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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NormallyI'd be suspicious of something like the Lady Sovereign phenomenon—thehype machine, the registered trademark, the inevitable references tothe name that's on everyone's lips (M.I.A.)—it all feels like a setup, and it probably is. But something about "the white midget" justmakes me want to get stupid and bounce, and I think that's clearly thepoint.
Lady Sovereign (or "The S-O-V" as she likes to proclaim) is ridinga wave of interest in capable and possibly eccentric female MCs thataren't following in the Mary J. Blige mold but are playing squarely inthe sausagefest of alternative hip hop. In other parts of the world,they'd probably call this "grime," but the one nice thing about theAmerican tendancy to ignore or pretend to ignore culture from aroundthe world is that the notion of grime just doesn't mean much ofanything to anyone here. Without falling into a trap of second guessingwho Lady Sov's audience is supposed to be, it's a lot more fun to justput on her record and get drunk on her quirky, silly vibe.
Vertically Challengedisn't posturing as intelligent or conscious in any way, but that's notto say that Lady Sovereign's lyrics aren't exceptionally clever attimes. She's almost always self-effacing or playing up her ownperceived shortcomings (pun only partially intended,) and so it's hardto hate on lyrics like "J-Lo's got a batty/ Well you can't see mine cusI wear my trousers baggy" for being the good-spirited, self-directedjabs that they are. Even after hearing these songs a dozen or so times,there are still plenty of lines that get a smirk or a laugh becauseSov's bratty false bravado when talking about her height or the failingof UK MCs is just infectiously funny.
The beats arealmost inconsequential here, although an Ad Rock remix of "Little Bitof Shhh" demonstrates that her flow sounds more natural over theminimalist, bass buzzing UK rhythms than anything else. That the songsrarely include more sounds than could be cooked up on a single drummachine and synth isn't important; that they get out of the way so thatLady Sovereign can work her charm is what makes this EP magicallydelicious.
Quite against expectations, and perhapsbetter judgement, I've fallen for the impish MC and it has less to dowith her resemblance to a young Melanie C and more to do with the crazygood hooks of songs like "Ch' Ching" that are simply and smartlyarranged in a way that often only music that refuses to take itselfseriously can be. It looks like Lady Sovereign's already been picked upby Island, and hopefully the major label forces that be won't dull herwit and undermine her charm as they tend to do with so many others.Even if they do, I'll always have Vertically Challenged and a record with this much fun and spark is worth holding on to.
Noise is an acquired taste requiring an open mind and maybe a little background information. I've never known anyone to hear one noise group and instantly fall in love with the genre. Phil Blankenship's noise project is out to make that fact doubly true. Night of the Bloody Tapes is noise for noise extremists. Its fuzzed out, unrelenting, damaged presentation is confrontational and angry. The attack simply never stops on this record.
The Cherry Points work with Yellow Swans was loud as hell, but lacked the confrontational edge Blankenship has molded on his latest full-length. For over forty minutes a steady stream of feedback, white noise, and the sounds of fire turned up to ear-bleeding levels pours through the speakers. It isn't lazy noise, it's noise bound and determined to tear some things to shreds, to remove limbs from bodies, and to generally wreak havoc. The cover art and accompanying stickers suggest Blankenship is trying to fuse some B-movie horror with his noise, but I can't imagine this noise as a soundtrack to anything but an orgy of blood. (A real orgy of blood, not a movie version.) The intensity feels so real and unhinged that I finally got a glimpse of how the most extreme of metal and noise gets compared.
I've seen people dance and head bang at noise shows before. I watched and thought it was supposed to be ironic or sarcastic somehow, a product of the scene's disgust for convention. Only a few times have I ever felt noise move my body and that was usually in a violent manner. The Cherry Point convey a heaviness, though, that makes me want to throw up my hands and bang my head until my neck is sore. The ferocity Blankenship has unearthed in the static and rumble of his machines isn't unlike the blister forming guitar work of the heaviest death metal bands. Gone are the growling vocals, replaced by the sheer sound and a total disregard for listenable melodies or conventional rhythms of any kind. Death metal took sound further away from the norms of rock and pop, but noise has sent it over the edge. A live show like this might inspire head banging; it might also cause bleeding ears, spontaneous violence, and rioting. This does not bode well for Hollywood, Blankenship's base of operation. I find it interesting that some of the most extreme music this side of the Pacific is coming from the land of plastic surgery and generally fake dispositions. Either Blankenship is tapped into the violence that is bubbling just below the surface or he's giving everyone a taste of where that senseless, star-worshipping, shallow approach to everything can go.
That said, I'm surprised by how many times I've hit the play button on this disc. There are plenty of noise records I enjoy listening to about once a month. Night of the Bloody Tapes has found its way into my car, onto my computer's play list, and into my walkman when I go running. I've listened to it three times in the last two days. For all its violent destruction, the constant stream of noise it provides eventually blanks my mind completely. I wouldn't say it puts me in a safe or contemplative place, it just completely zaps my memory and my ability to function. I wouldn't make this my first noise purchase, nor would I heartily recommend it to anyone already listening to noise. This is for the enthusiast, for the noise addict who simply needs something more insane and more intense. Night of the Bloody Tapes is abusively harsh noise and one of the only records of its kind that I've come to enjoy.
This will either sound like attractively sweet pop or derivative reminiscence depending on who is listening. I tend to think 90% of the material is total crap and, at times, I can sing the songs Ariel Pink is copying from because his material is so obviously dependent on its influences. It'd be easier to outright hate this record if the songs weren't catchy at times.
Instead of naming the ten or so bands that immediately came to mind while listening to whatever song, I'll just be quick to point out that sometimes imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and that Ariel Pink is at least flattering bands I like on House Arrest. I was tapping my foot on many of the songs and, after listening to the album about three times, I learned to skip the ones that just bored me. This makes the album a hell of a lot more enjoyable; it eases the pain of Ariel Pink's forced delivery, cooling his pseudo-sexual pout and extending the shelf life of the decent songs by quite a lot. After three listens, however, House Arrest as a whole loses all of its appeal. Whatever gimmicks caught me ear the first few times lose their glimmer and suddenly even catchy songs like "Alisa" are cast in a new, and not so shining, light.
I have a hard time understanding why anyone would want to devote their time and album space to musical endeavors already explored by other bands in the first place. Anyone with talent like Ariel Pink has should be writing music that tries to go somewhere new instead of wasting that energy on pop rock that's been done better elsewhere. So few bands can improve on another band's style without sounding contrived, anyways. Why not just take some chances and make an album you haven't heard before? That aside, I know some people like hearing nostalgia. Ariel Pink is good at it, but the spells he might cast on listeners won't last long after everyone wakes up and decides they want to hear something new and exciting. Consider this a temporary fix for music enthusiasts that just can't get enough of what Ariel Pink has to offer: bopping, rattling, synth-laden, catchy pop melodies with dance rhythms.
Until this whole nostalgia thing passes over, Ariel Pink's name will get tossed around a lot; the name itself will evoke a kind of indie awe, I'm sure, because Ariel Pink is the real underground deal doing the real underground pop. It doesn't matter who is doing it, though, nostalgic music for people who weren't even around when the original musical movement happened is the same no matter who is making it or what label they're on. Some just handle their influences better than others. I'm surprised the throwback syndrome has reached as far as the Paw Tracks label and Ariel Pink. I understand his style is of a strange heritage, but honestly there is nothing amazing or particularly "out there" about Ariel Pink except for his strict worship of AM radio. Maybe once every year or so I'll get the urge to hear some of these songs, but the rest of the time House Arrest will remain locked up in a box or on a shelf somewhere, waiting to be played and collecting dust.
A rerelease and reworking of long out-of-print album, this two-CD set was worth the wait. The second CD, Sideways, a remix of the first CD, 1998's Underarms.Underarms itself is a reworking of The Hope Blister's ...Smile's OKalbum. Trying to describe this album is like looking into two mirrorsfacing each other: the music echoes and comes back to itself, rather likemirrors reflecting the same image into each other for eternity.
The intro of "Sweet Medicine" is a hazy echoing clock, then the trackabruptly moves into an ebbing and flowing drone. Keeping the title inmind, it makes me think of coma patient rising to the surface ofconsciousness and struggling to comprehend what is seen there. "FridayAfternoon" is another hazy track: peaceful with buzzing insects, theitch of grass, and the atmosphere of a dense humid afternoon. "Iota"holds more interest and tension manipulated electronic sounds punchingthrough the drone. This one could be the soundtrack to a spacewalk."Dagger Strings" brings in strings sliding over and merging into ashimmer of slow heavy melody. The strings return in the closing track"Happiness Strings," a beautiful and gentle song that is probably themost natural sounding on the album. It's often hard to tell when onetrack ends and the next begin, they melt into each other so seamlesslyit could be one constantly shifting song. Though it razors through myspeakers in places and sometimes rises with a throbbing urgency, it'snever a shocking change and feels organic and natural to the point ofseeming inevitable, despite the music's obvious electronic origins.
Sideways is the Underarms disk remixed into a blurry drone. It's a smooth river rock of an album, with few of the rough edges of Underarms.It's pleasant and enjoyable, but it's not radically different from,say, the "Sweet Medicine" tracks on Underarms, with the spacey blurpsof "Iota" arising on "Sideways 4."
I can see myself often putting on these CDs for an evening curled upwith a thick book, a glass of chianti, and maybe a dozing cat at myfeet.
Some drones have a spark—a life between the waves of sound that act as a portal to another dimension—others are merely lazy ways of making an album, flat and dull slabs of sound. This reissue of Ambience belongs to the former group of drones: it glitters and shines like the lightning that graces the artwork.
The title is a bit of a misnomer. Yes the music is ambient but it’snot something that should be played as ambience. The music here needsthe attention of the listener. Its subtleties were lost on theoccasions I was listening to it passively. When I had it on in thebackground it wasn’t that interesting. When I sat down with a cup oftea and gave it my full attention the music opened up fully. Grassowmakes very spacious compositions. I mean spacious in both a sense ofbeing without boundaries and a celestial feeling. “Siddharta” is a slowand detailed piece that sounds like astronomy. It appears infinite andblank at first but Grassow dragged me closer towards the stars and thecomets to revel in the detail. This feeling of vastness may seem atodds with Grassow’s statement in the sleeve notes saying that Ambience is an “inner document of [his] self.” Though, like the great astral artists (Sun Ra and Coil), Grassow manages to link up endless space with the much more intimate setting of the mind. “(Famine Road To) Port” is the most intimate sounding track and it is almost transcendent, it doesn’t quite evoke the same feelings of immensity as the rest of the album.
However there are times when I find the album hard going. It’s a lotto take in sometimes, especially with the longer tracks. Once I stoppedpaying attention, the music became slightly dull. By the time thesecond last track (called “The Old Park”) comes on, I am weary. Ambience requires an all or nothing involvement by the listener. Sometimes I’d have to turn it off and come back to it. This isn’t a negative criticism; the music is so dense that I can only fully appreciate it in smaller doses. It’s like a book of poetry, it’s impossible to take in the meaning and the language of all the poems by reading them all in one sitting.
Ambience is a very interesting album but it requires a lot of work to recognize the value of Grassow’s work. This is not an album that should be thrown onto an mp3 player for the walk to work. This is an album that should be played on an adequate stereo at the appropriate volume.
Theartwork and title might be all cute nonsense and adolescent fun, butthe music that comes with it could only be born from a demented mind.Todd Drootin's music has been called "beatpunk," whatever that means,and his live shows are said to be fairly insane. In truth, he makessome pretty crazy melodic electronic music layered with snapping beatsand dreams of three headed monsters. It can be catchy as hell, but attimes it also sounds a little too familiar.
In a fit of excitement I tossed Dinosaur Dinosaur into my player the moment I noticed the first song was called "Noise is Political." I waited and expected the whole album to launch into the stratosphere from this point forward. Let it be known, however, that Drootin isn't political at all, at least not on album. Instead he comes away as a mad scientist, mixing fairly straightforward beats with all manner of circus sounds and nightmare samples that would send Mystery Science Theatre 3000 fans into a frenzy. Computers beep to life, animals unexpectedly croak, and robots come to life only to let out a laser beam yell and then shut down again. Anyone that's heard any kind of electronic music that focuses its attention on mashed up beats and widely repeated motifs will half know what to expect from Books on Tape. What will come as a surprise is how fresh it sounds despite every last one of the songs having a fairly similar structure and straightforward approach. Drootin's musical success comes from the attitude he suffuses into the music, not from any radical innovation.
Allthe usual suspects are here, of course: the drum imitating a drill bitat a billion miles an hour; the pretty piano part; the modified vocals;and the massively edited orchestration of instruments so varied thatthey wouldn't normally fit together within the same song, but somehowmanage to find themselves squeezed together in the same second. Drootinshifts from first gear to sixth in three seconds flat and has theability to toss around phrases, loops, and samples like they were asack of potatoes to be handled with extreme force. All this makes Dinosaur Dinosaur passable: a fun album to thrown on now and then. His comedic approach to the music is like a vortex from which my imagination cannot escape, though, and that feature of his music pushes it past ordinary. If his brand of humor isn't immediately evident, then chances are the album is going to sound dull and come away as being another in a long line of decent electronic albums with nice melodies in them. If, however, the nonsensical and sci-fi, b-movie approach he's managed to harness without a single recognizable movie sample is readily obvious, be prepared to spend a lot of time with songs like "Surly Ambassador" or "When Siblings Attack." His goofball programming and razor sharp shifts have ended up occupying large portions of my brain, slowly taking it over with all the weirdness I could ever ask for.
Don't expect to be blown away immediately. Dinosaur Dinosaur works slowly despite being fast paced and unusual. It will take time for all the wires, tentacles, and madness to take root, but they will surely take over. At times Drootin can sound a little flat, his compositions not always ready to give up their secrets right away. Closer observation, however, will reveal a whole world of sound blistering away beneath his beatcentric music.
This introductory four track CD-R is the first not-so rotten fruitfrom the newly minted side project from one half of Newcastle uponTyne’s Tears of Abraham. Mein Kinder might freely embrace the tag of‘dark ambient soundscapes’ but the music here is far darker, deeper andbetter than the limitations of that genre suggest.
Part of an ongoing larger 21 track project, these tracks take theirtitles from the names of the children killed at the Branch Davidiancompound in Waco, Texas. The basic ingredients of the tracks here aremaybe straight to tape live sounds such as drone and feedback withlittle or no manipulation, but they swell under the weight of differentthe sounds that are heard.
At nearly twenty five minutes longer than the other pieces, “Little OneJones” can’t help but stand out. The ranting insane vocal line (done inone take through a child’s tape recorder) may be incomprehensible butit still manages to clearly rage under the unfolding and judderingcircling waves.
The other pieces are shot through with streaks of violence (“LisaMartin”) and eddies of bleak tapering smoke blown by circlinghelicopters (“Star Koresh”) creating compulsory if unsettling listens.Even though closer, “Startle Summers,” is possibly still a futurework-in-progress, it’s the best thing here. Chaining a metal melody ofcalland response feedback to a groaning backdrop of shifting weight itstaggers contemptibly within its constraints. There’s a huge repeatingsound (perhaps a disfigured doom metal chant or perhaps percussion)with in the track that carries it headlong into gloom.
Mein Kinder mayonly be a few months old but he’s maturing very fast.
Thrones is better known as the work of Joe Preston, the man of a thousand bands (Earth, The Melvins, Sunn O))), High on Fire, etc) and of limited edition releases. This is a (thankfully unlimited) collection of various singles, rarities and unreleased material from about the last ten years on one handy disc. It is one oddball collection to say the least.
The variety of material on Day Late, Dollar Short is immense. I was expecting something along the lines of what Earth are doing now judging from the style of the cover (designed by Stephen O’Malley whose work graces the covers of half the music I buy lately) but that adage about covers and judging holds true. There are the expected dirges and snail’s-pace sludge tracks but then there is also a slew of other surprises: weird carnival music, an odd Enya-like synth piece and a selection of balls-to-the-wall covers. There’s little time to get your bearings with each track as they seem to be put in an order that will cause the most disorientation possible for the listener. Just as I get used to the slow, sludgy tracks, Preston does a U-turn and slaps me with a trout in the shape of “Epicus Doomicus Dumpitus,” which sounds like the soundtrack to a Japanese role playing videogame.
Day Late, Dollar Short starts off with “The Suckling,” whichis exactly what I was expecting from Thrones. It is all detuned,guttural guitars and fucked up vocals. It plods along like a dinosauron valium before suddenly I find myself in the middle of a killer coverof “Young Savage” by Ultravox. It is the kind of song to get a fistpumping in the air very easily. There are a couple of other covers onthe album, both of which are excellent. “Black Blade” (originally BlueÖyster Cult) is a psychedelic, lost in the desert version of theoriginal. However, the real gem of a cover is the gobsmackinglyridiculous cover of The Who’s “A Quick One While He’s Away.” It startsoff with heavily processed barber shop vocals and finishes with amindfuck of bizarre electronics, booming drums and unhuman high pitchedvocals (think Alvin the Chipmunk impersonating an ebowed guitar).
Apart from covering other people’s work, the original material by Thrones is also of note. “Senex” is a long and highly disturbing track: the guitars play extremely repetitively to a programmed beat while a scary, mechanical voice speaks over the music. When the song breaks down into a monstrously huge riff it’s like all of earth has been swallowed whole by god knows what. “Coal Stick” and “Obolus” continue the heavier than heavy riffage to devastating effect. Elsewhere,Preston shows his more peculiar side with “Silvery Colorado” and “Oracle,” both of which employ watery sounding vocals and a cheesy organ sound (with the latter breaking into a totally unexpected stadium rock finale).
Day Late, Dollar Short is a fantastic collection of eccentric and inimitable songs. Thrones can sometimes teeter towards novelty but the warped humour pulls it back from the edge. I’ve always liked Preston’s work with the other bands mentioned above but this is the first time I’ve heard the man doing his own thing and it well and truly floored me. Simply put, this is a blinder of an album.
As I write this it has been seven years to the day since the passing ofBryn Jones. Several labels diligently continue to release andpreserve his music but in recent years Soleilmoon is at the forefrontof packaging presentation. From the metal tin of Arrabbox tothe oversized folder of Alms for Iraq to the fur covering of Re-mixsVolume 1 & 2 to the silk pouch of Syrinjia. And now this. Soleilmoon Recordings
Speaker of Turkish is a limited edition of 397 (a second issuein more conventional packaging is forthcoming) that comes in ahand-made wooden gatefold case held together by a paper hinge and heldfast by a beaded string through top notches. On the front is araised-relief mosque and inside the word "Allah" is silk-screened inArabic calligraphy. Also inside is a hand-numbered 2006 wallet-sizedcalendar and window sticker, both with colorful mosque illustrations.
Musically speaking, rather than another re-issue, this is the firstalbum of completely new material to be released in more than two years.It was recorded in 1997 along with at least a dozen other albums—threeof which have still yet to be released—a testament to Jones'unrelentingly productive pace. The entire catalog stands as one greatwork but any one disc is a snapshot of a particular period. Around thistime Jones had become very skilled at creating a sort of traveloguecollage with his usual arsenal of sounds: hand drums, bass throbs,ethnic wind and string instruments, electronic blips, snatches ofvoice, smears of stereo-panned distortion and seemingly found sounds(the pesky peacock is back, but subdued).
Six tracks make up the 73 and 1/2 minutes with two being in the 10minute range and three being in the 16 minute range. "The Good Muslim,"especially its same-titled reprise, is the most aggressive minded asthe beats are much more forceful and overlapping. The closer, "Shah ofPersia," approaches a minimal zen as a simple string loop is accompaniedby bass, surface crackle and sporadic overdriven outbursts. The rhythmson the epic length tracks are lethargic and come and go as theymeander,altogether defying the tedious repetition that marks many other albums.
It's this more relaxed and subliminal style of Muslimgauze thatimpresses me most and leaves me with an overwhelming sense of mystery:where are we?; why are we there?; what does it all mean? It onlybecomes perfectly clear when delving into the to-the-point interviewswith Jones that the music is purely a compulsive reaction to events inthe Middle East. He produced music for 17 years at the time of hisdeath and I wouldn't be surprised if it takes another 17 years torelease the remainder of what he left behind. Hopefully Soleilmoon andothers continue to honor the man and his music with their adornment.
Without a single weak track, Make has gone down as one of the most fun albums of 2005 that I missed. As GD Luxxe, Gerhard Potuznik offers up everything from sexy, hot beats to pounding, throbbing punk full of blazing guitars and explosive arrangements that blow up in the most intense and lovingly orchestrated ways possible.
Potuznik, Angelika Koehlermann co-founder and former Chicks on Speed member/producer, is resurrecting the dead. Being a difficult project, I had doubts that he could succeed. The challenge is to relive the glory days of late punk and early electronic dance music without sounding contrived, weak, or absolutely bland. I didn't think it was possible, considering how much that period has been bled dry by other lame acts.
He is, however, a creative and dynamic writer and producer. Instead of blatantly ripping off countless, talented performers so as to sound almost as good as they once did, Potuznik simply borrows their attitude and maybe their love of dance to make something new and worth listening to. It doesn't take an education in punk music to hear the punk attitude on this record. As GD Luxxe, Potuznik's voice is a little flat, the lyrics delivered in that cold and calculated manner that suggests the vocalist is an observer reporting things nobody else sees. He sometimes sings as though he is delivering a manifesto, a suggested course of action towards that new and improved world political punk never delivered. His music, however, is lively, full of guitars, animated keyboards, and a myriad of bubbling electronics that either bounce about or elicit dark, very gothic clouds reminiscent of the best make-up wearing bands of the 80s.
Make doesn't sound like a complete rip-off of New Order, Joy Division, Wire, or whoever else you want to name-check because it doesn't bother trying to sound as revolutionary as they did twenty-plus years ago. Potuznik has mixed his own brand of beat-propelled electronic music with his idea of punk music and called it a day, thankfully. Instead of reaching for that searching, youthful sound that marked much of the late 70s and early 80s best bands, Potuznik lets go and merely acknowledges his influences and his love for the genre. Where other, terrible musicians try to add all the drama and seriousness that came naturally for some bands, GD Luxxe has some fun writing his own songs and doesn't bother reaching for anything he can't come across naturally.
The opener, "Hands," sounds like music for traveling in the most Kraftwerkian sense possible. The pounding drums and lovely, dark synthesizers pulse like an engine chugging its way down the longest highway ever constructed, with no goal in sight. Potuznik's voice compliments the music perfectly, sounding like a demented narrator for the journey ahead. And, as dark as the track is, it could easily find its way to the dance floor where all the seedy elements of the track would be celebrated as dark and seething sexuality. "IFY" is more dreamy, full of winding melodies and stuttered rhythms that never quite match up. Even Potuznik's voice is higher on this track, the chorus a lovely combination of echoes, tenuous utterances, and unadorned heat. Repeated listens will reveal that GD Luxxe is a sexual creature if nothing else. When many of the tracks pick up the pace and begin rolling along uncontrollably in their rhythm, it is hard not to think of Make as an animalistic album destined for clubs and house parties. Beyond that, however, the album is wholly listenable, well-written, and deserving of serious attention. This does seem to be, after all, the blueprint for how to acknowledge the 80s without worshipping it or cheapening the decade's better music.
His darker songs are exquisite and with songs like "Profile" or "Your Highways" it is obvious that Potuznik is worried about song craft and atmosphere first and attitude second. Luckily he's loaded with attitude, so the two blend effortlessly.
4AD's recent release of this Cocteau Twins retrospective finally does this pioneering band's back catalog justice. From the comprehensive track selection to beautifully-designed v23 art printed on a soft, textured paper with vellum overlay, this is the collection that Cocteau Twins fans have been waiting for.
When 4AD released the first Cocteau singles box set, the unwieldy collection was more of a bookshelf trophy than a music document. The crimson box stuffed full of single-length CDs was most notable for its girth, and yet it didn't even cover nearly half of the band's career from the major label days. Lullabies to Violaine fixes all of that by compressing the output of all of the band's singles into a mere four discs, sequenced chronologically and packaged together into something that is both more elaborate and small enough to fit in a normal CD rack.
Listening straight through the discs is a wonderfully organic trip through Cocteau Twins history. Beginning with the rough-edged, post-punk angst of "Feathers-Oar-Blades," it's difficult to imagine how the band would wind up providing a near-muzak version of "Frosty the Snowman" to play in supermarkets over a decade later. The guitars in early Cocteau tracks are angular, noisy and tend to shriek more than soar. When taken a few tracks at a time, though, the progress is evident and it even makes a strange sort of sense as the edges are smoothed out into the blissful, angelic pop for which the band is most well known.
The first evolution comes with "Sugar Hiccup," where Elizabeth Fraser ditches most of her anguished vocal urgency and the pace slows to a lullaby crawl. While I love some of the rough and dirty early tracks, it's the mid-to-late 4AD period that will always define Cocteau Twins for me, and those records are represented with some wonderfully obscure alternate versions of tracks and singles that I'd long forgotten. Putting "The Spangle Maker" and "Pearly Dewdrops' Drops" into the larger context is one of the invaluable services that this set provides.
Discs three and four cover the Four Calendar Café and later years; and while I've never been as much of a fan of that era as I was of records like Blue Bell Knoll, it's amazing to look back at the volume and variety of a period that is mostly remembered for an overly-saccharine record and a let-down of a swan song. The acoustic Twinlights EP was an interesting unplugged experiment, but the minimalist, electronic reconstructions of Otherness rank as one of the band's best and biggest surprises. The single for "Violaine," is another late-era highlight and the omnipresent in retail yet difficult to track down Christmas singles are included for good measure.
All of this is wrapped up in the kind of package that is befitting a band that perhaps first justified the much-overused adjective "ethereal" as applied to music. The white fold out package is printed on a white, billowy paper that feels otherworldly yet wholly appropriate. At this point in my life, I've been a Cocteau Twins fan longer than not, and it's great to have the v23 designed retrospective that's complete and mysterious, beautifully simple and yet as evocative as the band ever was.