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).
Get involved: subscribe, review, rate, share with your friends, send images!
This double CD set reissues what is, in my opinion, the most thought-provoking and satisfying album by Organum, originally released as an LP from the mid-1980s. That it is paired with a frustrating singles compilation called "Rara Avis" makes me stop short from giving it a whole-hearted endorsement.Die Stadt
Vacant Lights works so well because it seems so simple. There are two players, David Jackman (who is the center of Organum) and Dinah Jane Rowe. In what appears to be an improvised live performance, they bow metal (perhaps gongs or cymbals?), roll metal pipes along the ground, and play breathy fragments of melodies on what sound to me like shakuachis, or wooden flutes of some sort. The ever-present coating of reverb that accompanies most Organum recordings adds portense to the spare movements of the players, but it isn't overbearing here as it is on Ikon or other less successful Organum records. What takes Vacant Lights to the next level is that it appears to have been recorded outside, on a city street.
The Organum duo plays along to the sounds of passing cars, city buses, honking, wind, distant urban noise... throughout, they are highly sensitive to their surroundings, treating all sounds as equal compositional elements. At times, they play beneath the city sounds, adding a layer of rolling fog under the environment. At other times, the flutes poke through, but find some aboveground pitch to blend into; eventually, environment and intentional playing become indistinguishable. Two producers (including Nurse With Wound's Steven Stapleton) are to credit for bringing the environment into the recording with such detail and clarity, but ultimately the success belongs to Organum for creating a record that is part field recording, part improvisation, and finally something unique. It's such a simple and well-executed idea, that the depth of music belies its illuson of naturalness and effortlessness. On the other hand, there is disc two.
Because Vacant Lights is only about half an hour long, either the label or the artist decided to flesh it out with Rara Avis, a rare singles compilation. Given the large catalog of tiny-edition Organum 7"s that now go on eBay for hundreds of dollars, this could have been a terific idea. But the second CD is only 25 minutes long, and contains music from one 7", one side of another 7", an alternate version from a different 7", and an unreleased track. All five tracks could have fit onto the end of the first disc. Even if it was decided that it's important to keep Vacant Lights separate for aesthetic purposes (not an unreasonable notion), if they went so far as to include another CD, why not include maybe a bit more than 25 minutes to fill out the disc? I don't understand. The music on Rara Avis, however, is a good survery of Organum's palette in the mid 1980s: metal scraping noise, somber bamboo flute noodling, and deep rumbling gigantic drone, all in compact five minute chunks. It's good music, but Vacant Lights/Rara Avis is a confoundingly flawed package. 
Panaxis Forms of Things Unknown is primarily the work of multi-instrumentalistand windplayer Ferrara Brain Pan, who has previously played with BoydRice and legendary krautrockers Faust. For his debut EP as Form ofThings Unknown, the artist tackles a galaxy of wind instruments,including bass clarinet, saxophone, flute, recorder, Tibetan thighbonetrumpet, didgeridoo and shakahuchi. Multiple overdubs and liberal sonicmutations push the material into the sort of dark, uneasy territoriesoccupied by Coil and Nurse With Wound, who seem to have exerted heavyinfluence on Mr. Pan. The first two tracks are two movements of thesame 16-minute piece, amusingly entitled "Black Candles &Pentagrams 'n Shit." Extended tape loops of the aforementioned hornscirculate slowly, as deep, vibratory foghorns blow across a murkylagoon at midnight. Occasional swipes of backwards-tracked soundcontribute a ritualistic mood to the proceedings, but the artistgracefully breathlessly bends and bows his performance to mesmericeffect. The next two tracks represent an instrumental and vocalarrangement of an anonymously composed 14th century devotional song.Monsieur Pan plays his courtly medieval recorders with aplomb, andvocalist Shannon Wolfe beautifully renders the Latin lyrics. The songis immediately reminiscent of Shirley and Dolly Collins and other1960's neo-medievalists, and that's enough to keep me smiling forweeks. The last track is an unorthodox arrangement of UK punk legendand former Buzzcock Howard Devoto's "Stupid Blood," from his latter dayLuxuria project. The song trips along at its own turgid pace, with Mr.Pan providing pleasurable blasts of layered brass and vocalist BobAyres delivering the lyrics in a stately baritone. The EP ends with anincredibly brief answering machine message left for Ferrara Brain Panby one Babs Santini, which has prompted the artist to label each copyof this EP with a sticker declaring "Special guest appearance by SteveStapleton of Nurse With Wound," thus hopefully luring unsuspecting NWWcompletists to buy his music. However misleading and manipulative thisstrategy seems, I don't think avid Nurse fans would be disappointed by Cross Purposesin the slightest, should they be tricked into purchasing it. On thecontrary, this is a dynamic and intriguing work, just the sort of thingyour average NWW fan would be in for.
New West At its simplest, this album proves yet again what exactly is wrong withthe major record label system: they don't know what to do with goodtalent, and they relentlessly promote the mediocre variety. Old 97swere the darlings of the indie rock scene, releasing one album on theirown and another for Bloodshot Records, throwing out their own brand ofpunkified countryness with a classic Old West feel. They wereeventually snatched up by Elektra, where they released three morerecords, every one an attempt by the band and the label — more thelatter than the former, I'd wager — to get that one true hit, makingthe songs poppier and poppier as they went along. They did pretty well,but their albums never really hit the big time, and eventually labeland band parted ways. This obviously triggered a return to the DIYmoments of their past, as their first album for their new label is atrue awakening of potential, and a bold statement about where a bandcan go on their own if they're not prodded and poked. Old 97s of oldhad fire and spunk, but still held on to their roots, maintaining aflavor and sound that was decidedly uncommercial, as it was unsurewhere they fit in. That feel, that classic "we don't know if this isgoing to work" vibe, is all over these songs, and the band sound betterthan ever. This is wholesale rejuvenation, with every band memberpulling out their very best, and letting the true directions of theband set in. Drag It Upwas recorded on eight tracks, and most vocals recorded in one room withone microphone. It sounds dirty, uneven, and like the band wanted totake chances. The record features guitarist Ken Bethea's first stab atlead vocals on "Coahuila," and while not a brilliant first effort, thetrack has the most energy of any on the record. Bassist Murry Hammondsings a few tracks, as usual, and as usual I'm not real fond of thosesongs, though they are still great slices of storytelling. When allpieces fall into place, it's like all the stars aligned and the trueshape of the constellation can be revealed. Rhett Miller's clean wailis better than ever on songs like "Bloomington" and "The New Kid," andhe even warbles here and there, letting the little imperfections makeit all better. What it all adds up to is that five albums along Old 97sare experiencing a rebirth, and the sky's the limit.
MIO Philippe Besombes was a Ph.D. student with an abiding interest incontemporary electro-acoustic music, an interest that led him tocollaborate and play with Jean Michel Jarre, Jean-Francois Dessoliers(as PJF) and Jean-Louis Rizet (as Pole). Both Besombes' and Pole'snotoriety have been sealed by their inclusion on Steven Stapleton andJohn Fothergill's famous Nurse With Wound Influence List, whichappeared in the liner notes for NWW's debut album. Israel's MIO recordshas been doing quite a good job in issuing rarities from the NWW listlately, and this CD is no exception. Comprising the entire original1974 LibraLP on Tapioca (composed as the soundtrack to the film of the samename), MIO also generously adds four tracks from the same general timeperiod, filling out the running time of the disc to 76 minutes.Besombes' unorthodox work nervously straddles two strikingly differentdimensions - avant-garde electronic composition and the contemporaryEuropean prog and psych-rock prevalent at the time. Besombes negotiatesthis dichotomy rather brilliantly, producing a spectacularly uniquealbum that pulls in influences seemingly from everything the artistever heard in his lifetime. The paltry three samples below simply can'treflect the true variety of approaches on the album, from the jarringmetallic drones and disturbingly strangled vocals of "La Plage" to thecosmic Indian twang of "Raggacountry" to the languid fuzz guitar loungeof "Ballade en Velo." Besombes employs various synthesizers, Moogs,electric sitars, oscillators and a studio full of rock session playersto achieve the stunning dynamics of the album. "Boogimmick" is asynth-drenched heavy blues stomp in the style of Hawkwind, but alsoseeming simultaneously to function as an absurdist parody of suchmusic. "Hache 6" stands out, a heavily phased funk excursion,reminiscent of the kind of eclectic library music uncovered by LukeVibert and Barry 7 on their Lo Recordings compilations. Before thealbum is over, I'm treated to an atonal free-jazz meltdown ("LaVille"), a science-fiction fanfare of mind-altering proportions ("LesCosmonautes") and a lovely psych ballad ("Tis a Song"). Bonus tracksrange from a funky breakbeat jazz number with female vocals to anamazingly textured, 20-plus minute piece for prepared piano. Libra is a fantastic album, in that rare category of storied, obscure albums that actually deserve their reputation.
Touch Geir Jenssen lives in a different world. From his Artic Circle perchthe man called Biosphere is building a body of work as iconoclastic asAphex Twin, with as much eerie remove and accidental influence. Albumslike Patashnik and Substrataare landmarks in ambient music not because they spawned a millionrip-offs but because they work within a recognizable stylisticblueprint to create absolutely alien music, threatening total immersionto even the most cautious of "background" listeners. Jenssen's last,2002's Shenzhou found him treading further towards alienatingextremes, something like a pitch-black homage to Debussy, withorchestra samples stretched thin and opaque across an ocean of icy,crevice-filled ambience (in other words, what we all wished Drukqs had been). Autour,commissioned by French radio last year, not only rejects anything closeto a wide "radio" audience, but it is by far the most trying Biosphererelease thus far, with Jenssen moving past the beat-less transparenciesbegun with Substrata and into a harsh meditation on deep-space,a 74-minute confined drift that begins well into the air-less upperregions and does not conclude until positioned hopelessly within adimensionless dump-off on the darker side of some heavenly body.Occupying a third of the disc's length, the opening "Translation" actslike the final kiss-off to Earth and the earthen sounds that often finda place in Biosphere music. A rebus of plastic tones, entwined withenough care to erase all human touch, becomes a sky-like ceiling withwhich groaning engine sounds and whining drones struggle in a pitilessslipping, past the threshold and into the heart of Autour. Apart from a track or two based around a few distorted samples from a 60s radio dramatization of Jules Verne's De la Terre à la Lune(the "focus" of the 2003 commission) and actual recordings of MIRastronauts, the majority of the disc develops a vacuous, unsettlingatmosphere made up of seriously subsonic bass frequencies and shrill,synthetic tones dividing and encasing the deliberate arcs and hiddentextures of each of the nine "movements." By the sixth track,"Circulaire," the trip has arrived at a false ending of sorts, anoff-putting climax where the piece grounds out to two dissentingsounds, one a near-inaudible below-bass pulse and the other thesinister calm of a solid flatline. From this remote place, more Onkyothan Eno, Jenssen really has nowhere to drift except slowly backtowards the beginning, to the lush plasticities of "Trombant," almostcoming full circle on the opening track but stopping short, allowingmelody and lush texture enough footing only to remind us of what hasbeen left behind. Melodies emerge, like the aimless cosmonaut voicesamples, as if beamed from a great distance, light years into theblack, like ghosts of a human presence long since abandoned. Autouris not easy listening, and if it doesn't stand as the most returnableplace in the Biosphere catalog, it's only because Jenssen has neversounded so remote and thoroughly haunting.
Pehr Empress has always been fond of devilishly deliberate songs, The Sounds They Madeis no different. Each tune is plucked and sung and crafted with utterconcentration, though without anything so technical which might requiresuch concentration. The obvious question is, "Why work with suchslowness?", or, "Why plod through songs through which even the mostrudimentary musician should be able to sprint?" The most convincinganswer I came up with was that the deliberateness prolongs thesensation and experience of the soft-spoken beauty of these songs. In"The Worry and the Wine," the initial melody sounds like the second daysessions of a self-taught guitarist just learning how to piece togethermusical sentences (such a guitar-wielding autodidact will stutter andstop and start again on some newfound melody, all the while clinging tothe elegance found within this newly discovered progression of sounds).The space between the notes becomes just as long (and as musical) asthe notes themselves. Each anticipatory moment between the notes hasthat air of potential mistake, where a sharp or flat tone could causethe song to fall apart or at least break down briefly. Yet the melodyhardly falters, and soon Nicola Hodgkinson's lovely vocals fade in andblanket the melody with a perfect complement. The effect is ratherstunning, like being witness to genesis of a modern indie lullaby. Theentire album is a collection of lullabies: hushed and soft-spokenvocals like windblown wisps of snow and guitars supplying notes onlywhere there is the barest of need. The novelty Empress adds to theirlullabies is a slight twist of electronics (echoey clicks and reverbswoop in between notes and swirl around playfully). "For Trains" has ajittery stop and start which sounds like the skipping of a CD (I wasquite convinced that my CD player's laser was doing quite a jig on thesurface of the CD) but then the crystalline and unwavering vocalsconfirm that it is pure artifice and not a surface scratch or faultydisc. The song itself (jittery music with smooth vocals) is an abrasivelisten and provides the hardest lullaby to listen to on the album. Itis not unpleasant exactly, but rather it is not the song to fall asleepto. Amidst the more fleshed-out numbers on the album are sometwo-minute spacers, songs in their barest form, skeletons almost. Theysubdivide the album with simple repeated themes, bringing the entiretimbre down to an even more narcotic level. Empress can sometimes beelusive with their quietude, so be careful that the few songs on thealbum which demand a more alert listen do not pass by too softly.
Silber With their tenth album, this Portland collective manages to release awildly organic mix of electronics and jazz that blends both avant-gardetendencies with more traditional song structures. Behind the Barberstartsoff with the introductory percussion rhythms and building electronic,string, and brass chaos of "Do The Slim Jim" before launching into thethe sprawling 16-minute "Slits Aranda." The track starts off with mutedbrass chords and shimmering cymbals that would not have been out ofplace on Miles Davis's Sketches of Spain before moving into apropulsive jazz sketch complete with female vocals and bellowingsaxophone courtesy of Jackie-O Motherfucker's Jeff Brown. The trackthen slides into a stew of horns and improvisational reeds beforepicking up again in the final three minutes with the original thumpingbass, percussion, and saxophone for a return to the track's main theme.While "Slits Aranda" shows Rollerball at their best, mixing traditionalstructure with avant-grade notions, other tracks highlight the band'sability to collaborate with guest artists. On "Burning Light," Portlandelectronic artist Nudge molds the band's sound in a way thatdeconstructs the various percussive and melodic elements, mixing eachinstrument (vocals included) to produce a cohesive blend that allowseach sound to retain its individual timbre. In the final three tracksof the album, Rollerball shifts into experimental mode, tinkering withgenres ranging from dub to free-form jazz. Behind the Barber'sfinal track, "Fake Tan," dissolves into a mix of a electronic chaos andmystical chants with a slow and chilling fade that ends the album on amore subtle note.
Touch This four-track, 16-minute CD marks the first collaboration between twoof the prime movers of experimental sound. The brevity of the albummakes it somewhat difficult to get a handle on. Over the years, I'vecome to expect long-form, immersive soundscapes from both of theseartists - whether the long, shape-shifting textural drones of Organumor the multiple-part conceptual movements of Z'ev. At about fourminutes each, each of these tracks seem oddly truncated, resolvingthemselves just as they begin to become interesting. With artists asintelligent and purposeful as these, I'm not ready to assume that thiswas a miscalculation or just plain laziness. Rather, the brevity of Tinnitus Vumay be a reflection of its theme, which in this case appears to behearing loss. Tinnitus is an affliction of hearing in which thesufferer hears persistent buzzing, high-pitched ringing, televisionstatic or wind noise. David Jackman and Stefan Weisser both apparentlysuffer from intermittent tinnitus, and this work can be seen as anattempt to accurately reflect the experience of this hearing disorderto the unafflicted listener. Each piece begins and ends with a few barsof piano, but in between is an electronic storm of thought-cancelingwhite noise, curling metallic drones, and undifferentiated swarms ofwhat sound like tiny robotic gnats. The effect is quite brilliant atmoments, especially towards the end of the third track, when for amoment I thought that my hearing actually had dropped out for a moment,as sometimes happens the day after a particularly loud concert. Thiswas merely an auditory illusion borne of the cleverly renderedproduction of the track. There is none of Z'ev's trademark percussionin the mix, at least not in any recognizable form, so the album ends upcloser in sound to Organum's work, which is not a bad thing. In theend, I was left wanting more from this collaboration, and it looks likeI may get my wish soon, as a full-length collaboration is planned forrelease soon on Die Stadt.
A record that performs its role by making a case for watching for the forthcoming album and possibly for picking up the back catalog.
Leaf This gap-filler disc from Murcof is Leaf's way to buy time and keep the name fresh before the release of the next proper Murcof album, but it's no less inspired, all the same. Beginning with a 10 minute epic of film score orchestration and minimal techno thump, Utopia establishes early on that Murcof is dealing with a larger scope and a more developed tone than many of his contemporaries. Jan Jelenik's clicky, jazz-spliced remix of "Maiz" is the perfect groovy counterpoint to the album's creeping, moody opener. Sutekh gives "Memoria" a tweaked techno workout with plenty of glitches and squiggles that pop out over the monotone bassline and piano chord. "Utano" blends dark cello and brass timbres with twinkling electronic percussion for a while, then drops out the techno trappings for a more experimental approach to the cinematic loops and swells that other artists tend to leave in the background. It's refreshing for someone working with beats not to make the beats the primary focus for a change, and Murcof is able to bend and arrange sounds with a composer's rather than dj's ear. The remaining remixes are mostly placid and unremarkable; not an affront to the source material but certainly not as clever as they'd like to be or as necessary. "Una," the second to last of the un-remixed tracks takes symphonic and operatic fragments and glues them to a stuttering dsp-laden beat that is just short of club-friendly, but not so overblown as to draw unneccessary attention to itself. The "Colleen Mix" of "Muim" could easily figure in a Chris Nolen film as its all backwards pianos and heavy string passages that conjure up the grimy noir of "Memento" and the slick isolation of "Insomnia" equally. The remixes are all solid, sometimes taking an ambient detour that's welcome amidst the electrobeats, but Murcof's originals clearly stand out as the best tracks here. If nothing else, Utopia performs its role by making a case for watching for the forthcoming album and possibly for picking up the back catalog.
Psychadelic post-rock from Canada is alternately sleepy and heavy.
Piehead Mnemosyne's debut album builds slowly with a solid if sleepy foundation of guitar, bass, and drums that wouldn't sound out of place in the Kranky or Constellation stables. The Toronto trio is fronted (if that's really the right word) by experimental guitarist Aidan Baker, whose voice on the title track rises just barely above a whisper in a style reminiscent of early Labradford. But from there, Mnemosyne depart from the somnambulant formula of muted minimalism by swelling guitars up with distortion and kicking in drums and crashing cymbals. The result is a bit darker, more psychadelic, and more varied than their post-rock forebares, but it also results in something that probably has a much wider appeal. It wouldn't be far off to imagine my stoner friends from High School who went to Pink Floyd laser light shows getting seriously into Mnemosyne's hypnotic twirls of guitar and dubbed-out percussion, but recovering goths will also appreciate the atmosphere of tracks like "Dark Grove" and "Unreal Space." Thankfully, Mnemosyne seem less concerned with whether they are impressing the weepy Projekt crowd or the Drag City chin strokers, and they carry on making moody, genre-hopping space rock. Occassionally, as on the 12 minute album closer "Aqualisp," the instrumentation gets a bit too dry and literal, causing the psyche-improv to drift uncomfortably close to jam-band territory where it feels like every instrument needs room for a solo. Luckily, Rodin Columb's straightforward bass holds everything together just long enough for the band to get back on track as they rip into the loudest creshendo (saved somewhat predictably for the end). Though they never really achieve all out ROCK, they do manage to crank the volume, distortion, and delay on everything to give the album's trip a final dose of hash-fueled paranoia. Alhough Mnemosyne can easily be seen as a confluence of influences that have done this sort of thing before, their own take on a soundtrack for that bad-acid trip is well worth exploring. It somehow manages to be both familiar and disorienting at the same time which is kind of creepy, but good.
Gorilla Masking Tape is a beautiful, haunting record.
Piehead Having listened to and zoned out on this release at least half a dozen times, it should be obvious what it is that is so compelling about [sic]'s compositions of dusty long drones, deep ambient spaces and bump-in-the-night tension, but it's not. On the one hand, this is difficult listening: all uneasy sounds and dischordant timbres rubbing up against one another to create an ambiguous feeling of dread. On the other hand, for those familiar with the work of like-minded artists like those featured on the quasi-legendary "Isolationism" compilation, [sic] fits perfectly into a already-defined niche of dark, brooding ambient characterized more by its claustrophobia than by its use reflection of space as an expanse. I could tell you that Gorilla Masking Tape is a beautiful, haunting record, or that it's alpha-wave inducing at the right volume, or that it's a perfectly quiet record for people who lead unquiet lives, but none of that really captures the force that these tracks embody. Perhaps the record's most defining characteristic is that it is indeed so malleable that it can be both loud and quiet, both serene and disturbed, both beautiful and terrifying and that it does all of this effortlessly. I often wonder what more can be said about music like this that is both barely there and a force of nature all at once, depending on your volume knob. I always think that it will be impossible for someone to release yet another essential dark ambient disc in a world where artists who do this sort of thing tend to have voluminous discographies of equally affecting work already. I think that, and then I hear a record like Gorilla Masking Tape and it suddenly all sounds fresh and important and essential again and I'm left wanting more. It doesn't get much better than that.