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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The unobscured natural photography on the cover of this disc sets up what is contained within. While the label is usually focused on the dark, opaque droning sounds, Gargaud’s contribution to Utech is much clearer and lighter, at least in relative terms. Mixing abstract electronics with some occasionally plaintive guitar playing, it stays relatively warm and organic throughout, with a few intentional, but compelling bumps along the way. At its core, it feels like a more stripped down version of Fennesz.
The comparison to Christian Fennesz is not just one of convenience though. Both artists meld the abstract chaos of electronics with some pure and melodic guitar, allowing the timbre and color of the instrument to shine through the mire at times. However, Gargaud is less focused on the complex composition techniques of Fennesz, and the result is a somewhat less nuanced and complex sound, but more of an improvisational one that allows more than a modicum of chance to come in.
Tracks like "Le Chien De Jose" push the guitar to the margins to focus on the electronics. The tracks is focused initially on a quiet, distant hum that slowly comes into focus, high end digital tones, gurgling noises, and ultrasonic squeals eventually come in, with what sounds like it could be some extremely unconventional guitar riffs buried in the low end of the sonic spectrum. "Clairiere" similarly keeps the guitar at bay by leading off with some subtle static and running water type sounds, a few shards of guitar tones buzz in and out, but the electronics stay the focus.
"La Legende Du Scarabe" does feature some soft, untreated guitar notes, though they, along with electronic strings, pings, and organ tones, are all fed through a dubby echo chamber that allows each to just bounce around the mix into infinity. The closing "Au Bord Du Lac" is similar, letting beautiful guitar notes shine through a hazy, opaque atmosphere of lush electronic tones. "Mer Du Nord" is perhaps the most overt, letting the clear guitar strums dominate while organic, atmosphereic ambience subtly punctuate.
While the album never gets "harsh," both "Lumiere Froide" and "Emissaire" are perhaps the most pronounced, both being focused on a swirling mess of sounds that, at least in the microscopic sense, sound orchestral, but are so jumbled as to be less than discernable, the latter adds some vaguely kraut rock guitar soloing, albeit heavily treated and somewhat obscured by the chaos.
Once again I have to give kudos to Keith Utech for releasing yet another young project that, even without a major discography, has already developed a definite and specific sound and style. While the label is mining somewhat consistent territory, it is widely encompassing enough that I know roughly what I will get with each new release, but it’s never a faceless or generic disc at all.
Consider this in the running for the "minimalist/maximalist" release of the year. While releasing an album on a USB flash drive is not a new thing, few of the ones thus far have had the same quality of presentation. Packaged in a small bamboo box, just slightly bigger than a matchbox, is an engraved bamboo drive which contains a total of ten unreleased albums, recorded between 1999 and 2008. Ten hours of music in a small box, which costs barely more than a single CD. However, with that much material, there is going to be a bit of overload.
I don’t think I’m the only Brainwashed contributor that is not a big fan of the digital-only direction music is taking. While I have an iPod and use it while driving/working, nothing is the same as putting a CD in the player, or throwing on a nice heavy piece of vinyl, and turning up the stereo system. In this case, at least the presentation is nice, and the sound quality isn’t bad for a series of 224k MP3s. Modern home entertainment technology has at least moved forward enough that I can plug this in and listen to it on hardware other than just on my computer. In this case also, I doubt this amount of material could have been released in a cost effective and artistic way.
Now, preface aside, on this one gig flash drive is a set of ten MP3s, one for each album and a small photo gallery, all organized by a simple, yet effective, html interface. For better or worse, the albums presented here could have all been recorded around the same time, as the style doesn’t differ greatly from piece to piece, but the approach and dynamics do.
Some of the albums stay restrained and soft: Cretion is a study in textures, with various clicks and buzzes staying extremely quiet, with the occasional processed thump of a microphone and a small amount of electronic interference. Of all of the albums here, this is the one that is more easily labeled as "laptop" sounding, being based mostly on a microsound type concept. The following Section is similar, though allowing in obscured conversations, the occasional melodic tonal section, and occasional outbursts of percussion and tiny guitar sounds.
There is also a notable set of "medium" sounding albums, the opening album Torsion uses ragged lo-fi guitar and minimal walls of electronic sound that are thick and syrupy, but not harsh or aggressive, occasionally pulling away to allow chiming melodies and pieces of feedback to come forth. Both Tance and Position have similar dynamics, the former uses ethnic environmental sounds and oddly warbling and phased tones while the latter has some crunchy, overdriven fuzz and lost radio transmissions that come to the forefront. Both also have a focus on beeps and bleeps that could be a conversation between robots, Position especially having a notable psychedelic, spacey bent to it.
Of course, a few of the albums also stray more into the raw and more harsh sounds too. Partition opens with what sounds like heralding horns that lead to a pass of quiet reflection, but the second half of the album drenches the ambient tones in heavy reverb, occasional percussive elements, and rawer, static sounds make it a bit more of a standout album. Topie’s opening of amp noise and heavy bass rumbles sets the stage for what will be the harshest album here: the rumbles swell to grinding and clipping levels that aren’t too far removed from what would be heard on the Cold Meat Industries label during the heyday of power electronics/death industrial, though the twittering, chirpy electronic sounds keep it from being too bleak or black. Even the blasting organ tones might keep this album away from the stereotypical "noise" imagery, though the approach isn’t all that different.
It is definitely tough to cover this, because there’s simply so much material to try and digest. Ten hours of abstract electronics, found sounds, and random improvisation is a lot to sit through at once. At times, the barriers between the albums become obscured and the sound all blends together. But, given the cost to content ratio here, picking an album to listen to here and there rather than going on an electro-acoustic bender is the best way to tackle this.
At Brainwaves last year, Peter Christopherson claimed that this album was the best thing he had ever done. Such a lofty claim raised eyebrows and now it is time to see if this is the truth. While I cannot agree with Christopherson, he and Ivan Pavlov have certainly made a fantastic album. It is of a far different character to their previous transmission under the SoiSong name; xAj3z is warm and vibrant compared to the fragility of their debut.
While I found SoiSong’s debut EP to be removed from either Christopherson’s or Pavlov’s style, xAj3z shares a large amount of its DNA with the electronic vocal twisting of Christopherson’s Threshold HouseBoys Choir and with the strange jazz-like sounds that ran through Coil’s posthumous releases. “T-Hu Ri Toh” typifies this approach: a peppy piano motif is slowly mutated as robotic vocals are mangled concurrently. The apparent simplicity of the piece disappears with careful listening as the slight alterations of the various sounds and multiple layers of detail create untold depths to reward deep listeners. This is true of the rest of the album where straightforward ideas are transmutated into something grander by simply shading in the details. For example, Pavlov’s guitar and Ddkern’s drumming on “Dtorumi” along with Christopherson’s electronics make for a track that is reminiscent initially of Portishead. However, through subtle use of processing and arrangement the piece becomes something more exotic and joyous.
What strikes me most about xAj3z is its celebratory mood. This is especially evident in the trumpet calls at the end of the album during “Ti-Di-Ti Naoo” and it is hard to not feel utterly content while the piece plays out (have SoiSong discovered the audio equivalent of Valium?). The contemplative vibe to this album is a marked difference between this album and the duo’s other works (including the SoiSong EP) despite there being so many stylistic similarities between them all. Even on the tracks that I found hard to get into at first (both “J3z” and “Mic Mo” are little too easy listening electronica for my liking), it is difficult to ignore the bliss that runs through the music.
The same care that went into crafting this music has also gone into the packaging for xAj3z. The sleeve is less infuriating than the “disposable” packaging of their debut but it is still quite annoying to try to fold back up. Importantly, it is beautiful to look at; all the angles and odd dimensions make it look like it was designed by Daniel Libeskind. The effort of trying to open it without tearing the sleeve makes the album feel more personal, its tactile nature forcing you to engage with it before it even reaches the CD player. Speaking of players, the CD is again octagonal which means that slot loading disc drives are out of the question (although burning a copy to an ordinary CD-R is the obvious solution). The album’s title also gives access to a section of the SoiSong website which at the moment hosts images connected with xAj3z which is supposed to be expanded in the future so there is a chance that this album could grow in some untold way.
Overall, xAj3z is not what I expected at all and the surprise of how it sounds has made it all the better. Both Christopherson and Pavlov have done a sterling job in creating such a remarkable album. Although it does not make their respective works pale in comparison, it does light them in a warm glow.
Originally released on vinyl only in 2008, this album sold out almost immediately and it is quite clear why: these are some thoroughly raucous jams and nobody but Sublime Frequencies is likely to be scavenging though Algerian 45s from the 1970s anytime soon. Ain't no party like an Algerian party.
The title of this album is a bit misleading, as Raï music has been around in various forms since the 1930s. However, the "underground" part is entirely accurate: these recordings are from a controversial transitional period in Rai's history (the birth of Pop Raï) in which secular/Western influences and modern instrumentation began to take a much greater role. The genre's flouting of fundamentalist gender role restrictions and embrace of hipper lyrical matter naturally found a large following among Algerian youth, but did not win any friends in the Islamic government. In fact, the Algerian government even tried to ban Raï entirely in the late 1970s–early '80s due to its association with public female dancing and celebration of alcohol and consumerism, but it thrived in France and at home through black market sale and trade of tapes. Nevertheless, it continued to be a very unpopular musical genre with Islamic extremists for quite some time (Cheb Hasni was even murdered in 1994 for letting girls kiss him on the cheek during a televised concert), although government hostility eased in the '90s and Raï now enjoys considerable mainstream success.
Bellemou & Benfissa's opening track ("Li Maandouche L'Auto" or..um..."He, Who Doesn't Own A Car") begins in a deceptively subdued and droning manner, which makes the eventual introduction of the heavy, unruly, and thoroughly propulsive drums somewhat startling. The album doesn't let up at all after that. It is certainly clear how this sort of thing could result in something as unsettling as public female dancing, as the combination of deep, insistent rhythms and boisterous trumpets create a celebratory feel that must've made inhibitions damn hard to maintain (and rebelling against oppressive regimes is inherently pretty sexy to begin with).
There are no weak or filler tracks. I am quite fond of Boutaiba Sghir's "Dayha Oulabes" ("I'll Marry Her Whether They Like It Or Not"), which sounds like a melancholy mariachi band jamming with some African drummers. Sadness is a recurring theme throughout this album in both the vocals and omnipresent traditional violin/accordion melodies, but rather than drag the songs down, it merely adds some emotional heft to the awesome party that the rhythm section and trumpet players seem to be having. Cheb Zergui's "Ana Dellali" ("I Cuddle Myself") also warrants some mention, as it is the track that most conspicuously betrays a Western influence (featuring a funky bassline, wah-wah guitar, and an atypically laid-back groove). Incidentally, I think something may occasionally be getting lost in the title translations here.
As is often the case with Sublime Frequencies releases, these recording are raw (the drums kind of sound like buckets). The lo-fi production suits the music well, as all eight of the tracks here explode from the speakers and likely approximate at least some of the raw power that must have been present in Wahran's clubs. If I had a grievance, it would be that several of the tracks sound very similar, but that might just be the cultural bias of my boring Western ears. However, this only seems to trouble me when I am listening with extreme reviewer/music nerd scrutiny; this issue vanishes when I listen to this album like a normal person. Also, I was disappointed that no females were represented, given that they were essential (as well as the most endangered and oppressed) proponents of this outlaw culture. Regardless, Hicham Chadly and Sublime Frequencies have compiled some seriously excellent and instantly satisfying music that I never would have heard otherwise, so my quibbles should probably be taken as the irrelevant ramblings of a curmudgeon.
Brand new full length from Grails/Om member Emil Amos. While burying himself in old books on Cold War espionage and 70's Italian horror soundtracks, Emil Amos logged many hours into the night layering endless tracks of improv and then editing them into a cohesive sonic blanket over 2 years time. He emerged with his 6th full length record under the name "Holy Sons" called "Drifter's Sympathy". Listeners will recognize Amos' signature hallucinatory/LSD-inspired mixing-style heard on records like 'Black Tar Prophecies', 'Doomsdayer's Holiday' and 'Take Refuge' by his other group Grails."Drifter's Sympathy" draws from the instrumental moods of 'Grails' and melds perfectly with his usually vocally-based solo-project creating a densely paranoid atmosphere that evenly balances sonic experimentation with refined folk/blues song-forms. The main cornerstone of influence for "Drifter's Sympathy" are the German experimental four-track journeymen like Gunter Schikert, Eroc and Achim Reichel whose records reflected a sonic appetite that challenged the limits of the expressiveness of each instrument and tried anything in the mixing process to create a sound-world as labyrinthine and complex as the human mind itself. Rather than making music based only on skill, melodicism, soulfulness or technique, "Drifter's Sympathy" seems to argue that the most vital quality in music is pure imagination.
In 1969, Mississippi Fred McDowell plugged in an electric guitar, and like Bob Dylan just a few years earlier, alienated many purists who could not fathom such radical change. So as not to encourage any ambiguity or doubt, McDowell's first electric record was titled I Do Not Play No Rock 'n' Roll. Whether or not Jack Rose is trying to cure ambiguities of his own with this record is unclear, but it is obvious that he's ready to move into new territory.
Classifying Rose as a pure revivalist has never made much sense, especially considering the scope of his career. Pelt, for instance, was too extravagant and free-spirited to be pigeonholed and his solo output is highly varied despite the fact that John Fahey is the only name I hear associated with him. He is indebted to Leo Kottke and Robbie Basho as much as he is to John Fahey. Perhaps to the untrained ear all these influences will sound similar, but ask any guitarist or pull up any Google search on the topic and you'll get a taste of Rose's diversity. His music exists somewhere between the epic scope of Indian-influenced instrumental music and the roots music of American blues and folk. He is equally cosmic and terrestrial in all that he does and tends to shy away from extremes. It is for this reason that his Three Lobed release sticks out as an oddity. Compiled from live performances in Chicago, Amsterdam, and Pennsylvania, I Do Play Rock and Roll witnesses Rose moving away from his ragtime and blues-inspired mode in order to re-encounter the the hallucinatory and hypnotic power of his early solo output. Truth be told, such experimentation and diversity was present on Dr. Ragtime and His Pals and Kensington Blues, but on I Do Play... the rolling and ethereal qualities of which Rose is capable dominate the comparatively relaxed and familiar sounds of American folk music with which he is so often associated.
To this extent it is difficult to understand why Rose thinks this album has anything to do with rock and roll. His phrasing, tone, and predeliction for intricacy all betray any ties to rock music, not to mention obvious things like the lack of lyrics and regular rhythms. Rose's playing sort of rambles along: it sometimes mumbles and sometimes explodes with clarity and memorable melodies, but it never dissolves into pure improvisation. On "Calais to Dover," which originally appeared on Kensington Blues in an abbreviated form, Rose often falls into introspective movements where quickly fingered rhythms acquire a wave-like quality, rolling as they do in splashes of force and emphasis. His focus is mostly rhythmic throughout the piece and though clear melodies exist, rhythm nevertheless asserts itself as the primary element, forcing the ear to listen for metered patterns instead of melodic or harmonic ones. This song is far and away the best piece on the record and it is arguably its center. "Cathedral et Chartres," also from Kensington Blues, isn't half as long as "Calais to Dover" and runs only a fraction of the time that "Sundogs" does. It is more pastoral and gentle than either tune and, in some ways, occupies its place on the record only to provide relief between the two extremes found on the other songs.
If this album's title is to have any meaning whatsoever, it is to be found somewhere on "Sundogs," the album's final song. It's a 20-plus minute, high-pitched drone apparently extracted from one or more of Rose's guitars. It is cold, steely, and a little frightening with little variation. It provides practically no insight into what Rose might be doing and is generally mystifying from start to finish. There are audible coughs on the recording and it isn't difficult to imagine a few confused and perturbed audience members shuffling about, wondering what it is that Rose is trying to accomplish. In fact, I feel this way listening to the recording. It serves up dark introspection and creeping dread in massive doses, but is the complete antithesis of everything else on the record. Sounding like the complete obliteration of everything Rose has done in the last few years, "Sundogs" is both enjoyable and a little frustrating. Whether or not Rose is signalling a new beginning or simply throwing his listeners something different is up for debate. One thing is clear: if Jack Rose thinks he's playing rock and roll, it's because he's thinking about McDowell and Dylan and what happened when they decided to plug in and change their approach a little.
Fabrique documents many of the performers included in Lawrence English's long-running experimental music series. The focus is largely on laptop-based ambient glitchery, but several artists contribute strong-based tracks that depart from this aesthetic (usually by incorporating human or organic elements). Notably, the lesser-known artists (such as Tujiko Noriko) often steal the show from more established folks like Scanner or KK Null.
Lawrence English curated the Fabrique series for eight years and organized 40 events, luring avant-garde artists from all over the world to his oft-neglected home continent of Australia. This compilation is not a comprehensive retrospective, but merely a sampler of some of the more intriguing performers’ works. Only a few of the tracks are actually live recordings from Fabrique events (Scanner and Keith Fullerton Whitman), but the rest of the tracks are exclusive to this compilation.
The first two tracks (by David Grubbs and Chris Abrahams) are enjoyable enough, but nothing held my attention until Fourcolor's "Familiar," a warm and languid haze of ambient bliss. I am sure the formless floating and wordless, breathy vocals would be cloying for the duration of an entire album, but as a single track it provided a refreshing respite from the stark electronics surrounding it. Janek Schaefer's "Fields of the Missed" also stands out from the rest of the album, with its exuberant menagerie of manipulated animal sounds hovering above a warm, wavering drone. It eventually drops most of the field-recording component and morphs into a thick, consonant swell, which is pleasant, but not nearly as odd and attention-grabbing as the first half.
The album closes with Tujiko Noriko's "Magic," a compelling foray into odd, lurching, somnambulant near-pop that approximates Múm or Björk. It is probably the most immediately gratifying track on the album, but there are several other intriguing pieces on the album; many of which are by Australians that I was not previously familiar with (I was particularly struck by Leighton Craig’s somewhat childlike and elegiac organ piece “San Souci”). English clearly has excellent taste and a comprehensive knowledge of the international experimental music scene, which makes him the perfect curator for such a series. Well, almost. The catch is that his taste is very specific: artists that sound similar to Lawrence English (drone-y and somewhat austere). Consequently, there is a distinct lack of percussion, harshness, or recognizably organic instrumentation represented. While it's not necessarily a bad focus for an experimental music concert series, it's not necessarily a recipe for a varied and unique compilation album either.
Fabrique is certainly a pleasantly diverting listen, but a bit too subdued and homogenous to make a large impression on me. Nevertheless, it provides an excellent window into the Australian electronic music scene, as well as some decent unreleased material from more internationally known artists (the artists from the Room40 roster submit particularly strong material, but 12k makes an impressive showing too). Of course, I’m a little disappointed that English did not include one of his own tracks, but I suppose his modesty is commendable. Regardless of its degree of success as an album, Fabrique provides ample evidence that Fabrique was an excellent and inspired series.
Soundtrack music has always held its own odd space in the music world. Living in constant relation to the images it is meant to accompany, soundtrack music can (and has) made movies as well as destroyed them, as any Ennio Morricone fan can attest to. Yet the best soundtrack music has always been able to positively shape a film while still standing on its own as strictly a musical work removed from its image-based companion. It is, it seems, this trait alone that separates the comparatively schlocky Hollywood mood-manipulations of a John Williams score from the intrinsic depth and subtlety of form found in an Anton Karas, Carl Stalling, Nino Rota, or Bernard Hermann piece. JG Thirlwell (most know him as the man behind Foetus, Wiseblood, Steroid Maximus, etc.) proves himself more than an adept contributor to the genre.
Part of the difficulty inherent in the form is, of course, working within the relatively narrow confines afforded by accompaniment of an image. Not only must a work set the mood of the image, it also (if it's good, anyway) must remark on and strengthen the pictorial element. If it's truly great it can do all this while still maintaining its musical dignity. Take, for example, Stalling's incredible arrangement of Michael Maltese's writing in Chuck Jones' "Rabbit of Seville." Working within Rossini's "Barber of Seville" melodies Bugs Bunny, beckoning Elmer Fudd to get his haircut, punctuates along to Rossini's famous melodic line: "Don't look so perplexed / Why must you be vexed? / Can't you see you're next? / Yes, you're next. / You're so next." Even given the restraints, Stalling and co. manage to sum up Bugs' entire modus operandi in three simple syllables that say more than most dissertations could: "You're so next."
While Thirlwell does not have quite the options presented to Stalling in terms of character development (there is no lyrical content on the album) he still manages to say plenty. Thirlwell's score, like the cartoon it soundtracks, is exciting to its core, bouncing ideas around one another with hectic abandon that simultaneously pays loving homage to and caricatures the work of the greats. The opening "Brock Graveside" is as honest a Morricone rip as you could ask for, complete with lone whistling and muted trumpet. Following it up with the spy-thriller antics of "Tuff" gets the disc rolling quickly, immersing you in its over-the-top production and go-for-broke approach.
What makes the album remarkable however isn't that Thirlwell pulls out all the stops, but that he does so in such a focused and articulate manner. More than any one track being a highlight, the entire work flows smoothly from traditional soundtrack styles through to psychotic electro-funk without ever losing sight of its identity.
What's further, it's masterfully produced and every sound, whether it be the consistently pummeling drum work or the brass band backing, is treated with precise and orchestrated detail. Clearly no band effort, each track presents new sounds, new approaches, and new modes of the same singular sound that Thirlwell's mind hatches throughout. "Mississippi Noir" is, as it sounds, an odd and lilting banjo number whose sloppy, backroom bar piano only solidifies the unavoidable images of some bayou swamp. While the trance of a trumpet may be as rough and guttural as one would hope for from this far south of the Mason-Dixon, the entrance of deep bass drums and a psychedelically inclined chorus of chanting vocals gives it another dimension which inevitably strengthens its ties to the cartoon medium.
By the end Thirlwell's controlled production, fun arrangements and near limitless scope will have anyone firmly in its grasp. It is—and I use this term cautiously—a brilliant work that could well place Thirlwell as the next in line to the pantheon of soundtracking greats. Stalling, Morricone and now, Thirlwell, the cartoon soundtracker for the 21st century. As Bugs might say, "he's so next."
Montreal's trio of talented multi-instrumentalists hit pay dirt on this album. Revolving around a core of keyboards, drums and French horn, the group has carved out a pleasant niche for themselves inside the well traveled corridors of cinematic psychedelia, employing numerous other devices and useful effects along the way.
Most albums don’t begin with an “interlude” but this one does, doing the same job as an intro, but better, like I am already keyed in to the action of the plot. It could have been written after the title track, which follows the opener, where the melodic themes hinted at in the “interlude” are stretched out and more fully developed. Everything here is arranged in well fit layers, like an actor in a period costume, whom Torngat might well be providing the soundtrack for. A kaleidoscope of timbres illuminates the hierarchies of the harmonic spectrum, all glowing, washed in the thick espresso sludge of reverb and carefully attenuated distortion that coats all the remaining songs.
Whereas the edges come off rough hewn from the fuzzy swamp gas effects, shimmering melodies float gracefully rising like angels above the crinkling sheen of soft white noise. The group show themselves as being well listened in the prog rock and kraut arenas. Feedback, heavy riffing, and fluid drums (sometimes sounding like they are being played underwater), are all evident on songs like “L’Ecole Penitencier” and “Turtle Eyes & Fierce Rabbit.” “6:23 PM” shows a more subtle, ambient side: the slow but throbbing key playing on this track reminded me on every listen of the dreaminess of the classic Eno song “Spider and I.” This is in no way a disparagement of the piece, but added a weight of familiarity as well as mysteriousness. Gentle piano trickles, alongside a windy electric blur, keep it full bodied and well rounded.
The real light of the group shines through on pieces like “Afternoon Moon Pie” and “Going Whats What,” streaming, coaxed out of the curved brass that is the French horn. Whereas many bands will have garish tracks full of bombast and unnecessary pomp when they bring in a horn section, a single French horn imparts a more pure kind of regality altogether. For Torngat it has the benefit of setting them apart from the crowd.
For An Outbreak of Twangin', the follow-up to 2008's Phantom Guitars, The Bevis Frond's Nick Saloman has again assembled a couple dozen incredibly obscure and kitschy surf guitar gems. I am pleased to report that the influence of legendary paranoid reverb-monger/occultist/murderer Joe Meek looms large here.
Psychic Circle
Generally, the word "outbreak" is intimately intertwined with something negative (such as chlamydia), but this disc bucks that trend admirably. Most obviously, this is an extremely fun and consistently excellent album. Secondly, while most of the artists are British, there are many unexpected contributions from countries that are not traditionally associated with surf music (as well as a conspicuous absence of Americans). Finally, I have yet to be disappointed by any album that features bands dressed like vikings (the Saxons) or gladiators (Nero and The Gladiators).
The liner notes are quite entertaining and obviously required quite a bit of research on Salomon’s part. For example, several of the unknown and enigmatic bands included share names with other bands (The Boys, the Volcanos, The Rapiers, etc.), which must have been rather confusing. Also, some bands—such as Norway’s The Runestones and Ahab & The Wailers—still remain completely shrouded in mystery despite his best efforts. The fact that there is at least one man on earth tirelessly trying to unearth the history of Scandinavian surf bands makes me extremely happy. Incidentally, the band with the most bizarre story here are certainly Joe Meek protégés The Saxons, who later became The Tornadoes (because the actual Tornadoes broke up and Joe thought they were too popular to not replace). Also, their guitarist eventually wound up in an Israeli prog band.
It is hard to choose favorites, as Twangin’ is a fairly full-throttle beach blast from start to finish, but The Boys' “Polaris” is an exceedingly rocking gem in the traditional surf vein: deep, twanging guitars, twinkling piano, and a propulsive snare roll rhythm. Immediately afterwards, The Saints' “Husky Team” adheres to the same formula, but amplifies the intensity considerably with muscular stomping drums and occasional interludes of snare fills and party banter and hooting. I am always a big fan of tracks that feature sounds of people partying: I like to imagine that it means that the track was so infectious and amazing that the usually curmudgeonly engineer and bored session players had no choice but to erupt in spontaneous dancing and revelry. It would kill me to find out otherwise. Also of note, I believe "Husky Team" was recorded with Joe Meek (although Meek’s rabid passion for reverb and echo is everywhere on this album, whether he was involved or not).
“An Outbreak of Murder” by The Gordon Franks Orchestra is a bit of an aberration here, as it veers into noir-ish lounge music territory and is far more indebted to Martin Denny than The Ventures. However, several other tracks do diverge somewhat from surf into more rambunctious Duane Eddy territory (like the Ramblers' “Just for Chicks”) or betray a western or boogie-woogie influence.
Obviously, listening to 26 surf guitar instrumentals in one sitting invariably and rapidly starts to yield diminishing returns, but Saloman has done an amazing job with track selection. There are no weak or overexposed tracks on Outbreak at all; just fun, camp, and absurdity (the liner notes helpfully point out that this album is the next best thing having "a funfair in your own living room").
For An Outbreak of Twangin', the follow-up to 2008's Phantom Guitars, The Bevis Frond's Nick Saloman has again assembled a couple dozen incredibly obscure and kitschy surf guitar gems. I am pleased to report that the influence of legendary paranoid reverb-monger/occultist/murderer Joe Meek looms large here.