Much like labelmate Minotaur Shock, Belgium's Dim Dim takes a contrarian and perverse approach to contemporary electronic dance music. Whip is a loopy, absurdist dance party of an album, largely due to Jerry Dimmer's skillful and deranged incorporation of exotica, turntablism, and Negativland-style plunderphonics.
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Adhering to the edicts of minimalist techno, the music produced by Jon Gaiser is only minimally enjoyable. Focused listening provides few rewards, but is unobtrusive as the soundtrack to a night spent in back room of a club. At its least it gave me a rhythm to tap along with on my feet.
This German duo is a rave late and a Deutschmark short. However, those stuck on an interminable techno beat will rejoice; this music from electronica’s sordid past has been faithfully recreated for them yet again.
This compiles eight rather austere avant-garde guitar works from artists spanning the world (yet featuring a disproportionate number of Texans). Thankfully, one of those Texans is Jandek, who conspicuously counterbalances the somewhat academic sensibility of the album. Despite this aesthetic of high-art sterility, the album has a impressively high success rate.
Dukkha traffic in “true Sheffield black psychedelia” and appear to consist solely of an unnamed and enigmatic British guitarist. However, I am deeply skeptical of both his purity (the four tracks are stylistically varied) and his degree of evilness (Buddhist author Alan Watts is listed as his sole influence). He probably actually is from Sheffield though. Regardless, this is some intriguing (if somewhat flawed) stuff.
Using E-bows (probably) and sculpted feedback, this guitar-based drone duo from Grenoble, France have achieved a masterful balance between womblike bliss and disquietude. This is an understated and obscure gem.
Anyone who has ever run a label, booked a venue, or reviewed a record knows what its like to be overwhelmed the volume of music vying for your attention. Between day-jobs, time-out, and catching some shut-eye, there isn’t enough time in the day to give every artist out there exposure, regardless of whether they deserve it or not. Faced with that dilemma, Cardboard Records decided to err on the side of generosity in the process of compiling this double CD.
A series of improvisations based on the sea, Low Cloud Means Death sees guitarist Tetuzi Akiyama, percussionist Kevin Corcoran and accordionist, pianist and general musical mastermind Christian Kiefer engaging in some sparse instrumental dialogue that falls somewhere between Morton Feldman's glacial compositions and the patient interactions of Henry Threadgill's Air while maintaining a subtle, near folksy chordal palette.
Culled from recordings discovered by member Klaus Freudigmann, this disc represents a crucial bit of evidence in the lesser known manifestation of Kluster. Recorded live in 1971, Vulcano sees the trio of Conrad Schnitzler, Wolfgang Seidel, and the aforementioned Freudigmann engaging in far more experimental electronic excursions than their counterparts, Roedelius and Mobius, would ever delve into.
Born out of improvisations and a drawn-out postproduction, this album could have been an overworked mess. Instead, this is one of those occasions where slow and steady wins the race. After four years working together, these three collaborators have created a serene collection of gentle music. Fragile melodies and ghostly atmospheres are balanced by blissful jams, all coming together to make a truly remarkable release.
