Smalltown Supersound
As somewhat of an unofficial tenth anniversary celebration of thegroup, Jaga Jazzist have decided to reissued their pre-Ninja Tune 1998mini-LP, which has quickened my completist heart. Previously availableonly within their native Norway, or as a hefty-priced import (if youcould find it), the re-release of Magazinenow has wider distribution thanks in part to the success of the group'sNorth American releases and subsequent tour. The complexity of thecompositions and musicianship on this disc blows my mind, knowing thatthe majority of the group were still in their late teens when it wasrecorded. Such compositions and performances sound like that ofseasoned players at least a generation or two ahead. The crisp, liveelectro-styled dance bass and drums of "Jaga Ist Zu Hause" pulse alongfor soaring melodies handled by unison xylophone and soprano sax.Normally, I have an aversion to modern day soprano sax performances,but I'm willing to overlook and even embrace it in this context. Thebroken-up swing and shimmering Fender Rhodes on "Swedish Take Away(Live)" recalls the popular, yet subtle 70s action flick soundtrackstyle, with a brief and tasteful drum solo. The cheerful "Seems To Me"is the first track I've heard of any of Jaga Jazzist's stuff featuringvocals, which are accompanied by acoustic guitar and tastefullypeppered with glockenspiel and smooth horns. For the bonus tracks,"Serafin I Jungelen" re-mixes source material from an even earlierrelease to an electronic dance pulse, while "Magazine Part I & II"messes with the said releases tracks in a very open format. Havinggarnered a fair amount of acclaim outside of their homeland, I'mlooking forward to additional re-releases of earlier material, whichwill continue to have me thinking that I'm an old fart based on themusical chops that I've got.
As somewhat of an unofficial tenth anniversary celebration of thegroup, Jaga Jazzist have decided to reissued their pre-Ninja Tune 1998mini-LP, which has quickened my completist heart. Previously availableonly within their native Norway, or as a hefty-priced import (if youcould find it), the re-release of Magazinenow has wider distribution thanks in part to the success of the group'sNorth American releases and subsequent tour. The complexity of thecompositions and musicianship on this disc blows my mind, knowing thatthe majority of the group were still in their late teens when it wasrecorded. Such compositions and performances sound like that ofseasoned players at least a generation or two ahead. The crisp, liveelectro-styled dance bass and drums of "Jaga Ist Zu Hause" pulse alongfor soaring melodies handled by unison xylophone and soprano sax.Normally, I have an aversion to modern day soprano sax performances,but I'm willing to overlook and even embrace it in this context. Thebroken-up swing and shimmering Fender Rhodes on "Swedish Take Away(Live)" recalls the popular, yet subtle 70s action flick soundtrackstyle, with a brief and tasteful drum solo. The cheerful "Seems To Me"is the first track I've heard of any of Jaga Jazzist's stuff featuringvocals, which are accompanied by acoustic guitar and tastefullypeppered with glockenspiel and smooth horns. For the bonus tracks,"Serafin I Jungelen" re-mixes source material from an even earlierrelease to an electronic dance pulse, while "Magazine Part I & II"messes with the said releases tracks in a very open format. Havinggarnered a fair amount of acclaim outside of their homeland, I'mlooking forward to additional re-releases of earlier material, whichwill continue to have me thinking that I'm an old fart based on themusical chops that I've got.
The Gomco Clamp is a special medical device created to facilitate the circumcision of infant boys, a bell-shaped device over which the shaft skin of the penis is stretched before a circular incision is made. On the first track of Thighpaulsandra's new album, tastefully entitled Rape Scene, the eccentric Welshman hints at a joyful misuse of this medical device, and the mind reels at the sadomasochistic possibilities inherent in such a suggestion.
Sub Rosa has a habit of releasing highly conceptual compilations, whereoften times the ingenuity of a particular track or artist gets lost inthe maintenance of vague thematics or some all-too-constrictive"grounds" for collection. The Hidden Cityis no exception, though the level field and loose connectivity of thefeatured artists seems actually to work in favor of the theme: aportrait of Göteborg, the complexity of a city that entered the modernera as one of Sweden's most established port cities, liberalized andglobalized long before the rest of its country and much of Europe, onlyto be swiftly clouded over as Copenhagen and Oslo rose to meet the newcentury's demands. Göteborg's "enlightened," early-global statusapparently outlived its economic promise, and the place has sincebecome a haven for liberal thinkers, artists, and the odd manufacturingmogul (Volvo). There exists here a strange middle-ground between oldworld textbook civilizations and the alienating modernist upstarts;Göteborg survives with pieces of both, a diversity duly reflected inthe city's musicians, poets, and sound-artists. These "sound portraits"are not simple inspiration pieces, but reflections and meditations onactual places within the city, often linked to particular addresses.They create an uneven mosaic of sound in which not one is allowedsupremacy or any definite version of Göteborg's confused history.Pieces of the land's proud past and contemporary persistence comethrough in the orchestral work of composer Peter Hansen, whose "WinterAir" locates an elegance and Norse melancholy that feel like fixtureshovering oblivious to the city's shifting traditions. By contrast,local sound artist Johannes Heldén's contribution, aptly-titled"Bäckegatan 36," incorporates field captures and other incidentalsounds in a gem of dirge-like bedroom electronics, challenging theauthenticity of isolationism and the assumed consistencies connectedwith something as simple as a "fixed" address. Paul Bothén, anothersound artist, creates "Oh Lord" through a collage of recordings from aSwedish barroom performance of a modified gospel tune from the AmericanSouth. His layered cuts create a chilling, gothic atmosphere as muchrelated to Göteborg's uniquely "informed" brand of nationalism as tothe city's more recent financial anxiety ("Oh Lord, won't you buy me acolor TV?"). Elsewhere, the new guard of stealthy, dub-infected Germanelectronica gets represented by works from Mapstation and Göteborgresident Anders Ilar, each more subdued than the artist's usual,perhaps in reaction to Göteborg's own restless quiet. Christina Kubischand Alva Noto come through with two of the more aurally pleasingcontributions on the disc, both technically unimpressive pieces that dolittle more than add to the dreamy, lost city feel of the whole. Thereal pleasures of The Hidden City, though, come from watchingthese well known out-of-towners compete with the singular visions oflocal musicians, including works by Henrik Rylander and Sheriff, andthe poets Anna Eriksson and Fredrik Nyberg. These are the artists thatbring Göteborg to life, with a local color of innumerable shades,revealing the hidden treasure that such a compilation boasts. 
A celebration of the highly regarded Kompakt label's hundredth release,this decadent and incestuous affair spans two lengthy discs featuringtheir stable of artists remixing one another. Playing out like theaural equivalent of a hip party that you geeks never get invited to,the listener travels regularly between the main dancefloor and chilloutroom inside some strange yet enthralling post-rave environment.Electronic music pioneers The Orb, represented here as Dr. AlexPaterson and Thomas Fehlmann presumably, open the first disc with agentle reminder to Kompakt's stable of hungry young ambient producers:you'll never be as good at this as we are. In their dense rework of UlfLohmann's "Because Before," flowing soundscapes and hidden rhythmsengage the ears, spending the final minute and a half with a subtlydubby feel. Tackling Reinhard Voigt's "Zu Dicht Dran," DJ Koze emergesvictorious with an irresistable floorfiller with buzzing synth leads,dirty effects, and a hard steady techno beat. Following in that style,Sascha Funke's bleepy and, yes, funky version of Thomas Fehlmann's"Radeln" (known by fans of Kompakt's Totalseries) presents a radical and clubby take on the original's quiethead-nodding grooves. Moving along, Joachim Spieth's near-industrialremix of M. Mayer's "17&4" contrasts greatly with Japanese producerKaito's melodic approach to the synthpop stylings of current scenesterfavorite Superpitcher. The CD closes with the Dettinger remix of CloserMusik's "One Two Three No Gravity", an overflowing cinematic cup ofgorgeous pads, gentle guitar plucking, and bizarrely emotive yetmeaningless vocal snippets. Disc Two features the guiltiest pleasure ofthe entire collection, a severely and dare-I-say embarassinglyAuto-Tuned sing-song remix of Freiland called "Frei/Hot Love" done byJustus Kohncke featuring Meloboy. The track's grating quality ismatched only by its unfortune catchiness, leaving it destined for thesetlists of merciless and quirky DJs alike. Fortunately, Jurgen Paapeand former Force Tracks' mainstays SCSI 9 and bring some order back tothe dancefloor with their versions of Schaeben & Voss' "The WorldIs Crazy" and Lawrence's "Teaser" respectively. Jonas Bering, whoselast album made my Top 10 list in 2003, offers a pleasant reworking ofDettinger's "Intershop" that clicks along dreamily, albeitrepetitively, while Ulf Lohmann's entrancing take on the same track isfar more minimal and droning. Hannes Teichmann wraps things up on aneerie note by remixing Markus Guenter's "In Moll," filling the speakerswith over seven minutes of gurgling noises, degrading sounds, and acorroded somewhat buried melody. In summation, this double-disccompilation is REQUIRED LISTENING for anyone out there who considersthemselves a fan of techno, house, or ambient music today. If The Orbthinks Kompakt is cool, then you should too.
Although I enjoyed Comets on Fire's self-titled debut and its follow up, 2001's Field Recordings from the Sun, I could never have expected the pure, unadulterated rock perfection that is Blue Cathedral. It's the megalithic, all-cylinders-firing psych-rock masterpiece that the band only hinted at with their first two albums.
Even the thought of a two-track, solo guitar release from this AcidMothers Temple founder may have more than a few people reaching for the"wank" button; however, this disc shows a side of Kawabata that usuallyisn't lucky enough to escape the sludge and heavy syrup psych hisgroup's been churning out since the mid-90's. Here are two 30+ minuteimprovs, one acoustic and one electric, both packed with enough reverband delay to make Kawabata's bandmates proud, but both also miles awayfrom the elastic freakouts and deliberate bombast that characterizeAMT. Created just after a trip to Sardinia, where Kawabata claims tohave undergone a spiritual awakening, these pieces are exactly the kindof weightless, shimmering psychedelia that I wish he'd startintegrating within the AMT repertoire. They immediately suggest thosemoments of rural bliss, of remote escape, water and sky, attempted byso many acid-led seekers but realized only by a happy, unsuspectingfew. The first begins in the guitarist's room where simple noteclusters fall into walls of their own reverb and thin blankets of amphum, as if shaken from larger projections of themselves. From here theacoustic begins to climb slow, billowing figures, cyclical and frail,recalling the quieter sides of the already quiet Richard Youngs, JimO'Rourke, and even late-period Fahey whose own love affair with thereverb box seems almost conservative by comparison. Kawabata divideshis single guitar's sound into three separate systems, binding spindlythree-note fragments to columns of their own piling, delayed resonance,rising as if the ruins of some ancient holy space left to loss andvegetation. By the end of this first track, the guitarist seems contentto let even these magical images go, whipping a particularlymelancholic chord progression into a disintegrating ascent, its layersof playback, multiple reverb, and delay assembling a massive shimmeringwaveform, light as breath and coming on without the exhaustion thataccompanies so many AMT climaxes. Rather, Kawabata creates anopen-ended devotional, a piece that truly feels rooted in moments oftranscendence but whose subtlety of flow and improvised constructionkeep it from the force-feeding often associated with his work. For thedisc's title track, he essentially extends the peaking drone from thefirst acoustic piece, this time with an electric guitar and a similararsenal of simple delay and reverb effects. The shift to electricallows for a shimmering structure even more crystalline andotherworldly, mounted by piles of clear feedback that lead ahead-cleaning 45 min. blast along horizons, a droning journey thatbottoms out at the edge of some ancient sun-bleached lake, infinitelycalm. Those looking for proof that Kawabata is capable of curbing thedrug-damaged big riffage for at least a few hours, or those curiousabout how this tireless electric warrior might approach an acousticguitar need look no further than O Si Amos,where even past prejudices bend to the guitarist's reverent approachand the new potential for spiritual therapy latent in his work. 
Olympic Hopefuls is the brainchild of Erik Applewick and DarrenJackson, who have been in various Minneapolic rock outfits, but neverquite like this. Their debut album is ten tracks of power indie popwith grand designs and great hooks, recorded with full polish andstudio tricks galore, like synthesizers that are only there for part ofa verse, looped samples, and plenty of effects. This is the rareoccasion where that sort of production style actually enhances thesesongs, as they are ripe for this kind of treatment. Sure the songsmight have done well with straightforward rock in a room recording andmixing, but they're so quirky that the xylophones and repeating backupvocals just bring out the more odd sections of the lyrics. The openingtrack, "Imaginary," about a love that no one sees but that is trulythere to the beholder, might come off as creepy in other hands, but theHopefuls make it a sad story of misunderstanding, all the while rockingacross a triumph of love almighty. These are very simple concepts witha new twist, usually, or plaintive confessions of open wounds, butthere's no pretense or artifice, just earnest fun and rock and roll."Drain the Sea" is about a somewhat forbidden love with true feeling,and with lyrics like "your dad says my head is filled with rocks andsand" you almost feel sorry for the protagonist, reaching out to him.But he doesn't want pity, as he's willing to take measures, as laterlyrics approach near threats like "they'd better mind their ownbusiness before they interfere." It's a song like this that is thetypical representation of these songs, slick tricks and bright toneswith just an undertone of madness. So is the essence of the OlympicHopefuls: dazzle them with brilliance, then baffle them with the innerworkings of the mind. It w! orks extremely well, as this album is oneof the best I've heard in a while.
Only one thing, with slight variations, really happens for the hour after this CD starts playing: a bass guitar riff... a massive, filthy, loping beast of a groove that's immensely heavy without being in any way 'metal', or even terribly aggressive. The riff is not complicated, but it is loud (as evidenced by the album's unrelenting near-bootleg-quality tape saturation distortion). The riff has no funk, no drive, it isn't headed anywhere; the guitar barely glides along with it, and the drums do not embellish it.
Originally released in 2001 on the Canadian Three Gut Records, theConstantines' debut album is now available via Sub Pop to Americanaudiences. That's not to say that those of us south of the borderaren't already familiar with The Constantines following the success of Shine A Light,one of the best albums of 2003. While The Constantines have often beencompared to the likes of Fugazi, they manage to equally channel thespirit of everyone from Bruce Springsteen to the Replacements. BryWeber's vocals are the band's trademark, carrying the torch forcrooners such as Tom Waits and the above-mentioned Springsteen. Theband's mission is simple, as Webb screams on "Arizona," the album'sopening track: "We want the death of rock n' roll." The irony is thatThe Constantines are more rock n' roll than most other bands in theindie pantheon, and that's their strong point. Anchored by DougMacGregor's confident drumming and Dallas Wehrle's pulsating basslines,the songs on this album maintain an overall energy and aesthetic thatgives the album a seamless quality. While the music is the drivingforce behind the album, Weber's lyrics are perhaps its highlight.Allusions to Isadora Duncan, Danny Rapp, and the Italian Futuristsillustrate an intellectual side not often found in indie rock. Theoverall mood and atmosphere of the album is summed up on the finaltrack, where in "Little Instruments" Weber sings "Mercy little rocker,bleeding guitars / Went out chasing landmarks, fell asleep at the bar /We got an amplifier." They indeed have amplifiers, and let's bethankful for that.
Edited down from hours of raw tapes of radio broadcasts recorded from 1989 to 1996 from New Dehli to Bengal to Calcutta and every point between, Radio India is the newest addition to Sublime Frequencies' growing library of ethnic radio collage. It's a massive two-disc set of low-fidelity radio transmissions that encompass Indian classical ragas, Bollywood pop music, psychedelic rock, lush orchestrals, folk music, electronic dance music and a variety of Indian divas. The patter of on-air DJs, commercials and radio dramas have all been left intact, along with a generous helping of hiss, distortion, sound dropouts and vinyl pops and skips.
