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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For their second album on Secret Eye, this Finnish group salvages gear from some electronic junkyard to make these gurgling basement recordings. Perhaps not, but that’s what the fidelity of this album suggests. It’s not such a bad thing, however, because the recording quality brings a murky depth to the album resulting in an underwater feeling, caressing the music and allowing it so swim.
There are a lot of great, weird things going on here, and the group rarely comes up for air. “Loylyvesi,” for instance, features what could be a deep-voiced animal learning human language for the first time over a barrage of plumbing transformed into tribal rhythm. This one-sided speech eventually becomes a conversation when another beast joins in, which by its dark whisperings has the trappings of a trickster. Eventually something like the beeping of an emergency vehicle shows up in the background.
Crowd chatter starts “Vissyvesi,” which here is divided into two tracks and was recorded live in Dublin with guest Tara Burke. Hard to define low frequency movements, liquid electronics, and guitar squeals establish the scene. Burke, whose Fursaxa material is fairly distinctive, isn’t immediately recognizable, although I suspect she’s one of the banshees wailing during the latter half of the song, but I could be wrong. A sinister riff sneaks into the set before depth charges from the guitar implore the drums to take up a beat.A dime store rhythm begins the second half of “Vissyvesi.” Soon come electronics that could be air escaping the lungs of a drowning victim. After a cartoonish intro, a dementedly childish voice enters the mix. Burke’s voice finally appears thereafter, lending the track a meditative quality on which the album ends.
Although there are only three songs, there are so many changes within the songs themselves that the album never gets static or boring. If anything, the album’s over far too quickly. Having recently made their first U.S. appearance at Terrastock, hopefully I won’t have to wait too long to witness their wonderful muck in person.
Unlockedgroove is proud to present their third release and the first in their SOLID series, branching out from their minimal techno core into funky new realms. Dancing days are here again.
The Dan Bensons Project began as a snotty punk collaboration between the Dan Paluska (aka six million dollar dan) and the Ben Recht (aka localfields), but, after Dan was fatefully dissed by a fine lady at the club, the trajectory was changed forever. With just a beer light to guide him, Dan sketched out the A1 track You're So Lovely at 3 in the morning. Wanting to live vicariously through Dan's womanizing, Ben grabbed hold of his guitar and the mixing console, and the rest... is history. People Tell Me, the A2 track presents slap bass and live drums in lockstep with synth stabs and pounding techno percussion. Finally, the B-side Ladies get on the flo is a falsetto call to arms, demanding you shake your god given ass.
Dan and Ben are busy men. Never able to refuse a public appearance, Dan has hosted a number of radio shows, countless slamming parties, and some of the most influential weeklies in Boston electronic music. He is a prolific star of the electronic arts scene co-curating the Collision event series and hacking together art that falls somewhere under the broad 'new media' category. Notably, his work was featured as the cover art of album "Less Than Human" from The Juan Maclean on DFA records. And for the cable heads, his patented arm bash has starred in a couple reality television shows.
When Ben is not breaking shit in Dan's basement, he can be found throwing down at parties with Mike Uzzi, droning out with the Fun Years, or rocking it solo as Localfields. Ben has released two singles on Zero G Sounds and has upcoming releases on Unlockedgroove, Beat Research and Barge Recordings. He has toured extensively throughout the US and Europe and his Sound Art has been exhibited in the Barcelona Museum of Contemporary Art, the Cooper Hewitt Museum, and the ARS Electronica Center.
A founding member of the late Argentinian trio Reynols, Courtis is no stranger to extreme media. Past works like symphonies for blank tapes, chickens, quartets for whistling kettles, and one piece called Reynols Plays The Eiffel Tower make a record of no-input feedback sound rather tame. And it is, in the best way.
Inspired by ancient rock structures, presumed tombs like stone hallways, Antiguos Dólmenes del Paleolítico is not a composition of pummeling, monolithic noise but a quiet work of blank insistencies, as if Courtis is looking for essential structures when he looks at these rocks, not for history, or calm, or any kind of presence.The piece comes divided into four distinct parts: not monotonous but planar in their construction; never entering the granular, overblown textures susceptible in feedback play or the painstaking prickly landscapes of someone like fellow-no-inputer Toshimaru Nakamura.Courtis’ method is more in the spirit of drone, a twining of cyclical, throb-like modulations on patient, studious trajectory; even at their most shrill (please expect them to get as shrill as they do subterranean), their focus is meditative, a contemplation of spaces, like distant bells echoing across water, signals of the void.
Courtis manages to mingle tones in a dynamic and repetitive way, never overloading or resorting to womb-y crescendos that would compromise such delicate, static advance.The tense, but comfortably insistent higher frequencies (especially in Parts II and IIII) remind of later works by Morton Feldman where shrill woodwinds chiming the same note at regular interval affect a dual monotony by becoming both the piercing pacemaker and grateful grounding to a super-long shallow composition.The third of Antiguos’ four parts abandons the drone-y construction of twining pure tones dominating the other parts, taking instead a reverb-heavy chorus of tiny, chirping whines, miniature arabesques of sculpted feedback that sound remarkably like birds, glistening and twinkling as the glints and glyphs from a dolmen-side might.
Knowledge of the ‘pure feedback’ artifice behind music like this becomes a necessary part of the listening process; it’s something that, to me, always feels cheeky and somewhat subversive, certainly a thread running through Courtis’ time in Reynols.Listening to Antiguos, though, I think less about the nature of the sounds or the obsessive nature of this kind of composition (as I might listening to something by Nakamura, or a sine wave piece).Courtis makes it easy to exist alongside these pieces without too much expenditure towards projected form or content.It’s easier to slowly surge along, to enjoy the room I’m in, to think of how genuinely calming and softly electric a throb can feel, or how living out near some really big rock piles would feel too.
This is an Ache label release of spirited electronic experimentation by eleven different artists, all reworking a sample of sound originally created using only a bicycle. Track #12 is that source material, which you are free to use to create your own piece. While some contributors emphasise rhythm, others favor smoother propulsion. Everyone avoids the temptation to hit-and-run with unnecessary power or weight, in favor of a lighter touch well-suited to this magnificent subject.
All but the best compilations can be patchy, naturally enough. Equally, a brilliant conceptual idea may turn out sounding forced and limited in execution. Thankfully, initial fears that Project Bicycle would be filed under Concept Sublime: Music Unlistenable are dispelled. This recording is jammed full of seductive contrast, yet also has a satisfying flow.
The Aelters track "Roule Brouille" evokes a pleasing ride through a frenetic and sunny marketplace. Jab Mica Och El produces something juddering and melting that's not too far from Kid Koala, while Sun OK Papi K.O.'s simultaneously controlled yet deranged gear and pedal-spinning and horn-squeaking left me wanting more. The results can stand alone, but some of the extra layers of process are amusing: for his contribution, Greg Davis ran the sample through a hand-held tape recorder as he rode around on a bike.
DJ Elephant Power comes up trumps with "Bikebou" perhaps the most evolving and involving work, starting every bit as pleasingly scratchy and repetitive as a section of Xerophonics' Copying Machine Music, before releasing warmth and a climactic softness. Romanhead achieves a slightly brooding and even-paced sound, as does Wobbly, with the clang and pulse of 'Flee You' appearing to take place either underwater or in deep space.
Anyone who enjoyed hearing The Conet Project may find pleasure in the brief, fractured "Les Klaxons de Madame Dupont" by Uske Niko. On "Breaking Away" Jason Forrest manages a fairly subtle cinematic reference and appears to be sprinting into breathless Tour de France mode, only to come an almighty handlebar-flipping-chin-grazing cropper by not sticking to the brief, and, even worse, sampling Queen with predictable and disappointing results.
As mentioned, this music works well even without the listener knowing the concept. I suppose knowledge of the international lineup and accompanying essay on oil, global warming and general planet-friendliness may lead to certain conclusions, but I believe it mattered less to me than how the disc actually sounds. It may be obvious to suggest that this might make good listening for a bike ride, but I wouldn't recommend a rider missing the sounds to be heard out and about in the world. Anyway, watch for potholes and wear something bright.
From the Tindersticks front man’s forthcoming album come two songs which are more like his band than the collection of songs he showcased previously. Both are that kind of epic melancholy orchestral swing that Tindersticks do so well.
“That Leaving Feeling” is a classic Staples plus sultry female singer duets (in this case with Lhasa de Sela) that is very reminiscent of “Travelling Light” and “Buried Bones” from the Tindersticks back catalogue. It doesn’t quite reach the power of these songs but it is still a fine addition to Staples’ repertoire. “There is a Path” also sounds familiar. Staples must have gotten fed up trying to find new styles of music to sing to and gone back to something more comfortable. Staples’ previous solo work, although good, was a break from this cosy style which suits his velvet voice perfectly, but these two songs sound much like what I’ve been waiting for since 2003 (a new Tindersticks record).
This New Zealand group goes underground to summon some nefarious entity to the earthly plane, torment it a little bit for fun, and then banish it back to the void from which it came. None of that is true, of course, but it’s the sort of vivid imagery this strange, dense recording produces.
What is true, however, is that the group used battery-powered generators to record this material outdoors. The locations sound suitably subterranean for work so pleasantly claustrophobic. The album is one ever-shifting, continuous flow that’s divided into six track designations that are almost more reference points than anything else. The markers aren’t arbitrary and delineate very definite change, yet they aren’t completely necessary since this is an album best suited to listening in its entirety in a single sitting.
The first track begins with an ethereal drone that sounds like the humming of alien beings while raspy machinery whirs and clanks in the background, punctuated by light harmonic shimmers. Underneath the drones on the next track are clattering bottles or pieces of metal and unearthly groans. It’s not clear exactly what’s happening, but it hints at something fairly sinister. Someone in the group plucks an instrument on the fourth track and the group builds their clanging into a rhythm as their ritual gains momentum. Whatever prey they have in their sights surfaces dramatically on track five, emitting grotesque growls in whatever passes for language in its native realm. A burst of static erupts in track six, as if their enemy’s prowess has been underestimated, but cooler heads prevail as the band manages to get rid of the entity for good.
Make no mistake, this is no Lovecraftian homage, but rather one of the most fully-realized, unique recordings I’ve had the pleasure of coming across in a long time, making me eager to hear what they do next.
The recordings made by This Heat during the band's brief existence (1976-1982) are marked by a startling originality, a flame burning so intensely that it used up all the oxygen in the room and quickly extinguished itself. The trio of Charles Bullen, Charles Hayward, and Gareth Williams made music that was urgent and political and yet esoteric and subterranean; by turns bright and buoyant, then dark, nebulous and scratchy. The music borrowed freely from krautrock, musique concrête, dub, punk and industrial, but never sounded like anything other than This Heat.
Although certainly one of the most highly regarded and influential of the early British post-punk and industrial scene—along with bands like Throbbing Gristle, Cabaret Voltaire, and 23 Skidoo—This Heat over the years have suffered from the scarcity of good reissues of their work. The elusive These Records imprint would occasionally put Deceit or Repeat back into print in nice digital editions throughout the 1990s, but they would quickly go out of print again, entire runs snatched up by greedy collectors. The original LPs are notoriously impossible to track down, and prohibitively expensive to acquire if found. That's why this beautiful and (mostly) exhaustive six-disc box set Out of Cold Storage—a joint release between These subsidiary This Is and Recommended Records (re-christened ReR Megacorp)—is a godsend for those who have waited years to check out the complete issued works of one of the seminal bands of one of the most fruitful eras of modern music.
Delving into this mammoth box set is not like an archaeological dig, unlike some other groups from the era who haven't aged as well. This Heat sound as relevant today, indeed perhaps more relevant, than they did 30 years ago. Their influence seems to have exploded in the last few years, with the rise of post-punk influenced noise-rock bands toying with techniques such as ramshackle improvisation, drone, repetition, dusty analogue synths and outdated rhythm boxes, tape cut-ups and variable-speed editing, unorthodox vocal harmonies and jarring tempo changes. For anyone interested in exploring the roots and influences of groups such as Black Dice, Animal Collective or Excepter, Out of Cold Storage is the motherlode, collecting both of the band's full-length albums, as well as EPs, John Peel sessions and rare live material. Everything is packaged in digipacks that more or less replicate the original LP sleeves, along with a booklet containing extensive notes and interviews with surviving members and vintage photographs of the band. It's a lot to take in all at once, but for adventurous listeners there is nary a moment of wasted time across all six discs.
This Heat's debut self-titled album (often referred to as Blue and Yellow due to its duochromatic sleeve) still sounds as startling and original today as it must have all those years ago. A song such as "Horizontal Hold" begins in territory far from unfamiliar in the post-punk canon, obtuse upended rhythms and squalls of trebly guitar, tense angularity and a claustrophobic atmosphere of frigidity and angst.
However, the group takes so many bizarre left turns, stopping and starting at totally unexpected intervals; a textural wall of electronic tones that shift and swell with the lead guitar's discombobulated wanderings; sudden unexpected audio dropouts in which the song is reduced just to drums or keyboard. It's thrilling and disorienting music, using the basic building blocks of post-punk in a completely counterintuitive way. "Not Waving" matches trebly electronic drones with sketchy jazz improv, slowly transforming into something that sounds a bit like a Robert Wyatt piece backed by a gamelan orchestra. Extensive use of cassette varispeeds and stacks of delay turn sketchy percussive pieces such as "Water" into proto-industrial nightmare landscapes. "24 Track Loop" is a classic rhythm track, an upended skeletal dance groove treated to a galaxy of dubby studio effects, heavy cocaine-brain metallic flanges, weird phasing and sudden drops into the echo chamber. As awesome as anything done by TG or Cabaret Voltaire around this same time period.
A lot has been written about This Heat's follow-up album, the superlative avant-pop album Deceit, so I will be brief here. Suffice to say that it's one of the best albums of the era or any era, the group making a concerted effort to work within basic song structures, using emotionally-charged lyrics to weave a dark fever dream that feels personal, political, elegiac and revolutionary. There are moments of raging, incendiary anger, and moments of quietly expressive beauty.
Certain moments lay bare the recording process itself, snatches of feedback and jagged cuts. The band's multi-part vocal harmonies are used to stunning effect, the music a heady mix of krautrock-style motorik repetition, detuned guitar, intense beds of discomfiting electronics and shambolic noisemaking. The album is unparalleled in the postpunk canon, in which it has no obvious peer, and I've always found it easier to compare it to all-time classic Can albums such as Tago Mago or Ege Bamyasi. Not that Can ever had lyrics nearly as suggestive or meaningful as those on "S.P.Q.R." or "Cenotaph," among others, expressing not just the angst of their generation, but also of eternal struggles that rage throughout history. There's nothing else to say about it other than that it is easily one of the best albums ever recorded.
The Health and Efficiency EP gets its own disc here, although it consists of only two tracks. The title track was This Heat's attempt at producing something sunny and positive as an antidote to the alarming wave of poisonous nihilism that threatened to choke their social milieu: "Here is a song about the sunshine/dedicated to the sunshine."
It's a beautifully dense rock song, possibly the most straightforward song This Heat ever recorded, though it doesn't lack the band's usual propensity for sudden left-turns into strange and disorienting territories, odd field recordings over chugging and repetitive beats. The B-side is "Graphic/Varispeed," which on the original LP contained a note that it could be played at any desired RPM: 16, 33, 45 or 78. Unfortunately, the limitations of the CD format necessitate that it appear at only one speed, in this case 45 RPM. It's a fascinating bit of thickly suggestive subterranean drone, dusty and analog as hell, sputtering and shifting speed at irregular intervals, sounding like the wet dream of modern droners such as Beequeen or The Hafler Trio. Made Available collects both of the band's Peel sessions, combining fantastically possessed renditions of tracks from the debut album with an amazing one-off heavy prog number ("Rimp Romp Ramp") and a handful of puzzling avant-jazz sketches that never really go anywhere, but I'd happily take This Heat's toss-offs over most band's finest hours.
Repeat is another favorite of mine, a collection of three lengthy tracks, two of which are variants of previous This Heat tracks. The title track is an extended variation on "24 Track Loop" that qualifies as a completely separate track, as the way it unfolds is in stark contrast to the version on Blue and Yellow, though it utilizes much of the same sound material. Add expert remixers to the list of This Heat's accomplishments.
The version of "Graphic/Varispeed" included here doesn't seem to change much from the Health and Efficiency EP, though perhaps it plays a bit slower (33 RPM?), which accounts for its extended length. The real gem here is "Metal," a 23-minute mind-melter of clattery industrial percussion that sounds at times like 23 Skidoo's TheCulling is Coming or early Einsturzende Neubauten filtered through the sensibility of Indonesian gamelan, Harry Partch, Z'ev and Alan Splet's sound design for David Lynch's Eraserhead. Its tangible arrhythmia journeys through blasted-out furnace factories filled with rusted oil drums, metal pipes, shaman's rain sticks and trance-inducing tape loops and overlays. Repeat is certainly one of This Heat's more challenging works, but no less rewarding. The box set is named after Cold Storage, the abandoned industrial refridgeration unit in which the band recorded the bulk of their material, and its hard not to feel the oppressive frigidity and stark emptiness of this setting on recordings such as this.
Finally there is the rare, unreleased live material, entitled Live 80/81, collected from performances at various European venues during the last tour of the proper trio of Charles, Charles and Gareth. The recording quality is less than ideal, sounding downright muddy most of the way through, with an overload of treble, frequent tinniness and other nagging problems.
Still, one can certainly hear what amazing shows these must have been, with the band performing tight and well-rehearsed versions of tracks from both albums and the EP. Unfortunately, the sound quality on this CD is little better than that on some of the more widely-distributed live This Heat bootlegs that have popped up over the years, which isn't saying much. I'm far from a "quality queen," but at least a little bit of range and fidelity is necessary to fully enjoy a live recording, and these qualities are in short supply on this CD. The liner notes of the disc threaten: "Further CDs from other stages in This Heat's music to follow, including collaborations, improvisations and site-specific work as well as other live CDs." One can only hope that subsequent material will be of slightly better quality, though I (and I imagine others, too) will eagerly buy it and listen no matter what shape its in.
It's hard for me to believe that there weren't enough studio outtakes or alternate takes or mixes to include at least a disc's worth of unreleased material, but that's just as well. What is here is exactly what is promised; all of the music ever released by This Heat, plus more. The packaging is fantastic; true fans will be overjoyed, and those wanting to check the band out for the first time could do worse than just take the plunge and get it all in one fell swoop. This is the most vital, energetic, dizzylingly creative music ever produced under the vague rubric of "post-punk," more than worth its weight in gold.
There is a big difference between a musician and a gearhead, and when the music becomes more about the technological process than the product, its creators sadly become the most entertained audience.
Tech fetishists can rejoice in the new collaboration between Antony Ryan and Robin Saville. Not only does it sound like it has been produced by people who spent far more time messing with each individual blip than writing powerful melodies; the cover artwork is a schematic diagram showing the duo's setup with labels for LFO, OSC, ring mod, envelope, and other stuff that only tech-heads could possibly find cool. There are some cool sounds on the album, don't get me wrong; Isan have clearly mastered the craft of sound creation. Although the music is instrumental electronic pop, I never feel I'm hearing the same tired old sounds used for beats, bass and melody.
Plans Drawn In Pencil is 45 minutes of peaceful music which I have, on more than one occasion, used to fall asleep to and could easily have playing in the background at work. Warm bass sounds are on the threshold of hearing in the tracks "Look and Yes," while "Ship" is like how I feel when I'm out in the country, away from all the city lights under a galaxy of bright stars.
I listen to a lot of music that is void of melody and focused on the development of the sounds themselves, however most of the artists disregard the pop framework and let songs and sounds evolve into much more vast and monumental pieces. The best tracks on this disc are far too short: "Seven Mile Marker" and "Roadrunner" have a promising momentum, but Ryan and Saville miss good opportunities for lead melodic development. I would love to hear the beat-less "Immoral Architecture" stretched out beyond 20 minutes, however at only 3½, it leaves much more room for throwaway bits like the gimmicky slowing of "Five to Four, Ten to Eleven" or the cheesy fake theremin sounds on "Yttrium" (which is not a Fridge cover).
By the end of the disc, I'm not in discomfort, but I'm also not satisfied. While Isan might be experimenting with more daring musical endeavors, the duo could easily be doomed to be only represented by what the record labels they work with are prepared to release.
The third part of Nurse With Wound’s Echo Poeme Sequence was delayed heavily thanks to problems with pressing the 7" single. I can't say it was entirely worth the wait as both the audio content and quality of the pressing are not up to scratch.
The 7" format does not allow enough time for the piece to unfold. While the material here isn't more than a stone’s throw from the other parts of Echo Poeme it doesn’t have the time to build up to the hypnotic beauty I enjoyed with the previous releases. It only feels like the tracks (“Mona Twisted” and “Twisted Mona”) are getting going when the disc runs off. It also doesn’t help that it sounds thin and distorted when the female voice uses sibilant sounds. I was hoping for a good quality and heavy piece of vinyl but what arrived was a thin and almost bendy sliver of vinyl. For the money involved I would have thought a higher grade pressing would have been achieved, especially since so many copies of Sand Tangled Women were sent back to the factory for being inadequate.
While there are no obvious peak hour dancefloor decimators to be found here, this apparent Random Trio member's solo debut on Tectonic makes a fine addition to any dubstep DJ's arsenal.
What this relative newcomer lacks in intensity he certainly makes up for in brooding atmosphere, as exemplified best on "Rebellion," where the hospital room heart monitor blips and echo chamber plonks adorn this heavy head nodder. Omen has a firm grasp on creating and maintaining a strong low end vibe, which remains everpresent on the two B-side cuts. The ominous textures of "Frontline" are punctuated by a punchy bassline that inevitably breaks out of its shell to demand attention as the prime melodic element to fixate on, even though a buzzy synth hook tries its best to dominate closer to the end. "Aphrodite" closes this record out with backwards-played beats, ghastly digeridoo-esque groans, and, of course, deep dark bass vibrations.
I'm left completely confused listening to this album, trying to keep up with Dustin Krcatovich's wily, random sense of humor and creative, scattershot imagination. Musically, Krcatovich is ubiquitous. One moment his music is the product of exposure to home recordings and pop music and at another it is the product of listening to "Revolution 9" too many times.
Vive La Fantastique! Avec Actual Birds and Friends begins with "Honesty is Still My Best Policy," a song rooted in the Velvet Underground's simplicity, but reaching for a more finely produced fuzz. The suggestion is of the mid to late 1960s, with enough retrospect to make up for any of the edgy aspects of that period that didn't work or come to fruition. The bits of this album that sound like pop music are nice and clean, with all the charm that a home recording has to offer. The other parts are fairly typical exercises in tape manipulation and looping. Voices rebound, echo, wash, and repeat in often nonsensical patterns. Instead of expanding the album's reach and offering more to fans of strange music and pop alike, this inclusion of strange sounds basically severs the album from itself. The disc no longer sounds like a coherent or cohesive package and begins to sound like a random assembly of songs that didn't fit anywhere else, either.
With the first quarter of the album sounding like a competent set of songs, this is a bit of a disappointment. Krcatovich introduces the album well, and until "O Ye of Little Faith (Something I Should Not See)" begins, there's no reason to think that the album is about to sink under the weight of its own conception. From that point forward, the "experimental" end of the album begins; while there are recognizable songs on some of them, there's also a huge load of unnecessary effects, distortion, and strange instrumentation littered over Krcatovich's voice. His songs do just fine as little guitar numbers. They're catchy without needing any weird production or unusual technique thrown in for spice. It is possible to do too much to a song or a record, Actual Birds has made the mistake of doing just that. Not only do the songs become stranger and less appealing as they go, but the way Krcatovich sings begins to fall out of harmony with the music; in some places the juxtaposition is jarring and uncomfortable.
This is the first effort from an obviously ambitious musician, but some amount of temperance will be needed to take his raw talent and turn it into something worthwhile from beginning to end. As it stands, now, there are a few treats on this record, but not enough to warrant multiple listens. Tape loops and pop songs does not an experimental album make, so maybe Actual Birds should just stick to what they're best at: writing some decent hooks. That'll improve whatever their next release is a thousand fold.