North East Indie
Guapo have a reputation as instrumental prog artists that evoke avariety of influences to produce ambient structures that are known tocross the ten-minute mark. Cerberus Shoal are no stranger to longpieces with myriad styles themselves, and their collaborations of latewith a wide array of artists have done more for their palette than canbe measured. For the third in the Shoal's split-EP series, both ofthese left-of-center bands contribute tracks over sixteen minutes andthen a third of the same stature is created from their tracks. It isthe longest, most freeform and ethereal release in the series, and inplaces the most impressive and frightening. Guapo's solo piece, "IdiosKosmos," is a wall of sound dirge of guitar, cello, and electronicsthat swells and expands like a lung: taking in air and using it, thenpausing before taking in the air again. There seems to be nothing thatwill distinguish it for the first ten minutes, and the quality changesto a crashing plane's whine. Then, the lung springs a leak, and theinner processes and air spill out in a whirlwind of poundingpercussion. It takes a while to get where it's going, but the track isultimately fulfilling. Ceberus Shoal's track, "A Man Who Loved Holes,"is a chilling piece with no rhythm or structure, with scatteredpassages of singing and a ghostly voice that passses from one speakerto the next and back again. Prose and poetry are recited, eerie soundeffects escape and intertwine, and everything maintains an evil calm.The Shoal have approached this kind of strangeness in the past, butnever this extended madness with little music to speak of. It'sconfusing while fascinating, and worth a listen even though it isclearly not for everyone. The third track, billed as Guaperus Shoalo,is an appropriate puree of both tracks, with ambient and eerie vocalsconverging before mighty percussion and electronic whines. It is themost collaborative song on these EPs so far, and eclipses both previoustracks in its atmosphere and bizarre melody. As they continue with thisseries, the material from both artists gets stranger and stranger, butalso more collaborative, as each artist seems to feed more off of whatthe Shoal is putting out and vice versa.
Guapo have a reputation as instrumental prog artists that evoke avariety of influences to produce ambient structures that are known tocross the ten-minute mark. Cerberus Shoal are no stranger to longpieces with myriad styles themselves, and their collaborations of latewith a wide array of artists have done more for their palette than canbe measured. For the third in the Shoal's split-EP series, both ofthese left-of-center bands contribute tracks over sixteen minutes andthen a third of the same stature is created from their tracks. It isthe longest, most freeform and ethereal release in the series, and inplaces the most impressive and frightening. Guapo's solo piece, "IdiosKosmos," is a wall of sound dirge of guitar, cello, and electronicsthat swells and expands like a lung: taking in air and using it, thenpausing before taking in the air again. There seems to be nothing thatwill distinguish it for the first ten minutes, and the quality changesto a crashing plane's whine. Then, the lung springs a leak, and theinner processes and air spill out in a whirlwind of poundingpercussion. It takes a while to get where it's going, but the track isultimately fulfilling. Ceberus Shoal's track, "A Man Who Loved Holes,"is a chilling piece with no rhythm or structure, with scatteredpassages of singing and a ghostly voice that passses from one speakerto the next and back again. Prose and poetry are recited, eerie soundeffects escape and intertwine, and everything maintains an evil calm.The Shoal have approached this kind of strangeness in the past, butnever this extended madness with little music to speak of. It'sconfusing while fascinating, and worth a listen even though it isclearly not for everyone. The third track, billed as Guaperus Shoalo,is an appropriate puree of both tracks, with ambient and eerie vocalsconverging before mighty percussion and electronic whines. It is themost collaborative song on these EPs so far, and eclipses both previoustracks in its atmosphere and bizarre melody. As they continue with thisseries, the material from both artists gets stranger and stranger, butalso more collaborative, as each artist seems to feed more off of whatthe Shoal is putting out and vice versa. samples:
- Guapo - Idios Kosmos
- Cerberus Shoal - A Man Who Loved Holes
- Guaperus Shoalo - Kdios Iiosmos, He Loved Two Holes
Marco Haas, founder of Berlin's Shitkatapult label and the man behindT. Raumschmiere, has become somewhat notorious for his uniquelycrowd-pleasing, fist-pumping techno. On last year's The Great Rock n' Roll Swindle,Haas delivered a record filled with raucous, repetitive party jams thatdared to bring some sorely-needed fun into the German minimal scene.Haas' merging of gutter punk and arena rock to the comparativelyacademic world of microhouse and minimal techno was a revelation, andan idea whose time had come. Not since The KLF unleashed The White Rooma decade ago have I heard such beautifully simple, slam-dancing,stadium rave beats. T. Raumschmiere's new album certainly does notdisappoint, meeting and exceeding the bar set by his previous work. Radio Blackoutis a willfully dumb, loud and aggressive album full of rave-up anthems,like the IDM version of Andrew WK, or better yet, a Kompakt Recordstribute to Gary Glitter's "Rock N' Roll Part 2." T. Raumschmiere wantsus to rock out hard, and he's channeling the memories of all thoseNitzer Ebb and Front 242 records he listened to as a teenager, rollingout 11 big, dirty punk-electro jams. Just try not to jump up and tearthe roof off when the concussive beats and big chunky power chords of"Monstertruckdriver" hit you across the face. Miss Kittin, theEurotrash club girl whose unpleasant monotone has graced so manyelectroclash records, provides vocals for the album's first big 12"single "The Game is Not Over." It's unrelentingly awesome, weirdlyreminiscent of 70's-era glam-rock anthems like Slade's "Cum On Feel theNoize." Actually, glam rock is a very illustrative comparison, as MarcoHaas, like T. Rex and Kiss before him, prefers to concentrate onsurface concerns, rather than depth or encoded meaning. Everything youneed to experience in T. Raumschmiere's rave-rock is floating right ontop. Inside is just an empty husk, devoid of meaning other than thatinitial aesthetic thrill. Depending on the listeners sensibilities,this is either a critique or a recommendation. Ultimately, the vapiditythat makes T. Raumschmiere's brash techno so appealing also gives riseto that cold, empty feeling that sets in after a few listens. 
I had a very tough time making it all the way through "Vigil." For thisalbum, Ambarchi and Martin Ng (a guitarist and a turntablist,respectively, though no instruments are listed here) let some feedbackdrift aimlessly for an hour across four tracks, each track onlyslightly more eventful than the last. The irritatingly piercing,mid-volume feedback that comprises most of the sonic conent here ispunctuated every so often by a bell-like chime, which seems to decayinto more feedback... but feedback is such a transparent anduncompelling sound that it resists pure listening. Events are obviouslynot the point here, but even non-event with substanceless sound hasbeen done more effectively already (Otomo Yoshihide and Sachiko M'sFilament live album leaps to mind, as does Sukora's "Tower") and it's apoint that doesn't demand being made more than once. I don't feelchallenged by "Vigil"s icy restraint, just bored. If there is anythingsubtle happening with the composition here (I don't believe that thereis), it went right past me as I struggled past the ambivalence of thesounds used. The only (relatively) interesting section is the fourthand final track, in which the bass swells a bit. I can't recommendthat, though, since it's such a meager reward after the hour that'spassed. I found "Vigil" to be merely tedious, a real let-down from twoguys whose other work I so look forward to hearing. There are some TinaFrank videos on this disc as well, comprised of some shapes and linesmoving around... also, not terribly compelling.
The liner notes make a convincing argument that this record is notautobiographical or escapist or even existential; it is "politicalwithout the pulpit." I'm not entirely sure what that means but what Ido know is that in the twenty-eight or so minutes that this record runsI am completely held in its hands and give away all my thought to it.It's simple in a haunting way. Alexander McGregor plays nearly everyinstrument so that they don't just produce notes and melodies: theybecome an extension of his voice and his lyrics whether they be muddledor quite clear. There is a sense of awe and wonder in each song that isestablished by way of contrasting melodies, basic production, and thecombination of Latin sounds with more familiar rock n' roll feelings.It's a hard aura to pin down. It's surreal and at the same timesomething that isn't so alien that it becomes void or nullified by itsstrangeness. But enough of that: the music is fun, too. The openingsounds of "Calibrate" are formless and unidentifiable but somehow serveas the perfect introduction to the wavering, watery, and druggy "NoNine." Drinking a very fine wine and watching a troupe of dancers seemsan entirely appropriate activity to accompany this song and at the sametime it has an incredibly romantic horn solo that brings to mindthoughts of making love. "Nothing Wrong" is a simple acoustic guitarpiece that somehow captures an ideal of innocence through its lyricsand sighing vocals. The center lyrics, "I don't know about you lil'girl / But there's nothing wrong / Nothing wrong with me," are of akind that manage to be uplifting, resentful, and hurt at the same time;it's a truly human song that I've become more and more fond of as I'velistened to it. The closer, "Making Movies," combines all of theelements of the previous songs and adds overdubs on the vocals, flute,and what I think is a cello to the mix. It's a dramatic and lilting endand serves as the perfect way to end a night. Part of the beauty ofthis album is that it can be played anywhere and at anytime and becompletely entrancing.
The Ebb and Flow sound like the setup to a great joke: an Iranian, aRussian, and a New Yorker start a band, drawing on their individualinfluences to make a new sound. The joke's on anyone who takes thatdescription at face value and expects to hear a trainwreck, though.This San Francisco band employs a clever mix of styles, rhythms, andinstruments, forming an interesting melange that never quits or getssloppy. The Ebb and Flow use guitar, drums, and a variety ofsynthesizers and organs as a base coat, then use whatever methodsnecessary to take the song to the next level. As it stands, theirs is aunique jazzed up prog synth pop sound, with two vocalists that bringout different strengths as the songs progress; and Murmursis a solid piece of work from a band destined for excellence. Guestmusicians provide everything from touches of flavor to necessarycomponents: the band is billed as a trio, with guest bassist DmitryIshenko, but I think they should just invite him to join, as I can'timagine these songs without his confident low end. "4 Track Mind -Dusty Crickets" starts with arpeggio guitar and solid rhythm, then addstrumpet and keys, building towards release. Then, it all dissolves inelectronic chirps, only to be reborn as a power pop shuffle. SaraCassetti and Roshy Kheshti have smooth voices like icing on this cake,and they play their instruments with just as much passion and heart."Me and My Twins" features guitarist Sam Tsitrin's turn on vocals, anda more indie rock sound to boot, just as easy to swallow as the firsttrack. It threatens to fade out, but then comes right back in again forone last taste. "Routes and Roots" and "Throop" are the high energyrocking out double shot, with "Throop" approaching boogie territory asthe trumpets blare. Then "Contra Verse" puts all the pieces togetherwith male/female vocals and a blend of all sounds previous. Too shortbut solid, Murmurs shows a band in their prime that deserves a real shot at the prize. Hopefully they won't have to wait too long. 
For his latest release for the Chocolate Industries label, 24-year oldChicago hip hopper/multi-instrumentalist Caural (aka Zachary Mastoon)presents Blurred July, an EP of three new, original tracks plus a remix track from his full length Stars on My Ceilingdisc, courtesy of Savath + Savalas (aka Scott Herren). The EP unfurlswith the gradually headnodding "Goodbye May Kasahara" - a mixture ofsubtle vibraphone flourishes, brushed snare rolls with sloshy hi-hatswells, keyboard and tight beats (complete with handclaps) that pulseto rhythmic bass end, conveying a positive mood. The soulful sounds ofthe Fender Rhodes spin their way through "Blacktops and Plains,"featuring lines and rhymes from label mate and fellow city dweller, MCDiverse, over crunchy, distorted beats. The evocative patter ofrainstick opening "Visuals" falls into a soundscape of subtleelectronic waves and cymbal swells which bring in compressed beats,peppered with live drums and keyboard progressions which are heavy onthe reverb. A relaxed track of shimmering keyboard and upright basslines, Scott Herren subtly adds his signatory syncopation on the laidback groove of "Sipping Snake Blood Wine (Savath + Savalas remix)."With summer now left behind, the Blurred July EP is a great selection of compositional beats and instrumental sounds to conjure up the warmth of those fleeting days. 
What's missing in modern country is true grit. In all of the glossed-upbeauty makeover tractor hunk nonsense they've missed the true point, ascountry started as the music for poor man's plight and economic blight.There's no dirt in New Country's teeth, no black under its nails, andno liquor in its veins. Just a vacant, vapid three part harmony andsome political nonsense that can't come close to the real issues athand. So leave it to country-obsessed former Geraldine Fibbers/EthylMeatplow vocalist Carla Bozulich to bring it back by covering WillieNelson's landmark concept album in its entirety. Sure, it's notoriginal grit, but it's authentic nonetheless, so much that Williehimself guests on guitar and vocals for several songs. Bozulich has theright voice for the material, raising hairs left and right with thetale of a preacher who killed his wife and her new beau. Nels Cline,Devin Hoff, and Scott Amendola also get points for their bare butchilling instrumentation that sets the perfect backdrop for thesesongs. There was a conscious decision to make this all sound authentic,I feel, from the nylon string guitars to the minimalist production andthe sparse nature of the music. It doesn't take much to bring acrossthis raw and rusty tale, and no lavish production could have made itsound better. "Time of the Preacher" is just as gorgeous as when Williehimself sang it, and "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" is better than theoriginal, with Leah Bozulich providing harmony vocal. The best, though,is the impact of "Medley," where autoharp and radio buzz are joined byelectric guitar and drum shockwaves. It shook me to the bone, theperfection of it all, and I felt like I wasn't going to make it outalive. Country needs to sound like this again, to take chances and tryfor a complex thought. It says it all that a singer went backtwenty-five years to find the right music for her soul. If othersfollowed suit maybe we could be spared. 
It borders on impossible to reccomend a CD that pretends to be metalbut can't get past the whole "loud" aspect of the music. Sure, thewhole thing is intense and the guitars sort of wail and screech alongwith pounding and sometimes sloppy drumming, but nothing of theattention paid to particulars and subtleties by the best metalheads isto be found on this disc. The guitars don't grind and annihilate somuch as they just vomit and expend themselves in drones and whines offeedback. The drums are always quick and heavy, but they never changeand simply keep the beat flat and simplistic. There's little to novariation in the all of song's structures and the vocalist seems tohave an affinity for straining his voice in a way that is more dramaticthan it is threatening or truly violent. Speaking of the vocalist, muchof the lyrical content stays to the "nobody understands me and I'mgoing to rebel against them" theme. However, on songs like "FlophouseNightmares" and "Angel In Disguise" the lyrics seem to be nearmeaningless practices in rhyme and rhythm: their topics seemnonsensical or they are just plain boring. I know, lyrics have neverbeen the creativefocus of metal but at least the simplicity of some of the bettermaterial conveyed interesting ideas or controversial topics worththinking about. There's simply nothing like that on Halldór Laxnessand so it pounds and moans on into what seems like infinity withoutsurprising, shocking, convincing, or provoking. The puerile lyrics onlyserve to attenuate the sound of the album. It wants to be powerful andexciting, but it can't be without some kind of focus and discipline. Itdoesn't need to be calculated but to be truly angry it needs to soundmore distinct than it does.
Generally speaking, when I listen to music that I don't like, I putsome effort into understanding why that is. It can become a kind ofSherlock Homes mystery, albeit without the humor. Sometimes it's just agenre thing and at others it's a semiotics thing. Sometimes its theemotion or attitude that's being projected that I revile—f-ing hippies,for example. But not infrequently it turns out that I just don't getit; I don't understand the language the artist is speaking in. Andthose cases can be the most interesting. It's clearly stupidity to say"this poetry sucks" if it just because it's in Finnish and soundsmeaningless to ones ears. The language must be learned before anaesthetic opinion can be formed. And so it is with Old Testament—thelanguage is deliberately obscure and the emotion, semiotics etc. aretherefore opaque. The digital sounding noise on this CD mostly hasrather little immediately pleasing quality. Track 1 is long slowlymoving low frequency noise and doesn't go anywhere at all. Track 2 ismore interesting and even fun in parts but what's appealing about itstrajectory of electronic skitter, principally its rhythm and sonority,is not found elsewhere. The remainder is just plain painful withouteither the cathartic pleasures of, say, Merzbow or the humanity of DueProcess. So I work on the language; give it many a listen; see if I canget it. And when I do, an all too common outcome to the detective workis that there isn't anything there but technical experimentation thatshouldn't have left the studio. (In this case that's not entirely fair;a reduced version of Track 2 deserves to get on a comp.) Apart fromthat, the obscurantism of the language is all there is. The underlyingproblem (and it crops all the time) is that weirdness in music is usedas a cover for lack of musical talent. There's noting inherently wrongwith the experimental approach, tinkering with equipment untilsomething of value is achieved, but novelty, weirdness, or extremeout-there-ness is not good enough. Ilios may be proud of making a verystrange sounding disk but strange isn't intrinsically good. Theeffectiveness of experimentalism as a substitute for talent derivesfrom that lingering fear one has, that possibility that one may nothave grasped the language and therefore should reserve judgment orconfer the benefit of the doubt. But give it enough time and effort andwhat you hear on Old Testament is nothing other than theprocess of tinkering with equipment and certainly not the artisticobject that should have been the process's output.
There tends to be a fine line drawn when dealing with concept albums that separates the obvious and self-indulgent from the conveying of a general theme throughout an overall good and fair recording. With Beauty Party, the second installment in NYC poet/MC Mike Ladd's hip hop trilogy of the Infesticons/Majesticons, the line tends to be purposely blurred by the ongoing battle of style vs. substance.
