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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Anyone that manages to weave a mystery around them are bound to win some fascination from appreciators and press alike. Whether or not there's any substance behind their mystery is another story altogether. Uton unveils floating events and sounds in the same way a magician unleashes doves from a hat or a sleeve, but without the awe or sense of wonder. Mystery Revolution amounts to a bunch of floating stuff and very little more.
At first I thought the cloud of popping and cracking sound that Uton opens this album with was going to resolve into a soft commotion of rhythm and melody. "Aikavirta" suggests crescendo and prologue, the slow accumulation of tension that makes every release such a wonderful feeling. I waited and waited somewhere until I realized that what I was hearing composed the whole of the album. I like abstract music a lot, but the best abstract has to offer always makes some reference to form and structure. Even the most nebulous albums ranked among my favorites feel as though they're traveling somewhere. If not, they're sustaining some sound, thought, or feeling that warrants such stasis. Mystery Revolution, on the other hand, begins adrift and ends adrift, without much in the middle to suggest a journey ever occurred.
Flutes, whistles, bells, chimes, analogue bellows, and all manner of fascinating source material manages never to come together for Uton. Whatever mystery his foggy music hides stays that way until they very end, negating and reflecting any light that even comes close to it. Strings buzz and shift restlessly on "Taivaan Sini Sokea (Soikea)," but never do more than that. They don't necessarily match very well with the other sounds on the song, they do not add to whatever sensation the song inspires (in my case, I feel almost nothing listening to this record), and they certainly don't seem to be arranged very well, becoming lost in the rest of the music. Everything seems to be arranged without forethought or plan.
Improvised music has its place and there are plenty of people who will swear by the possibilities it presents to the musicians and the audience when it is performed, but in this particular case all I get out of listening to this record is a little bit of frustration. Uton has a knack for picking out some interesting noise, but his talent for arrangement is his Achilles' heel.
This isn't the first extra-curricular activity from Low's main singer/songwriter to surface, however, those who are looking for something like "Sleep Song," or Hospital Children or Black Eyed Snakes type recordings are in for a surprise. The title of Solo Guitar should be a hint, as this recording is more for the fans of the uneasy listening of Loren Mazzacane Connors or Keiji Haino on a calm day.
The disc opens with what sounds to me like a couple false starts: two brief pieces that barely pass the one-minute mark which oddly have a copious amount of dead space. They sound like either outtakes from album sessions or a guitarist doing a sound check on an empty stage. However, by the time the third piece rolls around I'm seemingly deep in trance and time has completely warped: elapsing way faster than it seems. "Sagrado Corazón De Jesú (Second Attempt)" is a 13+ minute song which is firmly established from the beginning with low tone guitar loops. Higher tone loops are added for more coloring but the star of the tune is the wailing of the repeated and modified theme, sounding like the cry of beastly bird. Knowing Alan Sparhawk mainly as the singer for Low, I can visualize his playing of this song, completely involved in the trance that he's brought everbody else into, too involved to pay attention to time, space, or anybody in the audience. It's perhaps one of the most expressive instrumental things I've ever heard from him.
"How A Freighter Comes Into The Harbor" is the only other piece on this nine-track CD which also stretches to a great length. This nearly 18 minute bit is also constructed from various layers but with the more dissonant higher toned loops it's creepiness is undeniable. While the title suggests otherwise, to me this one evokes the feeling of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, like in a dark field, lost, as fog rolls in, making the struggle to find the way back home less possible. Scraping metallic sounds overcome the piece about 14 minutes in, painful as that metal on metal sound when old trains with rusted brakes pull to a stop at the station.
The rest of the disc is colored with short bits and pieces which are mainly noisy outbursts and rarely expanded into actual songs. I can't say for certain whether I'm less fond of the solo show-offery of something like "Eruption By Eddie Van Halen" or the lathe cutting like sounds on "How The Engine Room Sounds," but "How It Ends," the final bit on the album has a beautiful cadence. Faintly (and appropriately given some of the noisy tracks on this album) echoing "When I Go Deaf" from last year's The Great Destroyer, this one would actually have been nicer expanded into something far more substantial than the 55 second tease that it is.
Northern Stains is the result of a collaboration between experimental phenomenon Carlos Giffoni and Spunk/Fe-Mail members Maja Ratkje & Hild Tafjord. This trio finally met when Giffoni booked Fe-Mail to headline the sunday night of his genere defining Brooklyn based 3 day No Fun Festival in 2005. Early in 2006 Giffoni boarded a flight to Norway and Northern Stains was born in Spunk's Oslo studio.
Individualy and together, Carlos Giffoni and Fe-Mail make records that are rich, detailed, dense and complex, constantly straddling the line between improvised noise and modern composition. It's this attention to detail and warmth that make Fe-Mail & Carlos Giffoni such celebrated artists and kindred collaborators. Northern Stains is often absurd combination of live sounds, feedback, hilarious sampling with a genuine sentimental touch, which nods towards both the northern glaciers and the beauty and brutality of nature. Tomorrow's music today. The album was recorded live in SPUNK studio in Oslo. Cover artwork by Maya Miller of The Double Leopards.
artist: KK Null title: Kosmista Noisea catalog #: IMPREC111 format: cd upc: 793447511125 release date: Sept. 26, 2006
Kosmista Noisea is a brand new full length from Japanese legend KK Null (ANP/Zeni Geva). Packaged in a jewel box with a metallic print on a vellum tray card, this was lavishly designed by Stephen O'Malley (Sunn 0)))/Khanate). Kosmista Noisea (Finnish for Cosmic Noise) consists of live recordings from 3 different locations during the European tour in 2003-2004. Kosmista Noisea 1 is taken from 2 separate live recordings and uniquely combined in the studio into one piece with Talcent, Italy on the left channel and St.Etienne, France on the right channel. This technique is designed to give more depth and multiple dimensions. Kosmista Noisea 2 is a 45 minutes long non-edit of an entire live performance in Antwerpen/Belgium, showing the diversity of KK Null's music from intense clashing wave of noise to structured electro-acoustic ambience, droning isolationist material.
Metacompound is the first full length studio album from ANP in 19 years. Lavish metallic ink on vellum packaging by ANP fan and Sunn O))) member Stephen O'Malley. . ANP was formed in 1984 by KK Null & Seijiro Murayama. In 1987 ANP broke up. 17 years later they reformed for some live performances and released the singular Live In Japan on Important Records. Metacompound, their first studio recordings in over 19 years, is as undescibable as Live In Japan was. Combining free jazz, heavy rock, industrial noise, glitch and free improvised dynamics, ANP creates a sound that is intirely unprecidented.
artist: Steven R. Smith title: The Anchorite catalog #: IMPREC108 format: cd upc: 793447510828 release date: Sept. 26, 2006
This is the 7th release in Important Records' ongoing Arts & Crafts Series. The Anchorite is a full length vinyl only release packaged in a hand made linocut created,printed, signed and numbered by Steven R. Smith. Limited edition of 500
Eleventh full-length solo release from multi-instrumentalist, instrument builder Steven R. Smith. In contrast to the more labored arrangements of many of his solo records, The Anchorite was recorded in the winter of 2005 without the use of overdubs straight to stereo 2-track using three separate amplifiers and a combination of loops, tapes and live performance. As the title suggests, the record focuses on the nature of solitude and draws upon a black spaciousness seemingly born in the spirit of Popul Vuh, Arvo Part, and Medieval troubadour music.
Steven R. Smith also releases records under the Hala Strana moniker which focus on the traditional music of Eastern Europe, and is a member of the San Francisco improvisational group Thuja. He has recorded for numerous labels including Catsup Plate, Soft Abuse, Emperor Jones, Last Visible Dog, Jewelled Antler, and Darla.
Important's Arts & Crafts series combines hand made packaging created by the artists featured on the recordings that the packaging contains. Previous artists in the series have been Lee Ranaldo, The Dresden Dolls, Jad Fair, The Hafler Trio & My Cat Is An Alien.
Sorry for the intermittent downtime on Brainwashed Radio these last few days. Record heat and power demand has caused a number of power outages at Brainwashed HQ so we'll do our best to keep the music going. Thanks for your patience and support as always! Read More
Christian McShane and Aaron Molina make music from instruments that they don’t know how to use (this is a deliberate move, not a criticism of their playing technique!). On this fourth album by the duo, they are joined by a few guests to jam out a few improvisations. The music they create ranges varies in quality but there are some choice nuggets dotted throughout the disc.
The pieces on I Have Nothing are all quite short. In a few cases I could have done with some more time for the piece to develop but for the most part the lengths are spot on. “Cymbol” is the perfect length; it gradually develops from some abstract scratching noises to a slow rhythm and melody. It hits its high point and peters out at the right time. In general I find it’s hard to get such minimalist arrangements like this to work when they’re under five minutes but If Thousands manage to do it well. The first four or five tracks are wonderful vignettes, capturing strange moods and atmospheres beautifully.
Unfortunately, after starting strong the album loses its steam about half-way in and doesn’t recover. “Walking Otis” marks the start of the decline; it is a dull piece that goes nowhere (almost literally as the field recording used sounds like someone walking in circles). The rest of the disc follows this piece’s lead and ambles about doing nothing. There is the odd track of interest like “Children with Horns” and “Alpha” (and “Alpha” only regurgitates what they were doing earlier on “Cymbol” albeit better). There are a couple of pieces that are OK but don’t fit at all with the rest of the material such as the banjo-led “Stella and Me” which seems like it’s thrown on at the end of the album.
It’s a shame that some great tracks are hidden among so many average pieces. This album could have been reduced down to a fantastic EP but as it is, I’m disappointed. McShane and Molina should have spent more time on I Have Nothing, the two days of improvisation that made up the recording sessions obviously weren’t enough. With more work and a better track selection this could have been a lot better.
On the surface, Follow the Train’s full-length debut has it all. The production is sumptuous, and the skilled musicians frequently create gorgeous, yearning passages. Even the cover is vaguely arty and aesthetically pleasing. Scratching a little deeper, however, I found ordinary lyrics, sometimes painfully so, and little else that generates much excitement.
It seems that songwriter and vocalist Dennis Sheridan has been going through some growing pains recently, from realizing the value of unfulfilled yesteryears on "Endless Summer," to his disastrous yet unrepentant loquaciousness on "I’m Not Sorry," to his existential fears on "Afraid." He rarely sings above a whisper, as if his anguish is too great for him to raise his voice. Given the not-quite-poetry of the album’s title, I’m not surprised. It’s probably for the best, though, considering how unremarkable the lyrics are when looking closer in places. I’m certainly not questioning Sheridan’s sincerity, but the ways he sings combined with the simplicity of some of the lyrics themselves makes any genuinely grand emotions he conveys sound trite.
The music is so well played at the beginning that I didn’t pay attention to the lyrics until the aforementioned "I’m Not Sorry." When he sings, "I’m not sorry/But I’m still sad/I still feel sad," I can only roll my eyes at his self-pity. I thought things might get a little more exciting with a song called "Up in Flames" in which he even mentions the words "Rebel Yell," but alas he’s only talking about the song by Billy Idol and not the bourbon of the same name, which would have been appropriate considering that the group is from Kentucky. Coincidentally, the name of the song that follows is "Kentucky," and it is also the album’s nadir. When Sheridan shares the profound revelation that "Kentucky/Is beautiful," I have to agree. On the couple of dozen North-South trips I’ve made in my life, Kentucky has always been one of the biggest highlights (sorry, Indiana!) with its dramatic hills and exposed rock, yet I would think that such a breathtaking landscape would inspire a sentiment more vivid than "Is beautiful." While it’s no "Georgia On My Mind," this song should at least guarantee the band a coveted slot at the state fair.
In some ways, this feels like a waste of good musicians but sometimes the band isn’t helping. Although the music is well-played, it does little to distinguish itself from its Anglophilic leanings apart from some enjoyable synth flourishes. In all honesty, though, the album is so glossy, unobtrusive, and self-absorbed that there could be a couple of Top 40 hits buried within it and the band will likely have the last laugh as I’m forced to hear them piped out of clothing stores at malls, in car commercials, and during the parts of romantic comedies where the estranged couple dramatically reunites. Until that happens, and it very well could, I’ll be doing my part to bolster Kentucky’s economy by the quantity of Jack Daniels I’m about to consume after hearing this.
Waterline spends some time brooding upon the shattered landscape of New Orleans, as should anyone with a heart. When the waters of the flood receded, a dirty brown/black/beige line remained on buildings everywhere. The disturbing unease of Potpie's avant-expressionism perfectly compliments this physical manifestation of the community's psychological scar.
As per minimalist instruction, Potpie's releases have largely pursued his own version of a straight line for nigh on a decade. All the better then, for being a straight line unfit for use as a sobriety test. At their best, in spite of (or due to) the use of comparitively primitive methods, his hypnotic slabs of monolithic sound have a balance between disquiet and allure akin to a Rothko, albeit one in wax-crayon or marker pen.
On Waterline the trademark sine-wave-generated drones are as intense as ever, yet guitar, chord organ, bullhorn and their ilk, are succesfully reintegrated, without compromising the less-is-more aesthetic. Opener "The Embryo Hunts In Secret" slowly comes into focus as if offering an answer to the unasked and unanswerable question: To what would The Sphinx listen? By contrast, the urgent jolt of "Saturn Jam" suggests a sudden change in circumstances. Perhaps the imagined sound of Sun Ra's life support system being switched off and his soul instantly transported to an unexplored outpost, for a final welcome from jabbering angels and demons.
The clever "Manson/Nixon Jam" has a shrill, threatening atmosphere, but with a detectable Canterbury feel sauntering innocently through the space inhabited by bullhorn and guitar. I anxiously began to imagine Robert Wyatt's injuries arising from a stray bullet on an Ohio campus, rather than from his tumble out of a window.
With very few exceptions, mostly yet to be heard, I detest the sound (almost as much as the social history) of the organ. So, while I personally don't care for "Untitled chord organ solo #1" as a track, (and hope #2 remains unconceived or is strangled at birth) the piece definitely provides useful contrast. Similarly, although organ-free, the immersing and complex claustrophobia of "Instruction in the Great Science of the Six-Syllable Mantra" is every bit as impressive as it is unloveable.
Potpie—like cave painters, boxcar artists, and Mark E. Smith—appears driven to articulate with whatever tools are to hand and in a style of his own choosing. The music has evolved despite an environment predominently composed of disinterest, puzzlement, passive hostility and accidental acclaim. Nevertheless, some of his previous pieces could have flushed Orwellian-style enemy figureheads from hiding, days before Metal Marine Music could take effect. I mean that as nothing less than the square root of a compliment.
The short "Blues For The Lower 9" is undoubtedly the centerpiece of this release and leaves me wishing the track was at least five times as long. It combines a poignant acoustic guitar figure, a drone, and apparently the faraway voices of urban children at play. You've seen them: yelling and barechested, laughing at play in fire-hydrant water, oblivious to being as statistically doomed as kids can be. In New Orleans, they are largely absent now. Eat shit Dr John, Aaron Neville and Wynton Marsalis, for this simple collage is as apt a post-Katrina depiction as I can imagine, in part because, like so many of the displaced lives to which it's echoes pay subtle tribute, it is destined to never be widely heard.
The Backporch Revolution label issues Potpie’s releases in editions of 18, with hand drawn and submerged CD covers. This particular Waterline will soon disappear.
If I could capture a band as a sex symbol, I get the impression that Tapes 'n Tapes would be Johnny Depp and Jessica Alba: nearly everyone wants to sleep with one of the two or both. Like with most sudden sensations, however, there's more sugar coating here than real substance.
Evidence of how much Pavement still means to some people can be found in the reaction this band elicited after their performance at SXSW. There wasn't a single Pixie loving, Malkmus worshipping writer and/or music nut in existence that didn't have words of praise for this four piece plastered across their website at some point. Practically find an entire album's worth of free music from these guys can be found online because everyone wants to spread the joyous word of Tapes 'n Tapes. The Loon is not, however, everything everyone has made it out to be. While it doesn't inspire dry heaves in me every time I hear it, it doesn't exactly make me want to sing hallelujah. Letting the dust settle around a band always seems to reveal a sensation for a dud. The Loon isn't a dud and it thankfully doesn't revolt me. In fact, I like a couple of songs on this album.
The record begins, there is singing, guitar playing, drums pounding, the usual, and then later the album is over and I feel as if I've been cheated of my thoughts. All the musicians are obviously talented and they play well together; all the things that don't necessarily form the building blocks of a great record are present. I wish the band were much worse or much better than they are, because their popularity has now baffled me. How can a band be hailed as a group of mavericks and simultaneously be praised for their apparently deft handling of indie scripture? This is another rock record, another indie album that successfully rides a line between accessible pop and so called sophisticated, tasteful rock.
I suppose it's just another lesson in how out of hand praise can be when a bored or perhaps overexcited fan witnesses what he or she perceives to be a genre or musically defining moment. With the internet, MP3s, blogs, message boards, and a myriad of band sites available, anybody with a computer can access an enormous history of music. Such an advantage can be expected to breed dissatisfaction with repetitious, generic, and derivative music, but the opposite is happening. Everyone knows who Pavement was and now this generation wants a Pavement of their own. I'm bored with it: mediocre music by anyone (Pavement and Tapes 'n Tapes included) is still just mediocre music.