Every music city in America has a group like the Second Family Band. Musicians will go to each other’s shows, hang-out, tour together, and maybe share rent on a house or practice space. Eventually they all end up in the same room together, jamming. Someone sets up a microphone, turns on the tape recorder and soon thereafter another album of "shadowy" group improv is set loose on the world. The Second Family Band matches the pattern, but with an important distinction: Their music is worth listening to.
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The title and content of this EP could be interpreted many different ways. For one, the seven short tracks were all built using a single household implement, such as a rubber band or metal pan. Second, the sparse, short pieces are prime sampling material for DJs and other artists, making the disc a "tool" for recycling. Regardless of its potential uses, the material makes for a compelling example of Ielasi’s ability to turn the mundane into the extremely listenable.
The news of this intriguing collaboration delighted me, as Klara Lewis has carved out quite a wonderfully idiosyncratic and incredibly constrained niche over the last few years by largely avoiding any recognizable instrumentation. Consequently, I had no idea at all what would happen when her surreal collages collided with Simon Fisher Turner's formidable talents as a composer. As it turns out, a pure collaboration resulted, as Care does not particularly resemble either artist's previous work. Instead, it feels like several divergent albums have been deconstructed, warped, and obliterated to leave only some lingering shards in a shifting and hallucinatory fantasia of drones, textures, and field recordings. That fundamental disjointedness can admittedly be a bit challenging at times, but Care ultimately comes together beautifully with the lushly rapturous closer, "Mend."
Featuring Can’s Jaki Liebezeit on drums along with Helmut Zerlett and Dominik von Senger amongst others, on Phantom Band’s eponymous debut they try to bring the new musical frontier of '70s Germany into the then sprightly '80s with varying degrees of success. This mixed bag of krautrock-cum-world music lacks the punch of their Freedom of Speech album but acts as a fitting introduction to the group’s brief career.
I am ashamed to say that I slept on this volcanic French ensemble's woefully underappreciated and face-melting debut album when it came out, but I have since embraced them as one of the finest purveyors of squalling guitar noise around. With this, their second formal full-length, the quintet expand the borders of their expected firestorm into some darker and more idiosyncratic territory. Such an excursion deeper into the outré is hardly surprising, however, given that Joëlle Vinciarelli collaborated with My Cat is an Alien just a few months before this album was recorded (it is impossible to imagine that anyone could spend time with the Opalio brothers and not emerge with some interesting new ideas about how music can be made). The results of that evolution are a bit of a mixed success here, as the band's more simmering and lysergic side yields some interesting results, but sacrifices the awesome visceral power of their more explosively kinetic moments.
Freedom of Speech bursts with tons more energy than the group's debut. Whereas the first Phantom Band album seemed to meander with more style than substance, here the group have a target to use the sharp edge of their music on. Although not a perfect record, this is head and shoulders above their debut as they finally manage to fully integrate their new world music influences into their tight, groove-based music.
I will admit that I have always been a bigger fan of Masami Akita's collaborative efforts than the unscalable mountain that is his solo material. As the de facto figurehead in the Japanoise scene (and arguably, noise as a genre, including the artistic controversy, irreverence, and the platitudes of misanthropy so seemingly representative of the scene), Merzbow has, for me, always remained a reliable proof-of-concept but not something I would consistently find myself listening to. However, there has always been interesting results to come from his working with just about anyone who would dare test his aesthetics, and this latest product is no exception. Scott Miller and Lee Camfield (ex-Sutekh Hexen) provide a backdrop of (relatively) human instrumentation and occasional sense, which is then deliciously cannibalized by Akita's digital processing.
Were it nothing but the title song alone, Landing's Wave Lair would have still made a pretty strong impression on me. Prodding curiously at the fabric of pop songwriting, Landing finds an experimentalism in a new style fit to augment its hazy sentimentality. With drummer Daron Gardner on bass, the band turns to drum machines for rhythm and finds direction in heady drone and blurry passages of sedate dream pop. It also happens that the rest of the material on this album is solid as well, finding a few glimpses of brilliance in familiar forms.
