Mirex
After three years of eclectic 7" singles and a couple of Fanny CDs, myfavorite Ant-Zen sublabel Mirex presents its first-ever compilation.Many people seem to worship the Hymen sister label yet neglect thishigh-quality breakcore imprint, although this intense collection willsurely attract new converts to join the ranks of the alreadyrespectable number of devotees. Carbonmarks its unique place in the Ant-Zen tradition by screaming Top 40song lyrics at the top of its lungs, pissing blood all over the rug,and boasting a roster of familiar established names as well as risingunderground scene stars. Here, breakcore displays its many hideous andgoofy faces in true schizophrenic fashion, and while industrial puristsmay revel in the brutality of Hecate and recent signing Subskan, manywill be tempted to cringe over the subversive mash-up experiments ofOve-Naxx and Donna Summer. Those who resist the knee-jerk anti-popreflex and stay open-minded will be aurally rewarded for their efforts.Representative of the style off his full-length From Zero,Enduser's "Basement" creatively fuses a somber Tori Amos piano riff andragga MC toasting with crunchy junglist and hip hop loops. Drop TheLime makes an appearance here with "Chump Killers," a DSP-fucked blendof spastic electro-funk and hyperactive broken beats akin to his workfor the likeminded Tigerbeat6 label. "Kiss Me On The Dancefloor," thephenomenal selection from Sickboy, throws together a maddeninglydelicious, yet undeniably aggressive, update of old school rave. Mirexwould do well to snatch up more of this guy's work for a CD releaseimmediately. Atypical to this release, Line 47's "Taken Away" offers anunusual yet gratifying moment where the noise and mischief are somewhattoned down in favor of melancholy and melody. From Blaerg'sHitchcockian beginnings to End's Morricone-inspired closer, thesetwenty tracks continually pummel the speakers and delight the ears.Though notably lacking any presence of the notoriously prolificVenetian Snares, arguably the biggest name in the subgenre today, Carboncomes out stronger than any breakcore compilation I've heard to date,including those that do include the Snares Man. While I am tempted tocall Mirex "a label to watch," people should have have honestly caughton before now. Jump on the bandwagon now and perhaps the rest of uswill accept you... in time.
After three years of eclectic 7" singles and a couple of Fanny CDs, myfavorite Ant-Zen sublabel Mirex presents its first-ever compilation.Many people seem to worship the Hymen sister label yet neglect thishigh-quality breakcore imprint, although this intense collection willsurely attract new converts to join the ranks of the alreadyrespectable number of devotees. Carbonmarks its unique place in the Ant-Zen tradition by screaming Top 40song lyrics at the top of its lungs, pissing blood all over the rug,and boasting a roster of familiar established names as well as risingunderground scene stars. Here, breakcore displays its many hideous andgoofy faces in true schizophrenic fashion, and while industrial puristsmay revel in the brutality of Hecate and recent signing Subskan, manywill be tempted to cringe over the subversive mash-up experiments ofOve-Naxx and Donna Summer. Those who resist the knee-jerk anti-popreflex and stay open-minded will be aurally rewarded for their efforts.Representative of the style off his full-length From Zero,Enduser's "Basement" creatively fuses a somber Tori Amos piano riff andragga MC toasting with crunchy junglist and hip hop loops. Drop TheLime makes an appearance here with "Chump Killers," a DSP-fucked blendof spastic electro-funk and hyperactive broken beats akin to his workfor the likeminded Tigerbeat6 label. "Kiss Me On The Dancefloor," thephenomenal selection from Sickboy, throws together a maddeninglydelicious, yet undeniably aggressive, update of old school rave. Mirexwould do well to snatch up more of this guy's work for a CD releaseimmediately. Atypical to this release, Line 47's "Taken Away" offers anunusual yet gratifying moment where the noise and mischief are somewhattoned down in favor of melancholy and melody. From Blaerg'sHitchcockian beginnings to End's Morricone-inspired closer, thesetwenty tracks continually pummel the speakers and delight the ears.Though notably lacking any presence of the notoriously prolificVenetian Snares, arguably the biggest name in the subgenre today, Carboncomes out stronger than any breakcore compilation I've heard to date,including those that do include the Snares Man. While I am tempted tocall Mirex "a label to watch," people should have have honestly caughton before now. Jump on the bandwagon now and perhaps the rest of uswill accept you... in time. - Sickboy - Kiss Me On the Dancefloor
- Line 47 - Taken Away
- Enduser - Basement
"Tras" opens the two-song single. At under four minutes, it's a perfectintroduction to the band as it's both rhythmically challenging andcatchy as all hell. The precise guitar riffs combined with a TVtheme-like keyboard ditty are a perfect fit for drums that areaggressive enough for a metal record, but, as the drums come equippedwith a super slick sound and an occasional shuffle, are way too cool tobe wasted on brainless hair tossing. "Fantasy" is almost a throwback tothe sampled staccato sounds of Ty Braxton's album with echoesreverberating in time with the rhythm. It's boldly almost completelyabsent of melody yet rich in beats, provided by drum machines, punchysamples, and live percussion. At the eight-minute mark when that 808kick comes in, any speaker in its path is in trouble. 
Together with Tras, EP Ccould easily form a complete album. The repetition on the opener "B +T" is deceptively simple: it's pretty and layered with differentmotives, occasional breaks and samples, all which keep the song inperpetual motion. After the short drumless "UW" that could makeKraftwerk blush by its atmospheric twittering, the band comes back infull swing with "Hi/Lo," substituting a low end synth where a bassshould be. "Hi/Lo" may be slower than some of their other loud numbersbut it's no less grand, building in intensity gradually over the nearlyeight minutes, from a small pile of rubble to a mountainous beast.Finishing off the disc are the short "IPT-2" and "Tras 2," eachincorporating what seems like a bit of digital fuckery at first, withthe second one ending with the drummer trailing off on his own. It'shard to not admit that Battles are flirting with traditionally nerdyinstrumental alt-rock/post-whatever styles, and, as a number of groupsthat each member was in before Battles, they are admittedly crafty. Thetrick to the craft is making something interesting enough for the bandto play and attractive enough for the audiences to enjoy it, and withthat, mark my words, Battles are something to watch.
In a way that is noble, isolated, and romantic, the strings and voicesof Tom Carter, Christina Carter, and Heather Leigh Murrary craft musicas though it were made for lost souls and restless spirits. There is anuneasiness in the wobble and sway of their plucking and weaving thatradiates uncertain photographs and blurred figures. Without a doubtthere exists this haunting dimension to the Charalambides' music, butto mistake their music for stringed ghastliness is to miss half thebeauty of Joy Shapes.Christina Carter serves as some kind of medium between this world andthe next, where mountains blur in the distance, disappear, and leaveonly sand in the wake of their death. This world crafted out of slideguitars, chimes, voices, and various string instruments has nocertainty, belonging to the spirit of improvisation and illusion. "HereNot Here" wails away as Christina Carter chants "The rains shines / Andthe sun falls / Here is here / Here is not here." A theme ofdeceptiveness is already established in the early lyrics and it becomesall the more evident in the spring-like rumble of guitars that slowlyecho into the darkness near the end of the song. The vocals often comeaway sounding as though they belonged to some ancient Greek comedywhere the hero dies tragically and the lyrics tell of his passing intothe next world. There are shrieks and cries throughout the record; someare intelligible and others act as part of the instrumentation. Thoughthis all sounds like it might belong to tragedy and fear, "Joy Shapes"changes the direction of this record and opens up a door of uncannybeauty. "Joy Shapes" drops like a focused lense over the mistylandscape the Charalambides' had painted over the previous thrity-twominutes and rings like water ripples over the surface of a pond. Theinteraction of the guitar, the delicacy now present in Carter's voice,and the story-like lyrics all represent something from this worldwithout spoiling the fragile mystery that occupied the first half ofthe record. As "Natural Night" progresses though its trembling fingersand whale-like waves of sound, calm washes over everything and astrange pearl-light marks the descent of dread and the rise of peacefulunderstanding. The closing "Voice For You" put me under a spell of lovethe instant I heard Christina Carter's voice unmasked and smiling frombehind the veneer of its previous enigmatic allure. The droning ofCarter's voice into an instrument, the slow rumble of the approachingend, and the keyboard-like crooning of electric guitars all twist andturn until they explode and wrestle to a slow and natural end. Allalong this music had been a focusing from the realm of unease and doubtto the harmonies of love and oceanic rhythm. The Charalambides might beplaying a strange music that completely lacks any familiar songstructure or easy point of reference, but it is honestly affectionate,somehow familiar, and warm to its core. 
The delayed echoes of pretty guitars with thumps and rhtyhms washingover the first few tracks make this album sound like a dead ringer forBlack Dice. However, Bringing Up Babyis the latest time-forgotten gem of the United Dairies label to bereintroduced to the public. Originally released by Steven Stapleton'slabel in 1981, the reissue of this CD was not an effortless move. Notonly are the original masters unavailable, but the original members arenowhere to be found (hence the note inside urging communication withthe musicians). The French label Fractal has done a fantastic job bycommissioning a mastering job from an excellent vinyl copy, usingscratch reducing technology, and making it sound far better than therecording I made from the record for personal enjoyment. Additionally,Fractal has honorably used all the original artwork from the cover andrecord itself in this CD issue. The duo of Matt Mullen and Jim Friedmanrecorded only this one album as Musique Concret and one known track fora Come Organisation compilation and then vanished without a trace. Sideone of the original record consists of four parts of "Incidents inRural Places." Here, soundscapes are created with guitars, delays, lowfrequency bass, slowed down effects, backwards manipulation, andoccasional sounds from old records and lullabies trying to push theirway through the surface of twisted effects much like somebody trying tocrawl to the surface after being buried alive. Side two opens with thethunderous prog-rockin'-your-foundation "Organorganorgan," where themusicianship is flaunted by dueling solos on a truly evil soundingfuzzy organ. It closes with the nearly 14 minute track "Wreath Pose atSacrifice" which could easily be appreciated by any early NWW fan. It'san opus with numerous movements, opening with sounds of pots, pans,twisted metal, and what could be tooth brushing accompanied by very fewreal instruments making a faint melody, continuing with the ripping,distorted sounds of what could be explosions and wind, giving way tothe climax with all the distortions alongside a groovy drum machineloop, and ending with warped old music bleeding through a fuzzy AMradio. This CD happily sits on the shelf next to other UD classics likeMasstishaddhu, aching for the day they're joined by equally ashonorable reissues of Robert Haigh and Asmus Tietchens.
How the mighty have fallen. Not that Andre Afram Asmar might really beconsidered mighty, but his last record for Mush was a beautiful mashupof hip-hop and middle eastern instrumentals that worked on any numberof levels and preserved a sense of genuine respect for all of thesounds it culled. Enter Circus, the MC who manages to take AAA'sproduction and run it into the ground with half-witted rhymes and adeadpan vocal delivery that recalls a suburban, middle-agedbusinessperson reciting a 'rap' in some corporate skill-buildingseminar. The album has a loose theme that revolves around alienabduction, conspiracy theories, and the Bush administration'swar-waging in the middle east. Unfortunately, the serious themes andstupid themes are given just about equal billing, but its all played ina straight-faced way to render none of it funny or effective. The beatsand samples that Circus drowns out might be worthwhile on their own,but it's impossible to separate the voice from the songs. I'll neverquite understand how people who have an ear for quality music and deftMCs can listen to something like Gawd Bless the Faceless Cowardsand feel that it's adequate or even fun to listen to. Inane rhymesdelivered flatly over beats and samples about UFOs might make for a funparty record amongst friends, but only really close friends who aren'ttoo critical, or who are really drunk. Someone got in the car with mewhen this record was on and the first question he asked was 'is this ademo someone sent you?' No, but maybe if someone had heard the demofirst, they could have steered it somewhere productive. As it is, steerclear.
Some of my favorite releases of the last year or so come from the US indie hip-hop contender, Mush. Their recent find, a Japanese import called Neutrino, is being sent out with a sticker comparing the release to DJ Krush, claiming that Krush isn't the only player in Japan's instrumental hip-hop scene. That may be true, but Krush is still a few moves ahead of the rest of the pack if Neutrino's eponymous release is any indication.
Glitchy electronic music about the problems people face in a modernsociety from a husband and wife team sounds frighteningly close to aWill Ferrell-based SNL skit, but this new EP fits that description, andthe results are ripe for absorption. 
The liner notes read "No computers or electricity were employed in themusic making process." How that is possible baffles me, so I figure itmust be a joke or a half-truth. On the other hand, how a record wasmade rarely matters to me more than how it comes out sounding and Rooting for the Microbesis a bit of a mixed bag in that respect.
Good or bad, dark ambient albums rarely get much of a rise out of me.While I can usually appreciate an artist's attempts at creating acertain mood or feeling, I have heard enough "haunting sonictapestries" over the years that it takes a lot to impress me. The glutof releases from obviously untalented bedroom producers in this genrecertainly doesn't give a reason to get excited. While by no means arevolutionary work, As Giants Watch Over Us,the third Ad Noiseam release from James Keeler, benefits from itswillingness to use intrusive sounds among its more subdued spookydrones. "Empire Of The Snake" opens this lengthy album with ominoustextures peppered with sudden bursts and prolonged sections ofswirling, unruly synthesized noise. Breaking from this style, the titletrack exudes a type of frozen paranoia amid the screeching, voicesnippets, and sampled dramatic symphonies. "The Fiddler And The Fool"creeps along much like an updated version of a old horror movie score,shifting gears around three minutes in to dissonance and backwardsloops. The emotive and atmospheric "Reversing Magnetism" plays outbeautifully, with delayed and stretched tones morphing over clickingstatic and low bass. Running over 70 minutes long, at least a few ofthese thirteen somewhat similar tracks could have been whittled down orcut altogether. Nonetheless, both the Cold Meat Industry set as well assound design connoisseurs may find some reward from As Giants Watch Over Us. 
This is an example of a full-length that perfectly, if predictably,fulfills my expectations. aMute's track on last year's Intr_versioncompilation formed the undeniable centerpiece of the disc. If not themost showy piece, it was certainly the most effective, dropping in frombehind the preceding track almost invisibly and, through gracefulcrescendos, sucking the entire sampler into its icy expanse, enough tohaunt the remainder of the disc and nearly summarize the label'smelancholic ethos in a eight short minutes. For his debut album, JérômeDeuson provides not only an extended version of that song, "Aux creuxdes vagues, mon visage," but also seven others that match its moodeasily, creating a work that seems cut from the same graying,crystalline tapestry, full of bristly folds and wide, smothering fuzz.Deuson's technique is nothing shocking, an intricate, but notover-complex entangling of effects-heavy guitar, processed feedbacknoise, and windy, chime-ful ambience, all allowed to dive and swoopthrough layers of minimal bass and the smallest of percussive clicks.None of the tracks are particularly grounded; rather they float in astructure-less haze that serves the cold, discreet passages conjured byaMute's harmonic sensibility, the same economized, somber aesthetic ofhis labelmates Joshua Treble, Mitchell Akiyama, and The Beans. Like hisfriends, Deuson's approach is geared away from bending his guitartowards extremes in distortion or processed disintegration and moretowards crafting careful, meaningful builds via simple melodic strandswith clear resolutions. The frosty ambiance, of scattered windchimesand stuttering drones, carries these tracks into the oblivion theyrequire; however, Deuson's playing maintains a directness that attachesa cinematic feel throughout. Certain left-field inclusions, likemuffled vocal samples and a track of naked French speech, add to thefeeling of remove that I (perhaps too quickly) tend to associate withsome set of fixed visual correspondents. This might form my onecriticism of A Hundred Day Trees,that, for all its sad majesty, the album seems a bit limited in itsexpressive power, leaving me in the same place after each listen. Itcould be the relative homogeneity of the tracks or the similarity toother recent releases by the label, not bad qualities at all, just notenough to prove that aMute doesn't have better in store for next time.
