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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I've been worried about music without discernable melodies or intriguing concepts lately because I'm finding more and more that they fail me. A host of "difficult" bands have released album after album of strange sounds and subconscious cut and paste tactics, but more often than not there's something musical, fun, or catchy playing side by side with all the insanity. Greg Davis and Steven Hess both reach for that extra something on this disc, but come away with an important piece of the musical puzzle missing.
I used to be fascinated with how bands made records. First some band would process a guitar through eight billion filters and then play it backwards and in the end they'd apply some trick of engineering whimsy and boy wasn't that great. Here's an album made out of nothing but paper being shredded and here's a record that employs African stringed instruments I've never heard of, much less heard. I would listen to these albums for weeks and months at a time, completely ignoring the fact that there wasn't one catchy song or even a recognizable hook anywhere in the music. I was happy with that, music isn't restricted to conventional melody or structure and many of my favorite musicians reflect that belief.
Greg Davis has exemplified that ideal over his last several releases, concentrating on tonal qualities and minimalist structures, using strange instruments in strange ways and immediately grabbing my attention for it. But for all the fancy production techniques and neat sounds there have always been beautiful melodies, a sense of playfulness, and the presence of shining beauty to counteract and interact with Davis' more abstract tendencies.
His work with Steven Hess ignores all of those important elements; the bits and pieces of a recording that make it stand out as being more than just random assembly of noises. Decisions is composed of processed and live percussion. The majority of the songs are mostly quiet, humming bits of time that don't sound unlike an organ slowed down to unreal speeds. When the album is quiet and unremarkable it simply pulsates in the background, requiring little to no attention. The quiet bits of each song require little more than a quiet space to play them in. When the album tries to draw my attention it does so through volume and increased rhythmic intensity, becoming a busy mass of odd pops, hums, and other space station sounds. The gongs, bells, and cymbals used to make some of these songs sound beautiful by themselves, why bother processing them? The best part of this album comes on the fourth track when Davis basically leaves Hess' somber percussive playing alone. The whole track rumbles and hisses perfectly, Davis' edits audible in the form of background ambience.
It isn't until the end that the record acquires any sort of aesthetic beauty as a whole and by then it is too late; nothing can save this album from the scrap heap of compiled weird sounds. The album does, at times, convey a sense of loneliness that might compound itself after multiple, multiple, multiple listens. However, the time it would take to get there would probably be better spent on other albums, namely ones that Davis has composed. There's absolutely nothing that could bring me back to this album. Davis has nothing but series after series of momentarily interesting edits and warping sounds peppered over nearly every track, but when the sounds are just wild fits of noise and some percussive clattering there's little to become enamored with. If, however, background music that will do little to create distractions sounds enjoyable, Decisions offers it in spades.
I'd champion this as the emo-heavy electronic album of 2006 if it weren't deserving of just slightly more praise than that. Shaw-Han Lien composes ultra-busy synthetic pop songs using the same old four-on-the-floor rhythm tracks and toppling sound banks made popular by disco and techno performers, but he adds his own extra-processed spice to the music, making it almost enjoyable. It is simultaneously bright, sunny, and altogether sickening.
The album art and song titles should've been enough to alert me that something was wrong. I should've figured that I was meant to cry or run in a field of sunflowers to really appreciate this record because that's exactly the mood it exudes in gallons upon gallons of far to happy, way too optimistic synthetic joy. Keyboards, drum machines, various programs, and all manner of heavily edited melodic lines jerk and twitch with an energy that might be appropriate for someone on ecstasy, but for me they radiate a corniness that suggests Shaw-Han isn't paying enough attention. When the songs aren't too happy, they're catchy numbers that last just long enough to make sitting through the next smiling ray of sunshine nearly worth it.
What Shaw-Han does have going for him is an immediately evident familiarity with the instruments and programs he uses. The vibrancy that pours out of his hands are the result of careful study and preparation, a desire to fuse every instrument together into one great instrument capable of taking any influence and running with it. At times, when Shaw-Han lays off the altogether too imposing sense of emotional gushing, his arrangements stand out as being great examples of how technology can really bring together a variety of ideas, places, influences, and thoughts without sacrificing any of the particular qualities inherent in each.
For example, Shaw-Han's music sounds as though it is without geography; it is not distinctly European, nor does it bare any of the familiar qualities of English electronic music popularized by Aphex Twin or Autechre, and it isn't quite crazy enough to bare the seal of the Japanese electronic underground. This is a huge plus, sometimes enough to make sure I only skip a few tracks on the disc. On the songs I enjoy the most I get the feeling that Shaw-Han not only listens to a lot of music, but knows where each bit of music fits in with another. "Save Your Neck, Save Your Brother" features a soft flute part that weaves in and out of horns, strings, and electronic warmth and sounds simultaneously like Eastern spiritual music and gentle, pastoral idleness as envisioned by Four Tet. Its effortless grace gives it a sparkling quality and is among the two or three outstanding songs on the album.
Every time I listen to the entire album, however, I feel less like this album is something I can connect with: its skipping, merry compositions are sometimes far too close to video game music. Much of this could be thrown onto a children's television show and used while the end credits roll; nobody would notice because it is that innocuous. As soon as I feel that disconnect and lose touch with the album, it doesn't matter how talented Shaw-Han is, he's lost me for good. A final complaint comes in the almost monotone delivery of many of these songs. After a little while many of them sound the same because they are all very busy, very rhythmic, very structured tracks that don't ever stretch, breathe, or really live at all. In all the detail Shaw-Han lost sight of the big picture and thus lost me somewhere in all the rubbery bass parts and sparkling chimes.
I suspect I'll be hearing much more of Shaw-Han's work, I only hope that the next time I hear him, I won't immediately thing of large purple dinosaurs, cuddly animals, or cartoons marching side by side with the world's sickest grin on their faces. The Electricity in You House Wants to Sing is currently available through Darla mail-order, but will be more widely available on the 20th of March.
This is a spring/summer guitar record that’s been designed to fall somewhere between the earthy simplicity of folk players and the flash of '70s heavy rock. There are understated flamboyant twists to the playing and sound of Ezra Feinberg (ex Piano Magic) and Tim Green (The Fucking Champs and The Nation of Ulysses). The band’s name (and the LP title) maybe be pronounced like Stevie Wonder did on "Living for the City," but this album is anything but straight urban rock.
Recorded in San Francisco, the album takes the city’s multiculturalism, open-mindedness and relaxed air and applies it to a set of songs steeped in a sound world instantly reminiscent of a moment in time but as fresh as any modern rock record. The production is perfect, replicating sounds not heard without the aid of hookahs for over thirty years. For all the flutes, bongos, ‘California’ lyrics and Mexican border vibes Citay never descends into a $10 hippy bus ride of musical tourism. It may use the palette but with here the teller has reinvented the old tales into a stretched out and relaxed mini epics.
There may be a slight edging towards the noodlier end of the world of guitar solo stars (his name begins with ‘V’ but the fear/loathing of his work prevents me from naming him) on "Vinter" but even this is playing is expertly unassuming. The slow spiralling solos and chasing harmonies of dual leads on songs like "People Person" and "Nice Cuffs" have a beautiful languid articulate feel. There are flamenco flourishes among the searching piano melody of "5" underscored by tumbling acoustic strums and west coast vocal harmonies fill up the vocal tracks.
It’s not all about the guitars though, with "Mere Woods" they score in some relaxed dusk strings and organs murmur smoothly under many of the workouts. Without the foundation of the songs, this could’ve easily been an experiment in techniques but this whole release is on the verge of perfection. It’s an absolute killer combination of sound, style and song that makes a triumphant stand in reclaiming the word ‘cool.’
I had never listened to Maximum Joy, I knew they were connected withThe Pop Group, who I had a passing interest in, but I can now understand whyMaximum Joy have descended into such obscurity. The songs on thiscompilation have not withstood the test of time: the music here soundsextremely dated and (worse again) it isn’t very good; this might be oneonly for the nostalgia crowd and/or Pop Group collectors.
The first track made me think this was going to be a good release;“White & Green Place” has a nice beat and the funky bass line pullsthe song along by the collar. Even the saxophone sounds good.Rainforth’s vocals are interesting, the lyrics are pretentious but shepulls it off. After this track the rest of the album is a chore tolisten to. I never thought that The Pop Group aged well but I can atleast hear some of the fire in their music. Maximum Joy sounded dullfrom the start. The disco vibe of “In the Air” wears thin very quickly.“Building Bridges” is lyrically good but is let down by hackneyed andstale music; “Oh wow, let’s fuse a jazzy sound with a Latin beat andadd some horrible trumpets.” No, let’s not.
Maximum Joy lack a soul. The songs, for all the frenetic bassplaying and shouty vocals, sound mechanical and like they came off aconveyer belt. At no point during Unlimited could I find anentry point for me to get into the groove and enjoy it. It’s a shamebecause there are some parts that could have been great if they hadshown some restraint. For example “Where’s Deke?” might have been adecent piece but the band go overboard with trying to fit as manyelements of their sound in one short track and over egg the cake. Thisalbum is a collection of wilting world music-inspired post-punknoodling which I’ve little to no time for.
Not Alonepacks more than five hours of exclusive material by some of today'sfinest recording artists into one massive benefit album, the brainchildof Mark Logan of Jnana Records and David Tibet of Current 93. Asmight be predicted, many of the artists contained herein arerecognizable as the "usual suspects" of the extended C93 family—artistslike Antony, Simon Finn, Shirley Collins, John Contreras and Nurse WithWound. However, the set also unexpectedly contains contributions by astaggering number of indie and underground luminaries who exist welloutside of the perceived "apocalyptic folk" milieu.
Thismassive 5-disc compilation from Durtro/Jnana contains over 75 artists,all assembled for the worthy cause of raising money for Medecins Sans Frontieres, in particular their work on the African AIDS epidemic. Setting charity aside for a moment, there is also much to be grateful for musically on Not Alone.
Theopening track by irr.app.(ext.) samples the voice of Django Stapleton(son of Steven) amidst a lovely, pastoral acoustic guitar piece, withtroubling undercurrents of drone encroaching on its ravishingbeauty. Halfway through, the track shifts into subtle harmonicswith eruptions of studied nostalgia, with the ticking of an oldgrandfather clock and "mineshaft flute." Mirror turns in a pieceremarkable for its brevity; "The Forgotten Language of Light" is astunningly hypnotic short-form work, like a crystalline choir of angelsringing out of the sky on a clear winter's day. Speaking ofbrevity, William Basinski—master of the hour-plus droning orchestralloop—here contributes the lush and romantic "Because," a brief,haunting piece for piano, voice and symphonics. It has the sameemotional impact as any of the Disintegration Loops series, butit accomplishes it within three minutes, rather than five hours. Similarly fragile and romantic moods are invoked by a trio ofpreviously unreleased tracks by Mercury Prize winner Antony, his bigsister Baby Dee and their mutual inspiration Marc Almond.
Cyclobeturns in a fantastically cracked bit of frenetic, extraterrestrialpsycho-jazz blurt that is ridiculously entertaining at onlythree-and-a-half minutes. Matmos continue their Civil War-eramedievalist obsessions with their contribution, which sounds incrediblylike the sort of Canterbury prog proffered by the Harvest label. Coming right out of left field is Colin Potter's offering "It'sComing," all thick krautrocky textures with melodic keyboards andchiming guitars, which rocks far harder than you'd expect from a NWWalum. Like any compilation worth its salt, Not Alonecontains some very strange cover tunes, from Sundial's version of TheOsmonds' infamous "Crazy Horses," to Isobell Campbell's lovelyessentializing of Sonny and Cher's "The Beat Goes On" to Damon &Naomi'spainfully lightweight cover of Graham Parsons' "A Song For You." Will Oldham's brother's band Anomoanon mine 70s country-rock for a songthat manages to be both touchingly nostalgic and completely silly atthe same time.
Like nearly every compilation that has ever existed, with precious few exceptions, Not Aloneis problematic in that the sheer variety of musical styles on displaypreclude a coherent song order in which each track flows from thelast. Instead, the compilation is filled with what seem likewillfully perverse juxtapositions, wildly different aesthetic notionsrubbing shoulders with each other. This was perhaps necessary fora compilation that includes both The Hafler Trio and Ontario bar bandslike NQ Arbuckle and Shannon Lyons, but one wanders if it wasneccessary for them to be sequenced one right after the other on discfour. Questions like these ultimately lead nowhere, and Not Alone,like most compilations, has quite a few tracks that seem utterlyincongruous or superfluous. It's the sort of set tailor-made forpersonal iTunes condensation.
Most of the incongruoustracks are by run-of-the-mill Canadian pop/rock bands drawn from theroster of Mark Logan's other record label Busted Flat Records, andtheir inclusion here will no doubt be excruciating to anyone not weanedon poolhall rock bands, but I suppose you can't blame a guy for usingthis comp as a cross-promotional opportunity. I just wish ithadn't been necessary for me to hear Mary 5E's post-Alanis braying tounderstand that not all of the material on Not Alone is meantto be of the same high standards set by the major contributors. There are also tracks by some classic artists now well past theirprime—Pavlov Dog's David Surkamp, former glam idol Brett Smiley,British singer-songwriter Bill Fay, etc—that are more painful than theyshould be, and had me running for the skip button the second timethrough.
Tom Recchion's "Sea World" is an attempt atthe producing the perfect loop, and this spectral, disembodied choruswith its tantalizingly unrecognizable saccharine melody, seems to dothe trick. The late Allen Ginsberg's Appalachain musical settingfor his performance of William Blake's "On Another's Sorrow" is anunexpected treat. An alternate mix of "Change My World" by AndriaDegens AKA Pantaleimon uses harmonium and voice to maximum hypnoticeffect, sounding not unlike some of Fursaxa's better work. Fursaxa, by the way, appears on this compilation with an utterlydisposable track. Ditto contributions by Angels of Light,Devendra Banhart, Simon Finn and Current 93, all great songs but oneswhich most fans will already own by now.
We finallyget a taster of Little Annie's forthcoming Durtro album with thefantastic "Freddy and Me," the chanteuse assisted by Antony andBackworld's Joe Budenholzer. Rose McDowall's project Sorrow hasnever inspired me all that much, and the track included here doesn'tencourage me to change my opinion. The newer wave of Americanindie-folk artists are well represented here by Bonnie "Prince" Billy,Marissa Nadler and Faun Fables. Classic British Isles folk isprovided by previously released tracks by Shirley and Dolly Collins and new pieces byClodagh Simonds and the elusive and amazing VashtiBunyan. Though the CD reissue happened a few years back, it'salways great to hear Linda Perhacs' "Parallelograms" again, one of themost mind-altering bits of acoustic witchcraft yet contained onwax. Future trajectories for intelligent folk-rock are suggestedby Alex Neilson & Richard Youngs and Six Organs of Admittance, bothof whose contributions are slight but impressive. Jim O'Rourke"Naoru" harkens back to his Eureka days, a lovely piece for acoustic guitar.
Thighpaulsandra'sweird and wonderful "Star Malloy" features the late Jhonn Balance madlyattacking an ARP 2600 while the mad Welshman himself and Sion Orgoncontribute accordion, guitar and wide-eyed space zealot vocals. Forty-seven seconds is all we get of Drew Mullholland's (Mount VernonArts Lab) new project Black Noise, but it's enough to get my mouthwatering. Thee Majesty is as tedious as ever, moreponderous, psuedo-philosophical yammering from everyone's favoriterotten-toothed tranny crackwhore. Thurston Moore's "SexAddition" is all structural feedback and harsh static, quite compellinglike The Dead C, but also quite inert like the Dead Sea. I reallycan't stand Jarboe's solo work, so "Mantra" was a repetitive waste ofmy time. I always welcome any material by Karl Blake and ShockHeaded Peters, even if its something relatively innocuous like this Tendercide outtake "Aaron's Rod (Spared)."
Twosuperlative live tracks placed towards the end of the set bear specialmention. Coil's live version of "Broccoli" from one of their lastgigs in London is one of the best versions of the song, Jhonn Balanceusing the song's theme of parental wisdom to exhume the pain of hisabusive childhood: "I'm dedicating this song to my stepfather who I donot get on with...and to his father who probably did the same things tohim...who then did them to me, all with a little twist of warfarewithin." Ghost does an amazing live take on "Daggma," completewith theremin, digeridoo and deep Tibetan vocal ululations.
Thesheer volume of amazing music on offer eventually made me all butforget about the Amway seasonal-color packaging and the presence ofexcruciating Canadian bar bands, and focus instead on what a massiveundertaking this set must have been. I hope that it does find itsway into retail outlets all over the world and that it turns asubstantial enough profit to send some much-needed aid to MSF's work inAfrica.
On Brendan Whitney's latest release as Alias, he's brought in kid brother Ehren tocollaborate, and together they have produced an album that is lush andethereal with a dream-like groove. Wide spaces of silence separate thetracks, giving a feeling of moving from one dream to another.
The songs on Lillian are largely instrumental, with theonly vocals heavily distorted samples. Drum loops provide a groundingbackbeat on many tracks, including the opening track "Eman Ruosis Iht"("This is our name" backwards). Erhen brings in a distinct easterninfluence with flute and clarinet on "Most Important Things" andothers, and he winds his sax through a framework of samples on thetitle track.
A pair of minute-long tracks, "Sunfuzz" and "Moonfuzz," giveatmospheric vignettes relating to their respective heavenly bodies."Sunfuzz" brings to mind a hot afternoon, vibrant and bright, with ashimmer like heating rising from baked pavement. "Moonfuzz" has a cool,quiet feel and conjures up a late night walk around a dark lake with acool wind coming off the water.
A hidden track at the end of "Netting Applause" comes as a bit of ashock after the dreaminess of the previous 13 tracks; it's a scratchydistorted piano with an unaltered sax accompaniment, giving theimpression of someone playing along with an old record of old westsaloon music. It adds a bit of a surreal (though lovely) aspect to thealbum, just like any dream has.
Nice Nice are Jason Buehler and Mark Shirazi: a multi-talented duo fromPortland, Oregon who have demonstrated through their brilliant fulllength album, Chrome, that they can fill sound to the wallswith only a guitar and drums and some skilled real-time effects processing.With this series—a limited quartet of numbered CD EPs which had to bemail ordered directly through Temporary Residence—I hate to admit, onthe whole, I'm underwhelmed.
What the duo proved on Chrome is that there was no timewasted: the songs were well-developed even though most of them werequite short (I'd love to comment on Yesss but I haveyet to find it in any store). "Born of Bells part 1" opens Spring with a burstof energy, as if something grand is about to takeplace, which, sadly, never does. Approximately two minutes goes by ofletting the guitar sort of echo on an auto-pilot loop before drummingcan be heard. The drones permeate throughout. The interplay betweenJason and Mark is somewhat disconnected and doesn't end up constructingwhat Iconsider to be a real song, as they come together in some sort of arenarock band finale acrobatics at the end. For the rest of the EP, songscome very close to breaking out, but never quite do. If I'm not mistaken, I think the themeis to wait until the end of the track and suddenly start doing something that forms the basis of asong, but kill it before a song actually breaks out. I find it irritating, likeone of those long jokes whose punchline is basically the pain ofbearing an extended story for some lame, anticlimactic end.
"Crown & Corona" starts off Summer with more promise, as an evil psych rocklike melody emerges from the low drones of the first track, thenbuilds, but once again, things don't erupt as they sound like they wantto. From here, the band could launch into anything either like CometsOn Fire-ish or Acid Mothers-y (or best yet, like Nice Nice) and I wouldhave no complaints, but things instead simply quiet down to anotherboring drone, drifting into a Hawaiian-like guitar bit with somewordless vocalizations at one point and some chintzy effects on thedrums later. The drifting country guitars on the following "Cowboys Are Indians" are quitepretty, but a song like this would only do well as a valley, nestedbetween some more rawkus bits. The third and fourth tracks, "Crickets & Cicadas (parts 1 and 2)," are equallyas forgettable, drifting into ennui like the EP before it, with thelast track that simply doesn't want to end.
Fallis the silver lining. When my package arrived this pastweek from TRL with the discs inside I admit I was far less enthusiasticas Iwas when the first two EPs came in, however, I was impressed with whatwas contained. The first track, "Dawn of Dusk,"opens with a peppy acoustic guitar andmelodica bit. It's friendly, original, pleasant and fun. It's notsomething I would expect from Nice Nice but it sounds "complete."(Plus, after the first two EPs ofthis series I honestly don't know what to expect any more.) Acousticguitar drives the rest of these songs, with some external soundeffects, backwards sounding electronic guitar riffs, and otherunidentifiable percussion, all of which build actual songs, containingmelody and structure, something the rest of the CDs in this seriessadly lack. It ends with "Down,Down, Down Pt. 2," a wistful walking-paced guitar melody which isperfect for sitting on the front porch, watching the sun go down, andhaving a beer. This is what good music is all about.
Winter,unfortunately, restores the disappointment set forthby the first two EPs with one long 22 minute song, "And Many More."I've heard Tibetan bowls and bowing of cymbalsdone from bands going back over 20 years (just about every band who hasa website on Brainwashed did it back in the 1980s), and I absolutelyhate drum solos. "And Many More" is one painfully long andpointless wank. If people could buy these separately then I wouldstrongly recommend sticking only with the Fall,but, with any luck, the band will find out what got the best responseout of the fans and take hints for the production of their next fullalbum. I know they can do better than this.
Though they originally hail from Washington, DC, Measles, Mumps, Rubella’s sound is not the stereotypical slashing punk sound popularized by bands like Fugazi and Jawbox immediately associated with the city. MMR are, however, clearly the kind of band that’s listened to Public Image Ltd very carefully.
On the band’s first single “Zusammen Mit Motown/ Lighter’s Out,” the group sketched out a sound that was a pencil rubbing of spacey dynamics and squawking post punk guitar. On their debut album, the band provides a continuation for their intense, spacey sound. Robert Austin’s spacey, dub inspired bass lines bring to mind the rhythmic foundations laid by PiL bassist Jah Wobble twenty years ago and vocalist Chuck Bettis’ bears more than a passing resemblance to John Lydon’s nasal whine. It’s a sound that the band has cultivated since releasing their first single back in 2001 and, thanks to the increased fidelity and years of touring under their belt, comes into its own here.
Opener “Algorithm of Desire” grooves on an unrelenting bass line and a simple and effective guitar figure, until the band kicks up the tempo and drives the song on home. What makes the songs here more than just dance-punk posturing is that the band is just as interested in the texture of the song as they are in getting people to dance. “Fantastic Success” is another great song that begins with gently plucked bass and softly chiming guitar before opening up into a spaced-out jam. While MMR have crafted a set of songs that work well as a cohesive whole, one problem that can be raised is whether or not these songs can work on their on. When played back to back, these songs groove and writhe.
Despite this, their impact is somewhat lessened when they pop up in shuffle and I sometimes find myself reaching for the skip button. The weakest song here, “Mysthstery of Zygo,” sounds like a limp Throbbing Gristle and doesn’t seem to add much as a whole. On the opposite end of the spectrum, “Apples or Echoes” writhes with otherworldly menace.
Minus a few complaints, MMR have released an album that shows great potential. Their sound seems to stand apart, ever so slightly, from the rigid and often static dance-punk hordes. By emphasizing texture and atmosphere over herky jerky rhythms and slashing guitar work, Fantastic Success proves to be an album that can be revisited over and over again.
David Jackman's release schedule obscures far too many of his best recordings, apparently to the extent that some his best work goes unreleased for years at a time. Die Stadt's 3" release of two never-before-heard 10" records exemplify why Organum has always been one of the most consistently excellent and intriguing projects of the last twenty-plus years.
Both Die Hennen Zähne and Maus are included on this 18 minute disc and both are ten inch records that David Jackman had just lying around in his archives. The opening, "Die Kralle," is described as a David Jackman track from the early '80s, separating it in some ways from Jackman's work as Organum. As the assumed A-side to "Die Hennen Zähne," it is the calm before the storm, demonstrating Jackman's ability to subconsciously insert melody and rhythm into tracks that sprawl and yawn like consumptive deserts. The musical components that vibrate and stretch across the track are stunning, blistering with reservation and acute suspense. The dynamics between the low, bellowing wind instruments and Jackman's kitchen-sink rhythms are powerful and mark a space where music and non-music meet beautifully without sounding contrived or completely amateur. It's a testament to Jackman's abilities as a noise-maker and a writer. Compositional power combined well with abstract temerity is so rarely exhibited as it is on the opening track. "Die Hennen Zähne" is a far more confrontational work composed of shattering glass and moaning horns. It isn't as immediately striking as "Die Kralle," but the energy it manages to accumulate is impressive. If "Die Kralle" shines darkly, then "Die Hennen Zähne" is the realization of all the brooding minimalism kept hidden before.
"Maus" reserves the position as the central piece on this disc. Its duration and volume forces the other tracks to swirl about it, as though it were the musical cousin of a massive black hole. The constant whistle and Druidical ohm that permeate its body has a whirlpool effect, rotating in the darkness perpetually, ominously, and without reason. As enthralling as it is, it seems out of place with the rest of the disc, especially considering how short most of the other pieces are and how they each bare some sign of musique concrète's influence. Aside from the shattering glass on the title track, "Kazi" features metal pipes and objects being dragged about as its main sound sources. This live performance featuring Emma O'Bong and Michael Prime highlights Jackman's ability to successfully record and use object-made sounds without treading over too familiar ground. The pipe-like instrument that can be heard rolling about throughout the track becomes the focal point for the piece until a large crash ends the track and the whole improvisation fades away gently.
Jackman's exemplary reputation stems from his ability to use strange sounds musically, without touching on anything too conceptual to be enjoyable. Despite his sometimes radical release schedule and his reputation for releasing pricey, severely limited runs of 7" records and obscure CDs, his work is nearly always worth the patience it takes to find. Die Hennen Zähne is limited to 600 copies, however, and will likely move quickly given the fanatacism that often and perhaps justly surrounds Organum's catalogue.
As a duo Moha! seem to be reaching for a place of their own and failing. Settled between the large comforting bosoms of other discordant and unpredictable bands, Anders Hana and Morten J. Olsen are either jerking their instruments around as though handling a dead chicken by the neck or playing loud, formed jams and sounding indistinguishable from their brethren.
Saying they're indistinguishable is unfair; I think I'd rather say that I'd rather not distinguish them at all. This young duo is musically impressive, playing their instruments with the kind of precision that all young musicians wish they could harness. That doesn't make up for their lack of creativity, however. I could care less if these two could perform Beethoven's fifth on just two instruments, in the dark, at the bottom of a river, chained to a rock, and lacking a breathing apparatus. They can't write their own stuff with any measure of gravity or persistent energy. Other similar bands at least have an energy or a mystifying and completely unexplainable candor that makes listening to their records fun. Moha! simply stumble through ten tracks in order to reach the end. Their awkward percussive sounds and firmly square guitar playing imitate plenty of abstract, formless rock with all the success of the most ardent fan boy, but they don't ever explode or find a center of their from which they might expand.
This gives Raus Aus Stavanger that dreaded academic quality. For all their ability they aren't really working anything out of their instruments that might be new enough to stir any excitement. Only so many records can be released pushing the same limit of composition and style before everyone gets familiar with it and wishes somebody would write a decent tune again. In so far as noise, tonality, and timbre are concerned, there's nothing that shines, either. Olsen can drum out a storm of death metal proportions, but with flair. He moves all over his drum set constantly, pulling fills and unexpected turns out his ass like a well-seasoned veteran peppered with tasmanian devil cartoon antics. When he does this, Hana pulls out all the appropriate distorted non-riffs and gurgling dynamics that turn his guitar into a horn instrument more than anything else, but it just doesn't sound fresh or particularly ear-catching. The craziness congeals for brief moments only to let all the tension ease away with a suitable orgasm. I've heard friends churn out this same sort of hazy guitar work just sitting around and having fun. They weren't intent on making any of it into a song just because they had a nice tone.
When Moha! rock on two tracks they are passable as a band that I'd love to see live. I'm sure all sorts of shit would end up burning and I would leave observing bruises on everyone's bodies, but because the band tends towards prolonged "experiments" with percussive clatter, the whole album makes even the quality of their live performances doubtful. I can only take so much live messing about before I get bored and wish somebody would play something even remotely similar to a traditional song. I get bored of the same old thing just like everyone else, but music like this is starting to sound like the same old thing.
Those waiting on the next Stars of the Lid record can resteasy now as here is another diamond of the Texashinterlands, shining low and weary through the endless fenced-in wild yards andupturned bedroom windows of another druggy afternoon community.
Stars come out early when this dry wombsurrounds, when Texan hills and houses become miniature ziggurats under heat-lamp,and faces adopt the timelessness of cut Roman masks without hesitation. The music reflects the gauzy thickness of theair, the feeling of conscious breath, of thorough body suspension, but rock-gardenclean, sacred sterile, and nearly monolithic in the clarity of each second’snoise. Guitar becomes keyboard becomesair-conditioned wall becomes air itself.
Howling, chiming, cyclical drone patterns can consume the space whilesimultaneously occupying some central issuance-point, some quiet locus in theroom like a melodious pulpit obscured as a shoe or a sideways piece of trash,riddled in glyphic writing and piping away with pieces of the world’s happiestdeath knell, maybe the sound Sisyphus likes when he’s doing normal stuff, cooking,mowing the wild lawn or just laid-out between the bed and the burning window.
Pacione makes primordial ambient drone soundsimply made, a comfortable place though inseparable from the ur-primitive impulsethat keeps me slouching back for clues into what is transforming thiseverydayness to pure light, to slow-motion heat. Sisyphus is asprawling meditation of grainy, slow-motion radiance, if derivative then also ahumble and transcendent work.