Habit of Creation
An orchestral band with an interesting twist, Slow Six have compiledthis debut album from tracks they've recorded over the last four years,though none of it sounds in the least dated. The twist is the use of anactive computer that takes in the sounds the members make andinterprets them into what it will, used mainly in a live setting butput to slight use on these recordings, as well. Though they work withother artists when they perform as sort of a rule, there is no missingcomponent when listening to these songs, as they're certainly dynamicenough to hold attention. Sometimes they take a while to warm up, or toget to that next shift, but there's never a moment of absolutestaggering boredom that attacked me. What also struck me is the care inthe packaging, like it was an art project all its own, as the coverphoto has so much meaning, like the Empire State Building is a greatunknown forbidden to those who live behind the fence. The liner notesare actually a photograph of the walls in their rehearsal space, whereguitarist Peter Cressy actually wrote the words on the wall in a veryelegant style. It's a small gesture, but it shows the commitment andcare of these artists to and for their work. The songs number three,with the shortest clocking it at almost nineteen minutes, and theyrepresent a full range of emotions as well as variations in what theband is capable of. Each has its own breath and life, and moves with aspirit that feels like a wise and aged soul. To break these massivepassages down to "the violin sounds great" is almost an insult to theirbeauty, but the instruments are played with great skill and passion,and the music becomes more lovely with every replay. Violin, viola, andcello are joined with guitars and Rhodes piano and the aforementionedcomputer instruments — no percussion. It's not missed or even needed,and the sounds all swirl together in an artful embrace. I hope the bandtours outside their native New York so I can see this first hand, andthat there's more to come from these practitioners of the slow andsomber.
An orchestral band with an interesting twist, Slow Six have compiledthis debut album from tracks they've recorded over the last four years,though none of it sounds in the least dated. The twist is the use of anactive computer that takes in the sounds the members make andinterprets them into what it will, used mainly in a live setting butput to slight use on these recordings, as well. Though they work withother artists when they perform as sort of a rule, there is no missingcomponent when listening to these songs, as they're certainly dynamicenough to hold attention. Sometimes they take a while to warm up, or toget to that next shift, but there's never a moment of absolutestaggering boredom that attacked me. What also struck me is the care inthe packaging, like it was an art project all its own, as the coverphoto has so much meaning, like the Empire State Building is a greatunknown forbidden to those who live behind the fence. The liner notesare actually a photograph of the walls in their rehearsal space, whereguitarist Peter Cressy actually wrote the words on the wall in a veryelegant style. It's a small gesture, but it shows the commitment andcare of these artists to and for their work. The songs number three,with the shortest clocking it at almost nineteen minutes, and theyrepresent a full range of emotions as well as variations in what theband is capable of. Each has its own breath and life, and moves with aspirit that feels like a wise and aged soul. To break these massivepassages down to "the violin sounds great" is almost an insult to theirbeauty, but the instruments are played with great skill and passion,and the music becomes more lovely with every replay. Violin, viola, andcello are joined with guitars and Rhodes piano and the aforementionedcomputer instruments — no percussion. It's not missed or even needed,and the sounds all swirl together in an artful embrace. I hope the bandtours outside their native New York so I can see this first hand, andthat there's more to come from these practitioners of the slow andsomber. 
On his fifth album in two years, Paul Westerberg should be getting tothat point where he's becoming a parody of himself, sounding out thesame old business in his traditional way. Strangely, though, he soundsmore fresh than ever, opening up and having fun in a way that's almostmore revealing than any songs he's ever released. It's known thatWesterberg has a large stockpile of material that he's been recordingin his home for years, but there hasn't been a dud yet as he sloughsoff years of age to bring this music to life. No, he doesn't sound likehe's in the Mats again, but it makes little difference when he's stillcooking up magic. The album opens with "Jingle," Paul's attempt to getmainstream commercials to buy one of his songs and make him the nextcorporate shill like Lenny Kravitz, but it's obvious why it neverworked: his snide sense of humor is in full effect, and any intelligentbuyer would know he's crossing his fingers behind his back as he sings"Buy it now." It's catchy enough for an album opener, and after thatit's pretty much a fitting title for what's inside. The honesty anddirectness is what flavors all the songs with such import, almost likePaul is taking a stand like Joan Baez or Bob Dylan, but only on what'simportant to him, not the masses. This is a folk album that speaks fromthe heart, but about the heart and what flies around the head insteadof about ideas that are projected on to those who listen. "My Dad"doesn't need much explanation, but feels like a song that represents aconversation that should have taken place and didn't. "Now I Wonder" isthe quest everyone goes on, and it's got that classic Westerberg sneerwith Jesus Christ references, poetry on wheels. Again Paul plays allthe instruments, and doesn't care about clean takes or crisp playing.With all these ingredients, the cake should be tasty, and it is, eventhough it's got no frosting or sprinkles. If he keeps it up at thispace, Paul might have thirty records out by 2015, and not a one of themwill be lackluster. 
After the supposedly appetite-whetting Here Comes That Weird Chillleft me cold, I had doubts about the latest Mark Lanegan direction,marked by the Band credit added to his name. Luckily, the latest recordis a realization of the best parts of that release, also making it afull-fledged rebirth for Lanegan as a solo artist. I heard someScreaming Trees songs not too long ago, and I remembered thinking thatit was great to hear his voice, since he used to sing in thatband. Lately, his performances had almost become a parody ofthemselves, with the broken-glass-embedded-in-the-throat routinebecoming the height of his regimen. Now, though, he's like a chameleon,changing his skin and styles on nearly every track, and he's singingfrom places I haven't heard in years. Sure, the broken glass routine isstill about, but it's also tempered with a beauty and an earnestness inthe middle of all the shifts of fancy. The backing band is stilldisparate, with Josh Homme and Nick Oliveri on a few tracks, Greg Dullihere and there, and even Polly Jean Harvey on the swaggering "Hit theCity." It works big time, and the whole package is a wild ride throughthe psyche of a man who is finally hitting a new stride. "One HundredDays" is the track that brings it all together, with Lanegan'splaintive vocal and gentle guitars loping into view to start. When therest of the band joins in, the song takes the money and runs, and theharmonies are pure sweetness. There are great moments of somber likethis throughout the record, like the opening "When Your Number Isn'tUp" and "Strange Religion," and they're never faked or rushed. Whatreally picks it up and gets the blood going is the bombast, like on"Sideways in Reverse," where the banging drums and energy are in fullforce, or the breakbeat weirdness of "Can't Come Down." It's a greatmix of the high and low, and maybe it's the fact that Lanegan soundsfree or released that makes the passion or honesty more palpable. He'son the next level finally, after struggling a little bit, and ready towow again. 
The appropriately named sequel to last year's Cool As Ice, Twice As Nicecontinues the job of compiling lost dance singles from Factory andCrepscule. This time, the compilers stretch out a bit, including notonly productions credited to New Order's Be Music, but also a fewrelated producers. Among the other producers represented on thecompilation are NYC luminaries Arthur Baker and Mark Kamins, as well asthree 52nd Street tracks produced by DoJo without the help of BernardSumner. Consequently, the songs on Twice As Nice aren't asthematically linked as those on the first volume. There is a also anoticeable drop in the quality of many of these singles, a few of whichwould have been better left to history's dustbin. I'm thinkingspecifically of Arthur Baker's shiny happy remix of Anna Domino's"Summer," which clocks in at a laborious seven minutes, and never risesabove the level of "Walking on Sunshine" 80s pop trash. Mark Kamins wasa popular NYC producer and DJ at the legendary Danceteria, but he willprobably forever be known as one of the "little people" that MadonnaCiccone climbed over on her way to world domination. His production onCheyne's "Call Me Mr. Telephone" highlights some of the problemsinherent in white producers co-opting early HipHop, but demonstrating afundamental lack of understanding as to what made HipHop good. The 52ndStreet tracks fare much better, especially "Express" and "Look Into MyEyes," soulful R&B grooves expanded by DoJo into synth-heavy,polyrhythmic disco-funk classics. Quando Quango appear on a pair ofLatin-influenced new wave dance sides with remarkably outre'production, incorporating varispeed vocals and dub trickery. MarcelKing's "Keep On Dancing" doesn't repeat the unparalleled greatness of"Reach For Love," but he gives it the old college try anyway, withanother high-energy, anthemic gay classic. Shark Vegas were an obscureGerman electro-disco group, and their "You Hurt Me (Version)" playslike a step-by-step primer in early-80s, by-the-book Euro-techno. Arare edit of New Order's "Video 5-8-6" will be a major attraction tomany, an early experiment in creating a track entirely with electronicsequencers. This track, along with Section 25's "Sakura," both displayBernard Sumner's nascent experimentation with his new gadgets, andevidence a remarkable sort of "beginner's luck" that manifests in apair of stunning low-fi electronic tracks that belong in the samecompany as early Human League. The vocoderized technopop of "Motherland(Remix)," by cult Factory oddballs The Royal Family and the Poor, ispretty atypical of their sound, but pleasant nonetheless. Twice As Niceis nothing if not inconsistent, and does not hold the easy appeal ofits predecessor, but contains enough worthwhile nuggets to warrant afew spins. 
Cool As Icesweeps up the scattered remains of the influential dance singlesproduced by Be Music, a catch-all name that denoted productions byvarious members of New Order. Most of these tracks were produced byBernard Sumner, often working alongside DoJo (Donald Johnson of ACertain Ratio); with a few tracks produced by Peter Hook, Steve Morrisand Gillian Gilbert. It's a fantastic collection of rarely heardelectro and dance classics from the early years of British clubculture. The twelve tracks collected on Cool As Ice wereoriginally released in a particularly fertile creative period of1983-4. 52nd Street's "Can't Afford To Let You Go" is a classic slab ofacross-the-Atlantic electro: throbbing analog sequences and stunningRoland 808 programming alongside soulful R&B vocals. It's a thick,delicious concoction of post-Disco dance every bit as good as Detroitmainstays like Rhythm is Rhythm, but with an ear for clean-edged,spartan production familiar from classic New Order tracks like theubiquitous "Blue Monday." "Looking From a Hilltop (Megamix),"painstakingly reworked from a track by Section 25, rates among thegreatest all-time techno singles; a lush urban sprawl illuminated bythe glistening surfaces of newly constructed high-rise apartmentbuildings. Marcel King's "Reach For Love" is a gloriously overwroughtgay-club anthem that never was, bearing more than a passing resemblanceto my beloved Bronski Beat. Cool As Ice would be worth theprice for the first three tracks alone, but luckily there are nine moretracks, filling out the disc's running time to the 74-minute limit.Other tracks by obscure acts like Quando Quango, Thick Pigeon and JosefK frontman Paul Haig outline that unique mid-80's intersection ofpost-punk, new wave, Big Beat and the emerging dance scenes. Thequality of the songs varies from average to better, but most of themhave held up remarkably well, due in no small to the smart productionby New Order members. It's strange, considering the long-runningnotoriety and success of New Order, that no one thought to compile thisstuff before now. But that's LTM's specialty: fulfilling needs wedidn't even know we had. 
What I appreciate most about the latest full length release fromMontreal's Fly Pan Am is their ability to crank out layered drones andpunchy rhythms which form the solid foundation for near guitar andkeyboard thrashings to play off and still keep it generallyinteresting. The ten tracks on N'Ecoutez Pasvary from straight ahead arrangements heavy with distortion to moredrawn out freeform pursuits that teeter on the brink of chaos, at timesinvolving spoken word tape splicing and other assorted noises. The morestructured tracks "Brûlez suivant, suivante!", "Pas à pas step until"and "Vos rêves revers" include the expected stacked guitars with coolchord voicing and quirky syncopated drumming that I've come toappreciate. At times, I think my ears trick me into hearing brief bitsof Motown soul in some of the bass lines. Still, it adds to theconstant underlying musical tension that's heightened by whisperedvocals, which although in French, are just as effective in creating asense of anxiety regardless of the lyrics. The lengthy "Très très'retro' " builds on the repetition of steady rhythms and distortedkeyboard stabs with slight variation for what seems like the group'sentire arsenal of guitar pedals, patch effects and the kitchen sink toplay off. At eleven minutes, including a break for what sounds likepopping balloons and distant organ drones, the less-is-more approachmay have been a lot more effective and held my undivided attention. Atthe other end of the spectrum, the brief and sparse composition "Exéleveur de renards argentes" left me wanting to hear more of itstwitchy guitar, eerie piano, highway sounds and spoken word layering,all presented with a very musique concrête touch. Again in the brevitydepartment, "Le faux pas aimer vous souhaite d'être follement ami" isthe trashy rocker complete with cheerleading chants that ran its coursebefore I could translate the title based on my poor retention of highschool French. With the exception of some lengthy guitar explorations, N'Ecoutez Pashas Le Fly Pan Am broadening the musical pallet and honing their skillsof pulling off modern compositions within traditional rockinstrumentation.
Six Organs of Admittance released The Manifestation as a one-sided 12" on the BaDaBing label in 2000, limiting the pressing to 500. Strange Attractors they have appended another nearly 23 minute exploration hithertounreleased, thereby doubling the music. The CD version makes the 12"seem scrawny now in retrospect, especially since the new song ("The SixStations") surpasses its companion piece ("The Manifestation") by a fewnylon guitar strings. "The Six Stations" endeavors to be more than justa song, though. Chasny intends it as an aural experiment complete withlab report. He employs an antiquated astrophysics equation (theTitius-Bode law which approximates the spacing between the planets;look it up) to create modes for a six-movement piece. Each movementcorresponds to the first six planets from the sun and is in a differentkey dependent on the mode. There is plenty of literature in thepackaging which tries to explain the method in Chasny's madness, but itcomes off at first glance as the scribbling of a deranged astrologer.Yet I like the madness, even if it is just the appearance of madness.To unify the two songs on the CD, Chasny has recorded the sound of aneedle playing the side of the original clear vinyl which was etchedwith a picture of the sun. This sound plays underneath the entirety of"The Six Stations." And now you begin to see all the motifs bendinginto each other: Six organs for six planets for six stations; celestialbodies connected by an equation which influences the modes of thesong's movements, with an underlying physical connection of rawcrackliness. Even without the theory, the music itself is sublime. Thecrackling needle is hypnotic, uniting the intricacies of all sixmovements with its subtle dissonance. The one planet which is perhapsleast admirably represented is our own mother planet. Apparently, inChasny's reasoning, Earth has no mode and thus no music to accompanyit. Instead, David Tibet of Current 93 reads some awkward poetry overthe crackling needle. The song suffers from this segment insofar as Ibristled uncomfortably with each stanza. Yet the other 5/6 of elegantguitar plucking more than makes up for Earth's unfortunate (but perhapsapt) tribute. The title track begins with drones and chants, eventuallycoalescing into a coherent melody, sometimes with male and femalevocals dancing around the guitars. Three-quarters of the way through,the song breaks down again into a restrained and temperedimprovisational session, only to pick itself up by the bootstraps inthe last 4 minutes and recollect itself into once again coherent guitarmelodies. The sounds on both songs are commensurate with other SixOrgans of Admittance records, arranging the well-paired avant-folk andpsych drone in this couplet of songs. In fact, both suites are likemedleys or samplers of Chasny's unique repertoire of sounds. I don'tmean to say that it all sounds the same. On the contrary, the movementsin these suites are indispensable for fans of Chasny's work, asessential as stars in any respectable constellation. 
I suppose it was only a matter of time before Coil's intoxicatingaesthetic concoction of homoeroticism, ritual occultism, anddrug-fueled decadence spawned its own specialized microculture.CCCPierce and Massimo of Black Sun Productions are probably not thefirst, but are certainly the most determined at expressing andembodying their zealous devotion to all things unquiet, sidereal andlunar. A pair of pierced, tattooed, European ex-prostitutes joinedtogether by civil union, Massimo and Pierce have explored and expoundedupon the latent ideas in Coil's music by mounting a series of sexualperformances, public and private, called Plastic Spider Thing,involving bondage, blood-drinking, ritualized sex acts and networks ofstretched plastic webbing. Their website(www.black-sun-productions.com) has grown over the years to includephotographic documents of their various aesthetic transgressions, fromhardcore fisting videos to journals with each page splashed with semen.Their first musical endeavor was 2002's album-length collection of Coilremixes by BSP associate DraZen, commissioned as a soundtrack forperformances of Plastic Spider Thing. It was an unimpressively murkymix of backwards-tracked selections from Threshold House's oevre withloads of extraneous effects, dulling the edge off everything that makesCoil spectacular. For this, their second foray into the musical arena,Pierce takes the reigns to create an album of new material, a warpedelectronic song cycle owing a substantial debt to the Moon Musick boys.Again conceived as a soundtrack to Plastic Spider Thing (Part XXII), Astral Walkis a big leap forward for BSP, if not an entirely successful album initself. I'm guessing that the majority of this album was made with asimilar array of analogue synthesizers and sequencers as those used inCoil's recordings, and it shows. "Entrata Lentissima" (transl: "SlowestEntrance") starts things off with a typically squishy, misshapen alienrhythm, soon joined by a cresting wave of those Coil-trademarkedshuddering, vibratory electronics. It's a textural, psychedelic sound,and for extreme Coil fetishists like me, it's immediately attractive.But after listening to "Lento" and "Moderato," which all but repeat theexact same audio strategies, adding layers of dark, droning stringsfamiliar from Musick to Play in the Dark, a cold feeling begins to set in. Unbelievably, all nine tracks on Astral Walkuse this same derivative bag of tricks, in various combinations, atvarious tempos. I had to keep checking my player to make sure I wasn'tstuck in repeat mode. The album's repetitiveness makes it a veryunattractive proposition for repeat listens. The dark, industrializedcover of Soft Cell's "Meet Murder My Angel" is a lone spot of respitefrom the rest of the album's uniformity, Massimo contributing spookywhispered vocals over intensely sexualized rhythms. The photos ofPierce and Massimo adorning the sleeve aim for the romantic, homoeroticcelluloid fantasies of Derek Jarman, to whom the album is dedicated.Though Astral Walk is clearly a major improvement over theirlast album, and there is much that hardcore Coil enthusiasts may likeabout the music, I hope that BSP will eventually find their own uniquemusical identity outside the rather large shadow cast by their heroes. 
With his first solo record, Arve Henriksen proved, consciously or not,that he could step boldly away from Supersilent's authoritarian shadowand develop a style all his own. On Sakuteikithe trumpeter did more than abandon the darkly ambient, jazz-fuckedcityscapes of his father group; by limiting instrumentation to the hornalone, Henriksen created a smoky, elegant tone poem with allusions toJapanese folk and classical musics, successfully juxtaposed with thealien texturing of the day's more established avant-trumpetingtechniques (see the arid, pursed playing of Franz Hautzinger, AlexDörner etc). Sampling and layering his varying strands of breath,Henriksen establishes a dreamlike atmosphere that rarely callsattention to the extremes of his instrument as free-jazzers might.Instead the mood is more of a weary, timeless, psychedelic sort, wherepiece-by-piece his trumpet fades into the movements of a detailed,irreducible landscape, intensely colorful but never jarring. Chiaroscuro'stitle aptly warns that it will provide no rest from the abstractdream-mapping of its predecessor, but the record does show Henriksenlightening up a bit, no longer limited to his trumpet and wordlessvocal, this time adding two new musicians to his band, a percussionistand livesampling expert. These additions give Chiaroscuro a looser, live-r feeling while keeping up with Sakuteiki'spatchwork brilliance. The timeless, graying overtones of that album arelost here, but they're replaced by a feeling that the players arecoloring in spaces as they go, a lush and growing environment that isincrementally fortified as the three play off and coil within thethought-lines of each other's playing. Henriksen lets his vocal matchthe music's newer flamboyance, soaring to heights that often give hisandroid-feminine croon prominence over the brass. No doubt thetrumpeter has benefited from the new ways of hearing and accompanyinghimself afforded by Jan Bang's livesampling abilities. Bang's cuts andassemblages sound less solemn or cyclical than Henriksen's own from thefirst record, and the trumpeter responds with a buoyant playing stylethat sacrifices none of Sakuteiki's hidden drama. The resulting joyful, relaxed, even tropical feeling is enough to characterize Chiaroscuro and will distinguish the record from the artist's past work. Here is not so much the sound of Henriksen stepping out on his own as stepping forward into something new. 
For an avowed proponent of the might-makes-right doctrines of SocialDarwinism and a frequent spokesman for neo-Satanic philosophies, BoydRice sure does spend a lot of time trying to persuade us he has asofter side. Whether through the campy pop songbook of Spell's Seasons In the Sun or his compilation of saccharine girl-group pop Music For Pussycats,the infamous provocateur behind such classics as "Let's Hear it ForViolence Towards Women" lately seems to be exhibiting his kindler,gentler qualities. Terra Incognita chooses 13 tracks fromalmost 30 years of recordings with a special emphasis on atmosphere,moodiness and listenability. A release like this is certainly apointless waste of time for Non aficionados who have already collectedthe albums from which these tracks are drawn, but for those justdipping their feet into brackish Boyd Rice waters, it's slightly lesspointless. These 13 tracks (and the lengthy liner notes by Brian M.Clark) make the case for Boyd Rice as musical innovator, focusing onhis unorthodox experiments with tape loops, distressed vinyl andself-built noisemakers as methods employed to open up the possibilitiesof experimental music. Indeed, you would be hard-pressed to findcontemporaries doing anything remotely similar to the "music" on BoydRice's 1975 debut, with the possible exception of Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music.Further, Boyd's combination of the noise aesthetic with extremistpolitics, occultism and moral transgression impregnated his music witha richly suggestive atmosphere. Listening to the grinding sheets ofnoise and distortion on any of Non's albums, one could imagine allsorts of subliminal messages worming their way into the subconscious;pick out all manner of sound effects, voices and subtle aural nuancesthat may or may not have been placed there intentionally. Using atechnique similar to the Burroughs/Gysin concept of the "third mind,"Boyd Rice often overlaps two different sound sources to create a third,unpredictable frequency that supercedes artistic manipulation andcreates something sublimely unsettling. The majority of the tracks on Terra Incognitaplay to Rice's obsession with easy listening music and 60's girl-pop,utilizing looped, distorted samples from vintage pop novelty singles."Extract 4" from Easy Listening for the Hard of Hearing, Boyd's1981 collaboration with the late Frank Tovey of Fad Gadget, matches aslowly decaying circus calliope with grating buzzsaw noises. What couldvery well be a loop lifted directly from a Lee Hazlewood production,turned slightly askew and refracted back onto itself, forms the basisof "Immolation of Man." Successive tracks are more austere and gothic,from the dusty, windswept chimes of Blood and Flame's "CruentaVoluptas" to the ghostly Gregorian conflagration of "The Fountain ofFortune," taken from Non's recent artistic misfire Children of the Black Sun."Untitled 1" from Boyd Rice's self-titled 1975 debut seems to prefigureBoards of Canada, consisting of a warbling easy-listening loop awashwith nostalgia, layered with sheets of drone and audio decay. Takentogether, Terra Incognita is a well-sequenced collection that proves Boyd Rice is more than merely the sum of his offenses. 
