a strange hybrid that is intriguing, eminently listenable, and hints at greater things to come (which unfortunately never materialized).
Although both of the band's full-length albums received positive reviews from the British press at the time of their release—Paul Morley of NME enthusing that the band's "ingenious, sax-propelled chamber pop" was "brilliant" and "extremely commercial"—the albums did not sell terribly well, and the band remained obscure. This was partly due to the vagaries of independent music at their particular time and place, and partly due to the sudden closure of the Object Music label, which left the band responsible for all promotion and distribution of their sophomore album. However, I don't quite hear an unjustly obscure lost treasure when I listen to the music collected on this two-disc set. What I hear is a band with an overdose of ambition; a series of false starts and isolated moments of greatness, shot through with a youthful ambition that carries it off even when the songs themselves are callow.
I am a sucker for a particularly well-conceived short song. There is something about the restraint and cleverness required to write a memorable song that clocks in at under three minutes that impresses me. Grow Up have several of these tiny gems scattered across the two albums, seven-inch singles, compilation and demo tracks that comprise this collection. The title track of the band's debut The Best Thing comes early and is perhaps the best single song the band recorded, a miniature masterpiece of vibrant, slapdash, hyperactive post-punk. Bisset-Smith fills each line with verbiage, often running well past the end of a measure. The effect is reminiscent of high school poetry, cramming too many words into each line, a glut of emotions spilling out. The horns, reeds and guitars swarm around each phrase with a glorious lack of precision, as if each song were rehearsed only once before pressing record. Other winners include the narrative "Dear Isobel," an odd rockabilly-esque song addressed to the titular punk girl, the plea of a young rebel and ne'er-do-well to an out-of-reach girl who meets an untimely and tragic end. Steven Westwood's trombone is particularly successul at carrying the song's melody, which continues seamlessly into the next song "Do You Want To Dance," suggesting that Bisset-Smith conceived the album as a coherent whole, rather than a series of songs.
Without Wings is a worthy follow-up, evidencing a maturing in the band's sound, but also less of the messy impulsiveness of the debut. Bisset-Smith's vocals are often effected with superfluous reverb that unecessarily adds a distance to the intimate lyrics. Also, the band's accuracy has improved, complex arrangements turning on a dime. Even though some of the loose charm is gone, there are still many highlights on the album. More terse pop gems in the bratty "Becoming" and the funky "Flying Fish." "The Boy" is a standout track, a sad and quirky story-song that moves through several different movements with ease, making poignant use of call-and-response vocals. Songs like this one could easily fit in on the Cherry Red label; bands like The Monochrome Set and Everything But the Girl; they are witty, musically complex but also breezy and lightweight. The sophomore album also demonstrates more of the band's affection for 1950s rockabilly and the burgeoning neo-swing jazz sound, influences which haven't aged particularly well, but Bisset-Smith and co. make the most of it on tracks such as "The Hypnotist" and "The Double Act." The instrumental track "GGGDADGADADAD," drawn from a seven-inch released in 1980, shows the band at its most prankish, the literalism of the title provoking an amazing stop/start, stuttering Beefheart-ian jam.
The collection ends with a pair of unreleased studio demo recordings—the last made by the group before they disbanded—which offer tantalizing hints at future iterations which were never to materialize. "Do Choose" lacks the horns which characterize the rest of Grow Up's output, though it still contains a seemingly effortless pop hook. "Black Cat Is Back" is psychedelic, alliterative beat poetry recited against dislocated guitar and flute with a field recording of a child talking the background. How this material might have slotted into a third album is anyone's guess, and a question that will never be answered. Although the LTM demographic is generally the intrepid listener of post-punk rarities, Grow Up seems to evade ghettoization, making music that has appeal well outside this obsessive coterie.
Another chapter in LTM's Boutique Label reissue campaign of obscure Manchester post-punk label Object Music, this collection presents more than 100 minutes of experiments, improvisations, skewed pop, drone-laden blues, minimal electronic synthpop and weird, dislocated Nurse With Wound-style audio surrealism. A reissue of a double-album originally issued in 1980—a collaborative release by labelmates Steve Solamar (Spherical Objects) and Steve Miro—Sheep From Goats was certainly the most adventurous release by Object Music during its brief existence.
As part of a campaign to reissue the neglected discography of Manchester post-punk label Object Music, LTM's Boutique Label presents this collection of the entire recorded output of Grow Up, the project of Spherical Objects guitarist and Manchester Musicians Collective member John Bisset-Smith. A six-piece featuring brass and woodwinds, Grow Up combines stripped-down, youthful pop-punk with sophisticated chamber pop and hints of Beefheartian skronk.
Words like armageddon and visionary get tossed about around David Tibet (for good reason) but with this latest album, these words seem too small and meek. As hinted on Black Ships Ate the Sky and the split EP with Om, David Tibet has embraced a blistering rock aesthetic for his apocalyptic visions. Sounding as psychedelic as Of Ruine Or Some Blazing Starre or The Inmost Light trilogy, there is also a heaviness here not heard since the noisy tape loops of Current 93's embryonic period. Tibet sings of Aleph (an Adam-like character), murder, and destruction as a huge cast of musicians and vocalists create a backdrop worthy of his vision.
Tibet’s mythology grows more and more esoteric with each album, a blend of his own internal imagery and biblical terror (stemming from his ongoing obsession with scripture and study of Coptic in order to get closer to the source). “Almost in the beginning was the murderer” states the child’s voice at the beginning of the album. From here on in, everything explodes as one of the best line ups yet for Current 93 let rip. Alex Neilson’s drumming sounds like thunderclaps at the end of the universe as layers and layers of guitars, feedback and distorted vocals tear through reality. During “On Docetic Mountain,” fragments of the familiar folk strains haunt the works of Current 93 swim through the surging pulse, creating a thick and disorientating experience which brings to mind Thee Silver Mt. Zion at their most raucous. Bill Breeze’s viola and John Contreras’ cello sound almost regal amidst the grinding fuzz that the rest of the group are pouring out. Later on, the rock swamps everything; guitar solos that can only be described as shambolic, face melting blasts of white heat cut through a doom-laden riff on “Not Because the Fox Barks.” There is a first time for everything in life and playing air guitar along to Current 93 is one of them.
With no particular focus beyond a general feeling and Tibet’s vision(s), Aleph at Hallucinatory Mountain sticks out like a monolith in Current 93’s canon. Fears that this album would be a disparate work breaking under the weight of Tibet’s many collaborators were completely unfounded. Andrew W.K. and Sasha Grey may be famous for things quite different to Current 93 (as every single article or Internet discussion related to this album seems to dwell on) but they sound as home here as any Current 93 regular. Grey’s detached vocals on “As Real As Rainbows” are a world away from her usual performances (researching for reviews can be a very tough job) and she provides a sober and melancholy ending for such a vivid and energetic album.
Aside from some of the electronics and effects dotted throughout Aleph at Hallucinatory Mountain and the knowledge that it is just out this week, it would be difficult to place this album in time. It could easily be one of those obscure gems that was on the Nurse With Wound list; in fact it sounds almost like the perfect lost treasure from rock’s past. “26 April 2007” has a desert rock vibe but instead of the The Eagles and images of the great plains of America, the music instead conjures up visions of dusty vistas in northern Africa with wanderers trying to find their way back to Eden.
James Joyce once said: "It took me ten years to write Ulysses, and it should take you ten years to read it." While I am not going so far to say (yet) that this album is of the same magnitude as Ulysses the principle holds true here as Tibet and his colleagues have put two years of hard work into making this album the monument it is. Steven Stapleton and Andrew Liles have worked their wizardry in post-production to create the layers of sound that form the base of Aleph at Hallucinatory Mountain, the level of detail buried in the mix is astounding. With each listen there are further revelations, a warped David Tibet as backing vocalist here and a loop of noise there. I imagine that it will be some time before I have exhausted all of the album's secrets.
With an album as epic as this, it is virtually impossible to sum it up succinctly. It is awesome in that from the opening moments to the dying seconds, I am taken aback by the intensity and conviction. As a listener, Aleph at Hallucinatory Mountain drains and exhausts; that Tibet can pull so much emotion from his soul and still function is nothing short of astonishing.
On their second album, Jordan McKenzie and Emi Honda have created a mesmerising experience somewhere between revolution and fairytale. It is difficult to place it accurately in any standard musical taxonomy but with elements of folk, world music and a fierce rock and roll spirit, Elfin Saddle have created some of the most stirring songs to enter my ears recently. From my glib description, they sound on paper to be yet another freak folk act with their own novelty but they are much more than that.
Ringing for the Begin Again begins like any other Constellation album, delicate and mournful strings on “The Bringer” by the label’s resident violinist Jessica Moss and gently hammered xylophone combine to make a beautiful and moving introduction to the album. McKenzie’s vocals sound like a lived-in version of Xiu Xiu’s Jamie Stewart, lilting in the rhythm of Moss’s bowing. His lyrics on this piece and elsewhere on Ringing for the Begin Again have a poetic quality that fits like a glove with the dreamy music. “The Living Light” is easily one of the best songs of the year; the driving rhythm combined with McKenzie’s almost religious singing makes a huge impression with each play through the album.
An entire album like this would be epic but Elfin Saddle have other, equally wonderful things to offer. Honda is the second vocalist in the group and sings exclusively in Japanese. Her songs have a very different tone to them compared to those sung by McKenzie, the music taking on a different beat to match the delivery of her carefully placed syllables. “Sakura” and “The Procession” have a delicate music box quality (although the presence of tuba on the latter track certainly beefs it up), Honda’s voice haunting the melodies. Honda’s crowning achievement however comes with “The Ocean” which complements the tone of “The Bringer” and bookends the album nicely.
It is hard to get these songs out of my head after listening to Ringing for the Begin Again, even the songs in Japanese stick in my brain for hours. Elfin Saddle combine incredibly infectious songwriting with a real passion that sets them apart from other quirky indie acts. Being based in Canada and with the huge list of instruments used on the album (guitar, ukulele, saw, drums, accordion, banjo, xylophone, tuba, violin, etc.) they could easily mistaken as a Broken Social Scene “everything including the kitchen sink” kind of band but they have a simplicity and humanity to them that the likes of Broken Social Scene lack.
Taking a similar approach to the classic likes of Aube, Bionulor is billed as being focused exclusively on "sound recycling," or using only a single sample or sound as the basis for an entire piece. As a self-imposed limitation this sometimes does keep the compositions to a Spartan minimum, yet just as often become a chaotic mess of layered sounds and effects.
Some of the pieces are intentional details of singular sonic elements: both the opening "nchr.01" and "nchr.03" focus exclusively on singular stringed instrument sounds, left to repeat for lengthy periods with only the most minute changes in dynamics and layering. The changes and variations are there, but are extremely subtle, with more electronically effected sounds serving more as accompaniment to the organic sounds rather than being the dominant focus.
This is a pretty stark contrast to tracks like "pvn.," which opens with subtle ambient tones and cricket-like loops, while plucked string notes are there and clearly defined, the focus becomes much more on the processed sonic elements, via spacey pitch bent tones and more low frequency percussive thuds. The final minutes of the track pile on the effects and noises to a level of pure chaos. This dynamic carries over into “l. fll.” which, though opening with a large pastiche of silence, eventually becomes dominated by digital clicks and cuts over plucked string notes. Piano sounds are allowed to appear in their natural state for most of the piece, but the digital elements are much more the focus.
Unfortunately, these tracks are almost too chaotic for their own good, and the shift from subtle repetition to erratic texture shifts is a jarring one. Tracks like the symphonic "nchr.04" are among the most satisfying, balancing the natural with the digital well.
This is a good debut release, and the concept of limiting ones self to a single sound to create an entire piece is a good one, and definitely goes beyond the limitations of a Boss DD-5 delay pedal that Akifumi Nakajima was too reliant on, but the actual structure and composition needs more attention. A greater focus on development and sequencing as opposed to just a quick transition between moods and textures would be a definite asset to future releases.
A reissue of an extremely LP from 2007, with an extra 28 minute bonus track, Chain Shot is an accurate title for this extremely lo-fi disc of junky metal, violent raw frequencies, and the complete exploitation of analog technology. Rather than being simply a blast of noise, it is instead a study of textures, as rough as they may be.
The LP side-long title track is an aptly titled excursion into metallic violence. It opens with dirty loops and junk metal rattling that are all pushed up on the low end of the frequency spectrum. The loops remain the focus, giving an awkward yet discernable rhythm with flanged stabs at irregular intervals. At full steam, the best comparison would be being within a large metal drum, filled with rocks and scrap metal, as its tumbling down a steep hill. After a lengthy study of tape hiss, the second half of the track focuses less on the physical sounds and more on tones and feedback. This also is given an ungodly bass boost that pushes it into the traditional overdriven grind of harsh noise, with an extremely subtle bit of metal percussion remaining.
The opening horn blast of "Execution Dock" is definitely jarring, a quick burst of multi-tracked trumpet abuse that quickly drops out into a ragged decaying loop of awkward brass. Personally, I’d have liked a bit more of the mutant-core jazz elements to stick around, but it does drop quickly into a stuttering analog loop. As the loop goes on, more horns enter, though much more quiet and restrained, groaning like a sick sheep. Though the horn loop decays away to allow some maxed out tape hiss and bassy percussive thuds, it never fully goes away, remaining up through the harsh noise mid section and into the final fragments of sound.
The third track, "Medusa," is exclusive to the CD and clocks in almost as long as the prior two tracks combined. At 28 minutes, it is given a lot more room to develop as a piece, starting from a barely audible hiss that slowly gets louder and louder, eventually being met with a bassier undercurrent. Static kicks in and is passed through a variety of filters and overdrives, and the old standby of water sloshing sounds appear as well. The track ends with squeaky squelches of noise and what resembles a leaf blower off in the distance. It isn’t a bad track, but it definitely does feel like a "bonus track" compared to the original Chain Shot material, which is much more varied and dynamic in its nature.
One thing that is definitely noteworthy on this album is simply the rawness and the grimy nature of the sound: everything sounds like it’s being played off cassettes that have been neglected in storage for decades. The original material is definitely what shines here, and it is definitely worthy of receiving this wider release, and while the bonus track is somewhat lacking in comparison, it is sill a bonus, and functions just fine in that capacity.