Messenger
The funny, aloof, quirky Dan Bern is dead, and has been replaced by amature, kindred spirit-type songwriter with his heart firmly on hissleeve on Fleeting Days,and he's all the better for it. Well, not really, as the flippanttongue still wags a bit here and there, but for the most part Bern doesseem to be keeping it away from his cheek and going straight forSerious-singer/songwriter-ville. Luckily, once again he's brought alongthe right backing band in the IJBC (the International Jewish BankingConspiracy) to flesh out these songs, as the arrangements are tight,solid, and never seem like too much. Bern seems more confident in thebandleader role than he's ever been, and as his music and lyrics takeon a more mature feel the subject matter invariably goes where I'dexpect: relationships. Dan's always had a feel for this ground (see"Rome" off his debut for the quintessential "why'd you leave me?"ditty), but his pleas are more heartfelt, more gripping here. On thefirst track, "Baby Bye Bye:" "I turn off the phone so if you don't callit's all right/and maybe I won't listen to nothing tonight," after thedissolution of his affair with a fellow music fan. I'm pretty sureeveryone's been there, and I know I have. On "Chain Around My Neck," hesings "Don't ask you to believe me now, I don't deserve your trust...Next time that I see you let's pretend it's our first date," and youdon't despise him. There's a truth here, which is probably the onething that seemed absent in all of his previous records. I liked thefunny Dan Bern, but at the end of the day I couldn't really believe hewas as absurd as he sounded. On Fleeting Days I believe every word, and it puts Bern solidly on the map of Americana.
The funny, aloof, quirky Dan Bern is dead, and has been replaced by amature, kindred spirit-type songwriter with his heart firmly on hissleeve on Fleeting Days,and he's all the better for it. Well, not really, as the flippanttongue still wags a bit here and there, but for the most part Bern doesseem to be keeping it away from his cheek and going straight forSerious-singer/songwriter-ville. Luckily, once again he's brought alongthe right backing band in the IJBC (the International Jewish BankingConspiracy) to flesh out these songs, as the arrangements are tight,solid, and never seem like too much. Bern seems more confident in thebandleader role than he's ever been, and as his music and lyrics takeon a more mature feel the subject matter invariably goes where I'dexpect: relationships. Dan's always had a feel for this ground (see"Rome" off his debut for the quintessential "why'd you leave me?"ditty), but his pleas are more heartfelt, more gripping here. On thefirst track, "Baby Bye Bye:" "I turn off the phone so if you don't callit's all right/and maybe I won't listen to nothing tonight," after thedissolution of his affair with a fellow music fan. I'm pretty sureeveryone's been there, and I know I have. On "Chain Around My Neck," hesings "Don't ask you to believe me now, I don't deserve your trust...Next time that I see you let's pretend it's our first date," and youdon't despise him. There's a truth here, which is probably the onething that seemed absent in all of his previous records. I liked thefunny Dan Bern, but at the end of the day I couldn't really believe hewas as absurd as he sounded. On Fleeting Days I believe every word, and it puts Bern solidly on the map of Americana.samples:
With this new mini-album, Wevie de Crepon follows Kai Althoff'sWorkshop as the newest pleasant surprise from the Sonig label. TheMouse on Mars-owned imprint has consistently combated IDM's sterilespectre with highly original electronic music, often of a popsensibility, but Wevie, like Workshop before them, throw evenestablished Sonig innovators for a loop. Wevie de Crepon, previouslyrecording as Wevie Stonder for Skam records, have made an absurd,sample-ful comedy record set to a (jarringly) diverse bed of electronicsong-craft. Comparisons to Negativland come easily, but Wevie's obtuse,thoroughly apolitical content puts them somewhere else entirely. Thesongs' two-minute pop bursts also separate them from Negativland'ssprawling cut-up orgies; most tracks on The Age Old Age of Old Agefeature a grounding beat with one lengthy sample laid on top, actingalmost as a vocal to the jubilant backing music. The result is that themost absurd of sampled material (like British pseudo-crime dramadialogue, or David Lynch digressing about a duck's eyeball) meshesseamlessly with music that would by itself be marketable to the IDMcrowd. These backing tracks range from full on drill n'bass hoe-downsand Too Pure-ish bliss-out sections, to bouncy, kitsch-laden groovesrecalling Stock, Hausen & Walkman. A keen appreciation of kitsch isessential to the enjoyment of this music, for no level of pristineproduction (certainly present here) is enough to prevent the averagelistener from muttering "the hell is this, then" at least once. One iswarned, after all, by the atrocious cover art; Wevie de Crepon is notfor everyone. The Age Old Age of Old Age runs most "serious"electronic music through a hilarious cycle of degeneration that will beunsettling for those hesitant to give up their respective ghosts.Perhaps this music contains a political agenda after all, one promotingself-criticism, patience, and most of all, a sense of humor. 
Sometimes it's all about figuring out what ingredient doesn't work,apparently. When Sunny Day Real Estate split in 1995 and then reformedin 1997 without original bassist Nate Mendel, some thought thatfrictions were still present that may have caused the split, preventingMendel from returning to the fold. Then in 2001, just when the bandseemed to be branching out into new territory, the band split again,leaving many scratching their heads: why split up at the height of yourpopularity, reform, then split up again right when all seemed to be inplace? According to recent interviews with band members, it wasoriginal guitarist Dan Hoerner who caused some of the troubles, makingit very difficult to work with him. So, when vocalist/guitarist JeremyEnigk and drummer William Goldsmith wanted to record some new material,they decided to go it alone, only to have Mendel accept the invitationthis time. Obviously, the name would have to change, as there waslittle mileage left in it, so they chose The Fire Theft and headed tothe studio with Brad Wood. The result is a little bit SDRE and a wholelot breaking new ground, with myriad synthesizers (courtesy of Wood)and new noises making their way onto the record. Through it all,Enigk's voice is the anchor as it always has been, and the record is abold new beginning and another chance at success. "Faces in Disguise"off SDRE's The Rising Tideis a good frame of reference for this record, as the sound seems totake that track's atmospheric approach and build on it. "UncleMountain" is as impressive an album opener as I've heard this year,starting off muted and quiet then lunging for the death blow halfwaythrough. Elsewhere, "It's Over" and "Waste Time" show off classic Enigkwails and familiar guitar crunches fans will adore. It's a powerfuldebut, full of promise, and a redemption from the ashes of the past.Fire theft, indeed. 
Sound are the duo of Eric Lumbleau (of Vas Deferens Organization) and Joel Zoch. Their first release for Beta-Lactam Ring is the Screaming Zenith double LP beautifully packaged in a deluxe gatefold sleeve adorned with grotesquely distorted pornography. This is the first clue of the twisted sonic perversions waiting inside. The second clue is the dadaist song titles, full of goofy alliteration and lysergic wordplay. Sound's sound is a quivering gelatin of sinister whimsy: Aphex-style beat sequencing rubs shoulders with Numan-esque keyboards, fuzzy Western guitars, creepy voice loops and sudden, terrifying plunges into ring-modulated, echo-chambered oblivion.
The essence of 'doing it yourself' is to avoid any hints of compromise, watering down, or loss of vision so that you may release a work that is totally and completely pure. It's a personal expression that is something to be proud of. Unfortunately, it seems that along the road to self-actualization some people eschew both quality control and thoughtful planning.
Jim Sutherland has quite a background as a composer of television andfilm scores. Crackletone is his somewhat minimalist, somewhat spooky,and somehow intriguing vehicle for composing drone-based pieces. I saythat the pieces are drone-based, but that really isn't fair: there area lot of different sounds used throughout the rather awkwardly namedalbum: what might be the sounds of a heart beating are combined withnauseating organ spills, a little too cleanly produced digital bleepsand bloops, and truly effective moans bubbling over with drifting windsand interstellar interference. The result of combining haunting andintriguing sounds with overused and bland ones makes for a see-sawexperience. At times the sounds really produce a sense of horror butthen they are interrupted by sounds that remind me that the horrificstuff can't possibly be real. In other words, what seems gritty, dirty,and realis revealed as fake because of sci-fi noises that remind me of blastersounds used in so many video games. The first track, "Crackletone," isa thirty-minute composition that manages to stay entrancing andbelievable despite some of the rather silly sounds used in it. "FondlePark" is nearly unlistenable. In fact, I only listened to it once andthat was only because I felt I had to so that I could be honest aboutthe album as a whole. "Journey to the Sea of Sparks" is probably thebest piece on the album, where a majority of those digital and cleansounds have been eliminated in favor of a rather stunning combinationof distorted grandfather clocks, evil hissing, and a truly strangemelody that appears half-way through and then disappears into the voidof space the rest of the sounds create. Maybe it's the sound of a stormas heard by someone on LSD or maybe its just the rumblings of aspace-monsters hungry stomach. In either case, it's entertaining. Ican't wholly reccomend this release, but I can't deny that I enjoy agood portion of it when I give it a spin; it's just that I don't oftenfeel compelled to listen to it.
Does overproduced Weezer-lite rock-pop with Notwist-by-numbers laptopbeats and effete vocals sound like the music you've been waiting tohear all your life? Well, the wait is over now that Certainly, Sir havegraced the world with the hipster atrocity of their new album Mugic.The title of the album seems to have been inspired by a night ofreckless Pabst Blue Ribbon consumption and pot smoking: "Hey dude,let's name the record Mugic, because it's like 'music' plus'magic.' That would be so deck!" It's this same kind of misguidedimpulse that led the band to write songs with excruciatingly sophomorictitles like "My Bad" and "The Vacant Lot of My Heart." I know virtuallynothing about the history of this Boston group, and I'd prefer to keepit that way. I'm more than willing to bet that the members ofCertainly, Sir have been spotted at various nightspots wearing fadedjeans, nylon trucker caps and studded belts. Certainly, Sir's sub-parsound has clearly been influenced by the laptop-pop of groups likePostal Service and Yoshimi-era Flaming Lips. Unfortunately, they seem unable even to properly plagiarize. The 11 power-pop songs on Mugic are banal to the point of negation, making even the tepid Give Upalbum by Postal Service seem like a masterpiece in comparison. Not onlydoes the band's music fail to contribute anything new or unique to themedium, it actually seems to microscopically detract from the entirehistory of music merely by its existence. Records as dull and unlikableas Mugic seem to indicate that it has officially become far tooeasy to record and release an album these days. The opening track"Sweet Time" sets up the dreadful sound with its shiny guitar,cookie-cutter Powerbook beats and "Don't You Want Me"-style male/femaletradeoff vocals. However, this is miles away from the pop mastery ofthe Human League, with embarrassingly overwrought lyrics like "Turn offthe TV/Come out from in the open/Get beneath a tree/Safe and warm,that's me." Later, on "Hello," the vocalist assures "No sweat, girl, Ichecked, we're still alive." These lyrics would be better suited tosome high-profile emo-punk band with a name like Sunny Day Monument orBurning Coalition (thanks to The Emo Band Name Generator). On "My Bad,"the lead singer makes a heartrending confession: "When I said my heartwould crack - I take it back/Apparently it won't/My Bad." Thesetrust-fund babies are hoping that anorexic girls wearing headbands,ironic t-shirts and unnecessary eyeglasses will find their brand ofsoul-baring irresistible enough to warrant the occasional hand-jobbackstage. Certainly, Sir should sign to a major label quickly, as Idon't think the current MTV generation can go another second withoutthe aggressively mediocre, homogenized crapfest offered by Mugic.
Upon first listen, The Civil War sounds completely unlike anything I've ever heard from Matmos. Initially, it is quite a struggle to place this new album in context with their previous work, which is characterized by minutely detailed electronica full of samples constructed from non-musical objects and field recordings. In stark contrast, most of the tracks on The Civil War are non-conceptual, traditionally structured songs with easily digestible melodies and chord progressions. Many of the medieval, folk and symphonic instruments on this album reach the listener untouched, without the usual precise surgical edits and digital processing that Drew Daniel and MC Schmidt have built their career on. This will be quite a shock for those who have become acquainted with Matmos through albums such as Quasi Objects and A Chance to Cut is a Chance to Cure. Even The West, though it was purportedly an exploration of country and blues, still shared the same fascination with sample-derived audio minutiae. So, it's fair to say that The Civil War is quite a departure. Luckily, the gamble pays off.
Guapo have a reputation as instrumental prog artists that evoke avariety of influences to produce ambient structures that are known tocross the ten-minute mark. Cerberus Shoal are no stranger to longpieces with myriad styles themselves, and their collaborations of latewith a wide array of artists have done more for their palette than canbe measured. For the third in the Shoal's split-EP series, both ofthese left-of-center bands contribute tracks over sixteen minutes andthen a third of the same stature is created from their tracks. It isthe longest, most freeform and ethereal release in the series, and inplaces the most impressive and frightening. Guapo's solo piece, "IdiosKosmos," is a wall of sound dirge of guitar, cello, and electronicsthat swells and expands like a lung: taking in air and using it, thenpausing before taking in the air again. There seems to be nothing thatwill distinguish it for the first ten minutes, and the quality changesto a crashing plane's whine. Then, the lung springs a leak, and theinner processes and air spill out in a whirlwind of poundingpercussion. It takes a while to get where it's going, but the track isultimately fulfilling. Ceberus Shoal's track, "A Man Who Loved Holes,"is a chilling piece with no rhythm or structure, with scatteredpassages of singing and a ghostly voice that passses from one speakerto the next and back again. Prose and poetry are recited, eerie soundeffects escape and intertwine, and everything maintains an evil calm.The Shoal have approached this kind of strangeness in the past, butnever this extended madness with little music to speak of. It'sconfusing while fascinating, and worth a listen even though it isclearly not for everyone. The third track, billed as Guaperus Shoalo,is an appropriate puree of both tracks, with ambient and eerie vocalsconverging before mighty percussion and electronic whines. It is themost collaborative song on these EPs so far, and eclipses both previoustracks in its atmosphere and bizarre melody. As they continue with thisseries, the material from both artists gets stranger and stranger, butalso more collaborative, as each artist seems to feed more off of whatthe Shoal is putting out and vice versa. 
