Before I even got around to playing this album I was intrigued by the album's packaging. The red fuzzy sleeve contains both the CD (obviously) and sleeve notes printed on a thin, Styrofoam-like material. The different textures of the materials are at first baffling but then a certain kind of logic begins to emerge while listening to the album. The music itself changes texture persistently, from soft to rough, from hard to gooey; by the time I adjust to a piece I am lost again. It is a wonderful feeling, like being a little drunk in a foreign town.
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Although collaborators since the early 1980s, Raw Powder marks the first official release from this duo (excluding self-released CD-Rs) that encapsulates some 18-plus years of rock and roll into a sprawling, slap-dash collection of 24 tracks, intentionally raw and rough around the edges. While many may know Denham more for his/her connections to Throbbing Gristle, Psychic TV, Greater Than One, and other integral bands of the era, s/he proves here that his musical sensibilities are just as noteworthy as his paintings and artwork.
The premise alone sounds should be enough to get people's attention: a folk "supergroup" featuring members of Yellow Swans, Deerhoof, Six Organs of Admittance, and Charalambides, among others. Considering the pedigree, it is safe to assume that it won't be folk in the conventional sense. Instead of the "overly sensitive guy in the coffee shop with an acoustic guitar" folk sense, it's more of an ethnography of early Americana music. It is dense, rich, and more than just a bit sinister in nature.
Exploring the limitations of an instrument can be more enlightening than obsessing about perfect tone or versatility. On Everydays, Onda and Licht use the button noise and trashcan fidelity of cassettes as a tool rather than a handicap. The results range from bucolic chatter to full on noise assault.
Fans of the post-punk shouldn't let fear of diminishing returns dissuade them from checking out The Lines. While Memory Span is not a proverbial lost masterpiece of rock and roll, the songs collected display enough nuance and diversity to separate the band from usual glut of also-rans and could-have-beens.
Mountain Battles sounded like a superficial hodgepodge with few promising moments. Desperately seeking positives, I sought a suitable listening venue and found one with a Breeders fan: my hairdresser.
One of the early bands associated with Factory Records, Section 25 never quite got the recognition that their peers did, and unfairly so. Their sound captured the zeitgeist of that early era just as effectively as Joy Division or A Certain Ratio, but they never seemed to set the world on fire quite the same. Coinciding with their "reunion" album, last year's Part-Primitiv, LTM has reissued early S25 material, including this first "best of" compilation, spanning their entire 30-year career.
The title couldn't be more appropriate for this album: the band's work has always seemed to come out of a smoky, hallucinogenic haze, and this collection of rare and unreleased tracks demonstrates this clearly. The sound is an odd mix of 1960s psych tinged rock with some of the more current attention to drone and noise that works extremely well.
This 7" only release sees Andrew Liles form yet another collaborative unit, this time with Clodagh Simonds' wonderful (and ever changing) group. Established Fovea Hex approaches to song recur only to be almost completely dashed aside with new approaches to their work. That so much can happen on two shorts sides of vinyl is not very surprising considering how epic Simonds' previous EPs with her group have been. With Liles' sonic alchemy, the results are breathtaking.
This latest album by one of the greatest living singers is a celebration of the damned by the damned. It stands out in stark contrast to her more usual themes, a smirk and a wink to co- conspirators instead of the damning finger of accusation or cry for those who never got a chance to cry out. This change of tact makes Guilty Guilty Guilty one of her more instantly listenable albums. Instead of working myself up to listening to an hour or two of dejected misery, this is a far more accessible voyage through some of the not so dark ballads in Galás' songbook.
