Rob Mazurek descends further and further into the realms of the electronic on his impressive new album, a noise experiment rife with complicated sounds and intricate environments. Where Mazurek is used to working with others — he's a regular contributor in several ensembles and his first solo album featured guest musicians — on Frankenstein he goes it completely alone, eschewing all instruments even for a completely electronic sound.
Give us an hour, we'll give you music to remember. This week we bring you an episode with brand new music from Softcult, Jim Rafferty, karen vogt, Ex-Easter Island Head, Jon Collin, James Devane, Garth Erasmus, Gary Wilson, and K. Freund, plus some music from the archives from Goldblum, Rachel Goswell, Roy Montgomery. Rubber ducks and a live duck photo from Matthew in the UK. Get involved: subscribe, review, rate, share with your friends, send images!
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Two discs worth of altered train and tunnel sounds makes for goodmusic. Bernd Schurer went and made some field recordings of varioustunnels, train stations, portals, and etc. and then arranged them into94 tracks of noise, gloom, and the openness of great spaces. Thosesounds were then handed over to the likes of Balduin, Drumpet, Fennesz,and Monolake. The results on a majority of the best tracks are rhythmicand (surprisingly) melodic interpretations of Schurer's work. Whenpopping in the second disc I expected the hushed vibrations of wheelspumping away in the distance, the steam of and hiss of brakes, and thechaotic chatter of voices to coalesce into broad explorations of thesometimes busy, sometimes silent disc A. What I got, instead, was ameditation on how found sound can be used to create familiar music. Idon't want to say anything on Construction Sonoris typical, but the structures of the songs are nothing I haven't heardbefore and, in all honesty, nothing revolutionary or evolutionaryhappens. But the some of the songs, like Balduin's "CreativeConstructed Tunnel Session" and Drumpet's "Fierabig," are incrediblycatchy and utilize sound sources in an impressive imaginative way;imaginative enough for me to crack a grin and pay close attention,anyways. There are slower pieces, though, and they also feature anintelligent and careful use of the available palette of sounds.Monolake's "Drift" is a storm of water drops, speeding trains, and theboom of wind, but keeps things together with a subtle and catchy beat.On a recording where any of the musicians could've easily created amass of droning and typical sound, most of them decided to keep theircompositions tight and to the point: every song is under 8 minutes andmost are under 5. This keeps the album rolling and the fun of guessinghow sounds are going to be used a quick and excellent game. In additionto having two great discs of sound, Construction Sonor featuresa host of people I've not heard of before and nearly all the materialis, at the very least, intriguing. The liner notes say this is supposedto be a concept album and I suppose the theme of travel or conduits oftravel is prevalent. But, to be honest, I've not bothered reading morethan a few sentences of the booklet and the album has been enjoyable,anyways.
Sometimes it's from the most unlikely of places that emerge thesweetest sounds. Carl Henry Brueggen, guitarist for Chicago-based noiseband Mount Shasta, has self-released two EPs of luscious, cinematicexotica that would make Martin Denny and Ennio Morricone both blush.Each clocking in at an all-too-brief ten minutes or so, these discscapture the authentic spirit of bossa nova in a way that I have rarelyseen amongst modern musicians working in the retro-lounge genre. Whatis most impressive about Brueggen's work here (and furthermore whatdistiguishes him) is his use of real instruments and musicians, thusforsaking the more prevalent sample-based methods. Brueggen himselfhelms the guitar, creating the centerpiece around which bass, congadrums, piano, flute, trumpet, pedal steel guitar and airy female vocalsall circulate.
Cinzano & Cocaine and Idler were recorded in 2001 and 2002, respectively. While C&C is chic and jaunty, as the pert, smiling model on the cover suggests, Idleris appropriately languid and mellow. "Sea-Sprite Hula" conjures imagesof mod mermaids frolicking at an underwater cocktail lounge, while thetropical twang of "Rum Toddy" recalls lounge forefather Arthur Lyman'sHawaiian soundscapes.
David Cross' album Shut Up, You Fucking Baby!was a smoldering volley of incensed, seething rage, recycling thenegative energy that had piled up in our society in the last few yearsinto a colossal release of tension and anger through sensible humor. Onthat disc, Cross took a catalogue of indignities and frustrations andturned them into weapons against themselves, and calming an equallyannoyed audience by showing them they weren't the only ones thinkingabout these things. A year later, a slightly calmer but nonethelessintense Cross is back to not let anyone forget. Cross' track titles,which still have no actual bearing on what he is talking about on aparticular track, take thinly veiled jabs at other comedians like "Arapid series of comical noises," "My immigrant mom talks funny," and"My child is enthralling, especially when it says somethingunexpectedly precocious even though it doesn't understand what it justsaid!" Surprisingly in light of that last title, Cross begins the setwith a rumination on his friend's newborn children and how they borehim with their stories. He takes this topic into deviously dark places,though, and makes it a palatable opener with a few quick bursts ofbrilliantly crass stabs. Throughout his comedy, Cross positions himselfas the underground town crier, pointing out the foibles of mainstreamsociety that seem absurd to all those who pride themselves upon beingliterate, informed, and quite possibly too haughty for their own goodat times. When he is truly on, this side of Cross is a blistering,riotous, sneering champion of common sense. In the space of threeminutes, Cross hits upon consumer catastrophes, what passes fortraditional entertainment, and the banality of mainstream rock music.The examination of the 'electric scissors' treads much of the sameground as his look at the "squagle," or square bagel, on his last albumShut Up, You Fucking Baby!, but lacks the pure, seething vitrioland expert setup that that story had. He quickly segues from that intoa cute mocking of Family Circus, admittedly an easy target, but wellmined by Cross to elicit laughter. From there, he engages an audiencemember in a discussion of Evanescence, Staind, and P.O.D. For a moment,one might imagine cross standing in the corner of a dark club, drinkinghis Pabst Blue Ribbon and holding court with a gaggle of shabbilyattired hipsters, dispensing of these immaterial offenses in rapidsuccession-describing the aforementioned bands as "corporate" and"phony." He's right, of course, though here he edges betweendisseminating important cultural information and preaching to thechoir, finally saving it with another savage slice, claiming that hewould "rather hear the death rattle of my only child," than listen totheir music. Cross is at his peak when frothing at the mouth aboutsomething so obviously apparent that everyone should, but doesn't,realize. Like on his last album, he touches on the Bush administrationsmangling and dumbing down of our global situation by merely stating thefacts in a straightforward and exasperated way that makes it all themore powerful. While there is less shouting in these passages, there isjust as much weight behind Cross' incisive sarcasm and satire. It's Not Funnyis an apt title for this disc, not because Cross doesn't provide plentyof laugh out loud moments, but because the topics he is musing over areof extreme gravity. Thorough his craft, Cross is showing us thefailings that are before everyone's eyes, that are being missed by adazed public. Showing them in an approachable and humorous way, he iswaging his own little war on complacency, and giving everyone a goodtime while doing it. 
Adem Ilhan, best known for his bass work in Fridge, showcases hisprominent talents as a solo singer, songwriter, instrumentalist,arranger and producer on this four-song EP, recorded in what he refersto as his werehome. The lush instrumentation and warm progressions onthe rootsy ballad "These Are Your Friends" highlights Ilhan's acousticguitar work, tender vocals and emotional lyrics such as "You've thrownyourself/Into the flames 'cause you're covered in cold." In context,they can bring a tear to the eye. The acoustic strumming of "After theStorm" accompanies a delicate vocal melody which provides the narrativeof a father's loss of his son to the sea, nicely filled out with banjoand a hummed chorus. Musically, the eerie "Let It Burn" focuses on thearpeggiated chord progressions of a kalimba, augmented by Ilhem's ebband flow vocals which at times are doubled-up with xylophone. This EPis a very rich and pleasant surprise from what I would have expectedfrom a member of Fridge, knowing the more electronic direction thatbandmate Kieran Hebden has gone as FourTet. With his full-length Homesongsdisc out, a four-piece touring band and a great video (which can befound on the Domino website) it won't come as a surprise to be seeing alot more of Adem this year.
It has been a few years since this German trio, comprised of brothers Ronald and Robert Lippok and Stefan Schneider, released their Kölner Brett and Pantone EPs, although members have been busy with other notable projects such as Tarwater and Mapstation. For the better part of their latest disc, Hotel Morgen, they appear to have fallen back on their unique compositional style and structures, use of instrumental and electronic-based sounds and space, which has made them one of my favorite groups, but without the type of sit-up-and-take-notice advances I expected after such a hiatus.
Listening to German-based Margareth Kammerer is almost as difficult as attempting to read German without some kind of pocket dictionary. Her style is pale and remote, her attitude near the border of nonexistent, and her references obscure. It's to my benefit that B. Fleischmann, Philip Jeck, and Chris Abrahams are all over this record because, as interesting as her poetic deliveries can be, the semi-charming resonance that marks this recording simply wasn't doing it for me by itself.
A critical theory professor (whose classes I do not miss at all) onceripped me a new one for making light of The Self-Positioning Statement,that warning sign of gutless scholarly writing that lets all of yourreaders know what a horrible sexist oppressor you are before theyexpose themselves to your thoughts. 'Cause, you know, those same wordswould have a -totally- different effect on their readers if they werecoming from a Trobriand Islander. This is my indirect way of 'fessingup to the fact that I paid very little attention to the capital-Aalternative rock scene in the mid-to-late-'90s, and that I won't beable to tell you exactly which Jane's Addiction album God Bless the Electric Freaksounds a lot like; indeed, it's even a way of saying that I've neverheard a Jane's Addiction album, and that the comparison only came to mevia press blurbs on the band's web site. Taken together, all of thismight even say that, if you got sick of bands with fuzzy guitars in themid-to-late-'90s, you might be inclined to give this one a miss. You'dbe passing up on an entertainingly mixed bag of ideas, though:"Sunshine Supercreep" weaves effected sitar highlights through guitarlines that would have been entirely at home on whichever local radiostation was called The Edge in 1996, and tosses in some vocal harmoniesand UFO-addled lyrics to weird things up a bit, only to give way towhat could easily be My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult trying to hackit as a Metallica tribute band on "Apocalypse Rock" four minutes later.There are a couple of clunkers along the way ("Astrophobia" is draggeddown by its stupid space-hippie lyrics, and the dull pair ofinstrumental interludes really just have me reaching for thetrack-forward button about 30 seconds into each one), but the generallyhigh standard of production, combined with a feeling that the peopleinvolved actually took the time to write and refine their musicalideas, elevate God Bless the Electric Freak well beyond thespace-rock silliness that it could otherwise have been. It's notacademically rigorous by any means, but it sounds like the output ofthe people who were actually worth knowing when you were at university,which is a better deal for my seven bucks. 
The instrumental hip-hop crowd is already sloughing off towardsinsignificance, with recent releases showing little to no innovation onthe original themes. Another can be added to that list with this latestfrom RJD2, whose new sounds definitely come from the same old tricksfor this set. Truth be told, his last full-length did nothing for me,but the remixes on the HorrorEP gave me some hope that he'd pulled himself out from under theshadows of others to create something original; maybe he learned alesson in that if he let things cook a bit more there'd be somethingreal. That hope not only disappeared but was mercilessly crushed on theopening track, where the same stale drum samples are accompanied byfast cut fades and piano plunks. Then a slow fade out that sounds likeit could be the end of the track, which would have been fine by me, asit seemed like an intro at best. Suddenly, though, the track comesright back in at full volume — SURPRISE! — and right back into the samelame line with a few distorted additions, before fading out slow again,only to come right back in in the same fashion. (It's not the beststart.) RJD2 has a genuine talent for pulling out good voices to throwin on his records, it's just what he layers them over that lacks hereand there and sometimes everywhere. "Exotic Talk" uses a vocoder over amore rock sound, but its bombast is forced and synthetic in nature, notactual. The songs here use vastly varied samples, but the compositionis so very much the same that it never succeeds in revealing anythingmore than the last record. Why he bothered to explore new areas interms of genres to sample, but stayed with the same old productiontechniques, is beyond me. Awkward missteps, like the vocal on "MakingDays Longer," don't improve the overall package, but instead bring itdown even further. There are moments where everything is not mired inmediocrity, such as "Someone's Second Kiss," with its soul vocals andkeyboard soliloquy. Next time, though, it would be beneficial if RJD2expanded his whole repertoire instead of some semblance of it, as itmight create the genre-busting album this genre desperately needs. Plus, an open note to Definitive Jux: Please stop sending out promotional copies of releases that contain anti-pirating voice stamps. It makes it impossiblefor any writer to get a good idea of the music when a voice remindsthem that it's a promo every thirty seconds. At least send out cleancopies to press sources or street teams. I wouldn't have reviewed therecord if I hadn't bought it myself, as it's that detrimental to thelistening experience. Just a thought. I'd never heard anything like itbefore I received this CD. 
