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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Acid Mothers Temple have no shame, and that's not such a bad thing.They've taken aim at their idols before by approximating the albumcovers or titles of Hendrix, Zappa, and King Crimson, among others, andhave paid tribute to the likes of Hawkwind and Gong. This time they settheir sights on Black Sabbath, even going so far as to reenact thecover of Sabbath's first album, with Acid Mother guru Kawabata Makotoenrobed before a countryside home. With their other tributes, theobject of reverence is a starting point, not a destination in itself,and this one proves to be no exception.
The title track is the meat of the beast, beginning with a minute ofbooms and gongs reminiscent of a thunderstorm before launching intosome slow, heavy Sabbath-esque riffs. Squealing guitar and syntheffects accompany the vocals of bassist Tabata Mitsuru, whose voicecaptures some of the sound and feeling of Ozzy's more than it does themelody. The pace is slower than most AMT fare, but things speed upconsiderably around the eight and a half minute mark. The groupconvincingly imitates the Sabbath guitar sound here and the rhythmsection is particularly tight, giving listeners something on which tohang their ears or even providing them with a chance to gasp for airduring Makoto's guitar explorations. Around the sixteen minute mark,everything comes to a wailing halt before the band returns to thedirge-like tempo that started the song. This pattern continues for theduration of the piece, until a couple of minutes before the ending,when the group makes a smooth transition to acoustic guitar andprocessed vocals to cool down.
Clocking in at nearly thirty-five minutes, the length alone may taxsome listeners. However, the second track, "Woman From A Hell,"provides relief, which with a running time of six minutes is uncommonin the Acid Mothers canon for its brevity. This one condenses many ofthe ideas of the title track, and accomplishes much of the sameevocation of Sabbath, but with the vocals in a more prominent role. Thedisc comes full circle, ending with thunderstorm sounds much like theones which started the album. Though the title track could have beenshortened and perhaps an additional track included, this album remainsone of the group's more accessible releases in some time and shouldplease fans old and new alike.
According to the group's website, Makoto is reviving the MeltingParaiso U.F.O. line-up after a year of recording and touring with theCosmic Inferno. This is a shame of sorts, since the Cosmic Infernoinfused a much-needed vitality to the group that it had lacked sincethe departure of vocalist Cotton Casino. Yet the reformed MeltingParaiso U.F.O. has the potential to be even better since, if anything,Makoto seems to be the Mother of Reinvention.
With lyrics hinting of violence, repression, and longing, Liz Durrettmaintains an air of soured innocence, as if grappling with thetransgressions she's witnessed and whether or not forgiveness ispossible. She mines decidedly different territory with her evocation ofa haunted South. Personal tragedies, hiding places, and the unravelingof mysteries infect her second album with a melancholy as insidious asthe kudzu she invokes on her track "Creepyaskudzu." Although she playsguitar on all but one of the tracks, her use of the instrument servesmore as a backdrop since the emotional weight of the material restsalmost solely on her voice.
The subtle yet superb production of Durrett's uncle, Vic Chestnutt,brings the album to life. Vic, who along with his wife Tina accompaniesDurrett on a variety of instruments, fills the space with minimalarrangements that support the songs themselves without causing undodistraction, such as the faint panning distortion underneath "Cup onthe Counter," or the xylophone offsetting feedback on "No Apology."Since Durrett rarely sings above a whisper, Chestnutt wisely layers anddouble-tracks her voice for maximum impact.
The first half of the album proceeds at a similar pace until shebreaks up the flow with her piano instrumental, "Silent Partner," whichalso would have been a good opening track since its melody encapsulatesmany of the dark themes found elsewhere on the album. Her vocal styledoesn't alter too much until "Marlene," where she extends notes in adisplay of acute vulnerability. However, it's not until the final song,"In the Throes," that she finally fills the space with the amplitude ofher voice rather than the texture.
The frustrating thing is that sheproves that she has a voice capable of variation, but she doesn'texplore the possibilities nearly enough. It's also a shame she doesn'ttake more musical chances like she does when she plays feedback on "NoApology." Yet The Mezzanine is an accomplishment in itself by the wayit invokes the geography, both physical and mental, of a landscape that"hides what it chokes/is it not beautiful."
Ivan Pavlov’s new album evokes the feeling of flying. Above Air is an apt title for this release. The music here sounds like it could almost be recordings of stratosphere. There is a vast spaciousness in the music that I haven’t detected before in Pavlov’s work. It is reminiscent of Coil’s work as ELpH, it is not quite of this world but not quite alien either.
“BetweenHeaven and Earth” starts off with bell-like noises that have a tinnitusquality about them. Before long the piece opens up with glitchy beatsand voices from the ether swimming in. “Dancing in Silence” sounds likea flock of colorless birds in migration. The crass use of similecannot convey how magical this music sounds. The way Pavlov sculpturessound is masterful. He has dropped the more cluttered style that he hasemployed on previous releases; Above Air is much more minimal withlong sections of soft noise relieved by spits of sound.
My description of the music may make it sound like it’s all ambient soundscapes but most of the time it is very rhythmic. “Lungs Leak a Lullaby” builds up from intermittent blips and drones to what becomes the closest thing to a melody on the album. It’s too bad it’s so short as it could have progressed into something really danceable. Instead it breaks down and “I Smile I Know” takes over. The pace is slowed considerably as a popping sound repeats every few seconds. The shift in speed and sound brings me back to the previous stratospheric statements, it’s like being caught in an updraft or coming out of cloud into a blue sky. The album finishes with the turbulent “Beneath my Sun-Proof Eyelids Truth Never Sleeps” which seems to tie together all the sounds and feelings of the preceding tracks.
Above Air is the most enjoyable COH album I’ve heard. It retains the distinctive style of Pavlov’s previous releases but there’s a new element to the sound. It sounds less restricted, it still has the playfulness that I’ve always liked in his music, there’s a new freedom that makes this album remarkable.
Although Cave is listed first, the influence of Warren Ellis dominatesthe songs. Many are instrumentals constructed from gentle violindrones, with occasional piano, plucked guitar, and drums. Thearrangements bring to mind imagery common to Westerns: dust, anoverbearing sun, sweat.
This is the soundtrack to a film Cave also scripted. Set inthe Australian Outback of the late 1800s, the movie is about twobrothers who are captured after raping a pregnant woman and murderingher entire family. The proposition in question is for one of thebrothers to find and kill their eldest brother, who masterminded themassacre and remains at large, within nine days. In return, theauthorities will grant him a pardon and spare the life of his youngestbrother, who otherwise will be hung on Christmas Day.
Like any soundtrack, themes are frequently revisited, with threevariations each of "The Proposition" and "The Rider." Cave's vocals appear sporadically, invokingthemes of blood, death, and religion that will be familiar to long-timefans of his work. His delivery is for the most part low-key, suitablylacking the bombast that has infused much of his other material. As a whole, thealbum is not static by any means, and has some interesting areas ofdivergence. One of the more unusual tracks is "Martha's Dream," whichhas a vaguely sinister krautrock vibe. And almost two minutes into "TheRider #2," the song erupts with feedback and machinery not dissimilarto ex-Bad Seeds guitarist Blixa Bargeld's other group, EinsturzendeNeubauten.
It is problematic to judge a soundtrack's merits without having seenthe film it accompanies. In the US, the film screened at the PortlandInternational Film Festival in mid-February, yet it won't hit theatersin New York until May, from where it will presumably spread in limitedrelease. Even so, the soundtrack hints at the feel of the film with itsunified mood, one that is more likely to appeal to fans of the slow,sweeping violins of the Dirty Three than to those of Cave's other work,though fans of Cave may still appreciate the chance of pace.
Likethe one done for Schoolhouse Rock several years ago, this tribute toDimension 5 Records features current artists covering (or remixing)educational children's songs. From army ants to using your imagination,their songs taught about the world outside (and inside) and made it fun.
Dimension 5 Records, aka Bruce Haack and Esther Nelson, recordedchildren's records for nearly 30 years beginning in 1962. The '60strippy vibe carries through the album and meshes with a more modernhip-hop feel. The result is 72 minutes of sugary bubble-gum pop that'sconsistently great fun, which is educational too! Topics rangefrom spiders and how they spin their webs to Native Americans to "soultransportation" (which seems to be somewhere between daydreaming andmeditation).
The Apples in Stereo's "Liza Jane" is a sweet bit of country-tingedpop, and Fantastic Plastic Machine's energetic mix of seven differentsongs is a standout track. The compilation also features one-timecollege radio darlings Eels, Stereolab, and Beck lends a little starpower to the mix. As an added bonus, a portion of the proceeds fromthis album are donated to autism charities.
Before I found the solo releases of Heather Leigh, the only solo pedal steel player I was familiar with was American Music Club’s Bruce Kaphan. Where he built a bed of sound and fleshed out songs with single colour washes of sound, Leigh is an all-around more powerful, complex, and unreserved player. This is not only a reinvention of the instrument, a yanking from its subtle country roots, but also her best recorded work to date.
As gorgeous a release as this indisputably is, I’m still a bit wary of the migraine / lysergic coloured-in cover art. The photograph of Heather sitting in an open plan, gas powered outhouse isn’t as stunningly and intensely simple as her last LP cover. This is hardly a cause for complaint though as the rest of the packaging is pretty and simply done with a delicate looking hand numbered / stamped inlay.
Her instrument’s aircraft birth drones fold and refold into a fairground frenzied alarm creating a positively blatant melody. By ragging out NY police sirens with her nails, the centre of attention slips easily between the two. Leigh’s trademark keen wails perforate the inflamed strained sound woozily creating vertigo tingles through the head. Like an inverse helter skelter the skittering sparks flit from the edge of a wall of lace and thunder. In parts of both the songs on Pot Baby her vocals have a more human, less obscured quality which slips between the higher and lower registers.
As these pedal engorgings die down into little thunders and emissions, a beautiful harmonica part begins. This is an incredible juxtaposition of sounds and styles, as drone improve hits the lone evening porch American folk sound. One is a muddied and restless mass of scrambled EQ and the other a sweetly free of effects and conventionally tuneful, fresh and human melody. An obvious pointer that I’m in love with a release is when I find myself wasting overcast afternoon’s imagining fantasy releases like a Heather Leigh solo harmonica CDR.
The return of the pedal steel sees notes turn crooked and becoming bent as seen through murky turbulent water. Her fingers must’ve been clawing and clambering over the steely strings to produce choppy chimes like these. As the piece progresses the music begins to take on the form of soft guitar work. The lonesome single notes and pale vocal seem like half-processed snapshots revealing a beauty sometimes unheard above or clearly through the squalls and thousand and one torrent of tones.
The second untitled piece begins as a lone vocal solo work, but soon she manipulates the music into an off kilter piano. The sound moves slowly as if on an angle, like taking the first curve of a mobius musical curve. Seemingly determined to keep out of the red, the queasy shaking sound begins to shape up like a furiously shaken hand held am radio. Soon slowing up, it becomes like a gorgeous desert dawn horizon loop. This is road music; music for the end of the road. For the first time on this CDR her steel shearing vocals make her sound like she’s capable of evil deeds. Razored vocals and bursts of operatic lines are doubled up and lag behind each other, leaving a strangled aura.
This release expands upon her second album, Give the Ashes to the Indians, and moves the sonic possibilities of a Heather Leigh release forwards several million miles. Her discography is now essential.
Mush'srecent reissue of Pedro's debut album brings the UK producer's subtle blendof downtempo beats and minimalist pop melodies to a stateside audience.If the album's nine tracks of superbly produced mood music aren'tenticing enough, Mush has been kind enough to throw in the "Fear andResilience" remix single for good measure.
I wrote about Pedro's single from Melodic (here) and I'm glad that the full length is finally available from Mush asPedro's sound is one I can always use in a bigger dose. It's a goodthing too that the single is included here as a second disc becausewith a nine track album where two tracks are taken up by a prettyunnecessary "Intro" and "Outro," the record would have felt a littlethin on its own. Luckily, it seems short because the music sandwichedbetween the opening and closing tracks is so good that I just wantedmore of it.
"Fear and Resilience" remains the strongest track with its adventurousmix of tones and styles that should work in harmony but require anexpert approach to composition to avoid feeling hacked together. Therest of the album doesn't play with quite as broad a sonic range, butwhat it lacks in bombast it makes up for in nuance. The tracks blendperfectly together too, creating a seamless long-player experience thatjust needs to be a little... longer. Whether Pedro is using simple,repeating piano figures or percolating electro beats, the songs allhave a kind of warm emotional resonance. This is the perfect kind ofrecord for Mush, a label that's released some of the best and warmestdowntempo instrumental records in the last few years. With theprevious single and now this album, Pedro's definitely roped me in. Now he just needs to get to recording something new.
Daniel Menche gets a lot of respect from almost everyone who likes or makes noise. Perhaps it's because Menche has a sandwich named after him in the northwest; a sandwich so full of spice and flavor that it has caused sensory overload in some and sent others into a blissful and traumatic episode.
It is a fact that Daniel Menche's music has more flavor than the leading noise brand, his work more satisfying, spicy, and filling than name brand competitors. His determination to stick out, to provide dynamic energy and musical play are all present, even on these early recordings.
As far as I can tell from available discographies, Daniel Menche's career stretches back at least 13 years. What appears to be his official website features a Bon Scott quote and his music is often a strange amalgam of distended samples, fractured machinery, and frightening ghost-talk. Over a decade of making music and Menche is still altering and perfecting his craft. More so than some, his work seems especially the work of a true craftsman. According to the liner notes on this collection from Soleilmoon, Menche likes to approach his work in the same way an artist or an author would approach an ambitious project of some significant size or grandeur. His meticulous attention to detail, his refusal to allow any part of his music become redundant or unnecessarily bland makes him so good at what he does. These are not walls of static, these are not tracks full of hacked up and unintelligible samples; these are, instead, compositions with a wide range of flavors, rhythmic devices, and surprises. Daniel Menche apparently had a sandwich named after him because he just wasn't satisfied with the ingredients he was being served. This sort of attitude's built one hell of a tasty record.
Scattered Remains: Early Rarities collects a series of rare or out of print 12" records, 7" releases, and compilation tracks from 11 different labels. Unlike Menche's full-length work, these individual tracks are geared to be complete unto themselves, not part of some larger picture. This makes listening to portions of this rather large double CD set far easier; there is no need to listen to the entire disc to fully appreciate the power of Menche's compositions. On each track that power is evident as it pours from the speakers, sometimes aggressively and sometime slowly. A track like "Here Is Proof That You Are Not a Ghost" represents Menche's ability to burn slowly, to accumulate tension to the point of an orgasm, and then let it recede slowly, exquisitely, like the most comprehensive and breath taking comedown ever. He mingles disparate ideas, harsh and soft noises, to stunning ends. As soon as a track feels like it might end in the hands of another composer, Menche suddenly begins reconstructing what he had just destroyed. New peculiarities begin to sizzle and rise to the surface and before anything can be easily digested, Menche has, seemingly through magic, constructed a new edifice of sound. Hearing this process is a pleasure in and of itself, but being in its storm is the biggest draw. Menche has a way of making his work labyrthine; it is quite easy to get lost in his sounds. They always bubble or shiver with life, exploding with the kind of energy I'd expect from a catastrophic solar event. When sounds moan, they feel genuine, like a breath escaping the artist.
But, before moving on, Menche always has a way of snapping the whole work together, of bringing everything together for one final blast or uneasy movement. This music demands attention and is not just for those satisfied with wandering. This requires close listening to be enjoyed completely.
No two tracks repeat anything on either of these discs, unless, of course, Menche decided to tie some thematic between the two. His process, his manner of executing sound keeps each piece fresh and surprising. There are peaks and valleys in his work, a clear sense of pacing, tension, and dynamic play. What separates Menche from the boys is his dedication to heterogeneous listening experiences; there is absolutely no reason to think that pure sound is pure noise and, as such, Menche likes to layer and shift new sounds throughout every track. No two seconds are ever the same and, it would seem, that Menche refuses to rely on anything like loops or prerecorded samples. The liner notes speak of Menche's refusal to use a computer during these early stages and the joy he felt learning how to work with sound. I've seen pictures of his live performances and I can only describe them as shamanistic.
It makes sense that Bon Scott's quote graces his website. Menche's music comes from the body, from the heart, from the blood that runs through him. It shows in the power his music exudes and in the care taken with every track. His work is austere, in some respects, relying on itself and not some flashy or shocking ornamentation to help it along. There are no violent sex references on this that I can find, no need for grotesque imagery, and no sign of gonzo theatrics in what Menche does. There's just the purity of his work and the fact that he has more going for him as a noise artist than just about anyone else that might be hip enough to get mentioned for their brutality or their sheer dedication to complete chaos. I find those groups entertaining, too, but Menche's work is absolutely mesmerizing. When he calls a song "Unholy Cricket Fuck," there's a good goddamned reason for it. Menche is exacting, pure, and absolutely dedicated to what he does. He's a master chef amongst a gaggle of brown-bagging school boys, a chef with a bag full of all sorts of ingredients most people don't even know exist.
This split from two of the newest wave of black metal was originally released on LP two years ago. It quickly sold out but thankfully has been reissued with four extra tracks. Both Malefic and Wrest’s status have grown immensely since the original release thanks to their recent collaborations with Sunn O))) and demand for their own work has increased accordingly. Although neither artist sounds remotely like Sunn O))), both have far more in common with Norwegians who hang around churches with Zippos.
The first seven tracks are devoted to Malefic’s Xasthur. I loved his vocals with Sunn O))) but here they don’t sound as powerful as they get a little lost in the guitar noise and blast beats. Still, the songs are heavy and reeking of menace. The tracks from the original release are good but for me the three bonus tracks are the most interesting. The instrumental “Achieve Emptiness” is a moody keyboard piece that has the potential to burst into something amazing but Malefic just seems to abandon it at the end which is a shame. My disappointment was soon obliterated with the mighty “Telepathic with the Deceased” which absolutely slays. The vocals are extraordinary and the guitars have more beef to them than on other tracks. What makes it more impressive is the fact that it is a rehearsal recording, not a finished piece. Xasthur finish off in style with a Katatonia cover and leaving Leviathan with a lot to live up to.
I found that Leviathan didn’t quite manage to reach the intensity that Xasthur achieved. In fact, even as far as Leviathan material goes, this isn’t the strongest set of songs that Wrest has written. “The Remotest Cipher” is the best of the three tracks present on the CD, in particular the last three minutes or so of it when the synth comes to the front really floated my boat. The album finishes on a bit of an anticlimax with Leviathan covering Judas Iscariot’s “Where the Winter Beats Incessant.” Wrest musically doesn’t capture the darkness of the original, there’s something lacking. At least the vocals sound like he’s choking on something unpleasant (which is a good thing).
This split album is a fine entry point to both artists' work, but, aside from one or two tracks, doesn’t represent the best work of either of them. However I’m hoping that the increased interest in black metal will result in more hard to find releases getting a reissue like this so I can fill the holes in my collection.
I'm not used to Ms. John Soda feeling fuzzy. Their sound tends to be more crisp, precise, and often coolly (if not coldly) digital, as if you could feel the ones and zeros scraping past your ears. But "A Nod on Hold," the opening song from Notes and the Like, is teeming with a bubbly electronic bed, couched in a serenade of strings. It's fluffier and warmer than usual for the band, who espouse a pop-electronic ethos while still clinging to a rock ideal which helps to make their songs more angular.
The Couch/Notwist hybrid duo return to form throughout the rest of the album, though "A Million Times" might be an additional glitch of fuzz on the album. Stephanie Böhm's wispy vocals are the centerpiece of each song, adorned elegantly by Micha Acher's playful electronics. Acher's machinations seem to operate independently of Böhm's voice, as if the one or the other was unscripted. Yet the two intertwine seamlessly and inexplicably in each song. Böhm's vocals are at their best and breathiest on "Hands," one of the albums two anthems (I'll let you find the other). Two-thirds of the way through the song, all the music dissipates except for the thematic siren-like notes and the vocals. This carefully-measured moment crystallizes how delicately Böhm enunciates her words and how perfectly Acher props his partner with articulate foundations of sound. Rockier numbers like "Scan the Ways," "No. One," and "Outlined View" are a pleasant obverse to the poppier bits of the album, albeit it an expected one.
Ms. John Soda's first album contained the same dichotomy in approximately the same proportions. The first few seconds of "No. One" (re-recorded from the While Talking EP) remind me of a Rodan song, but I can't recall which one. The two bands are hardly relatable at first thought, but the more I listen, the more I can hear Tara Jane O'Neil's earlier and uncultivated voice in Böhm's. The previously-released "Sometimes Stop, Sometimes Go" (also from the While Talking EP) still stands out as a highlight and you begin to understand why they included it on this album. It features both modes of Böhm's vocals: the spoken (droll, heavy) and the sung (light, ethereal even), wherein the contrast of the two is where the success of the song hides. "Plenty Of," the album's closer, is marked by a somber tone absent from the other songs. The strings lament, Böhm exhales monotonously, and Acher, always disciplined, restrains himself from doing too much with the parting coda. It's a true goodnight ballad, ending suddenly without significant closure.
Does it end with a kiss, a silence, or a phonecall tomorrow? I can't quite tell, but the question still resonates and I try to listen intently for the answer each time.
Kamerman finds the vein and plots a course for the dark arterial parts that elude many other artists. These two pieces are messily organic noise improvisational / compositional voyages that map out the kind of areas that is often alluded to but rarely visited.
The screeching base of the CDR’s thirty minute opener, "For Sarah Schwartz—the Black Horse Troop was the Fairest of the Fair," hides a prayer call style loop inside the twitchy layers. Within the primitive high end noise factor lays the strong idea of some form of field recording with a moving undercurrent of hothouse air. The building heat-sucking beat built from a sweat soaked wobble board drives the piece in endless circuits building uneven pressure and overt tension. Occasionally splitting this is a lizard’s tail whip (an organic sound with digital edges) which in its trail leaves the expectation of unexpected sounds around the next corner.
The fluttering sawing motion leaves tiny shifts and fluctuations in the sound, sometimes steady and sometimes drifting. Brief passages of acoustic plucking move under the ridged and ribbed soundscapes. The near industrial vibe of these steadier movements adds to the darker aspects in Kamerman’s palette. Even with this muffled march the music around it is hacked and Stanley knifed into grey ribbons of whispery percussion; a berserk remote control parade.
"Freedback 1 (Waverley Place)," the second shorter piece, reveals a more delicate but more unsettling closer miced affair. There's an unpleasant delicacy in the frequencies that seems to scratch at balance and awareness when played extremely loud. The long high whines could be construed as creepy but instead appear more like the audible radar surveying the area. The slide of signals back and forth becomes either a wash of breezes or a painful drill or combined and relatively harmless tones.