Kranky
Tom and Christina Carter's work as Charalambides improves with everyrelease, and now with the addition of Heather Leigh Murray —Christina's bandmate in Scorces — on pedal steel and vocals, they are aforce to be reckoned with. Kranky is generously reissuing severalCharalambides releases that were never widely available. Unknown Spinwas originally released on the band's own label in a CD-R pressing of300. With this particular reissue, Kranky is righting a colossal wrong:that this music was relatively unavailable for so long. These songs area real step forward for the band, as they work more into each other'spatterns, with the expansive nature of the music benefitting from anodd start/stop quality that intensifies the whole album's aura. Theopening track, also the title track, is thirty whole minutes ofminimalist joy, haunting in its need to take so long to build. Littlepieces of music are repeated, but spaced out in an almost mind-alteringpace. Eventually all parts join together, build, soar, and chill to thebone. With not a track under eight minutes, and given their history,this track sets the tone for the whole release. The songs approach purebeauty here and there, but is is the final track, "Skin of Rivers,"that pulls it all together. With Heather and Christina's dueling vocalsand little else until about five minutes in, there is a pure fear andisolation in place that just decimates. It's probably the bestCharalambides track ever, and the album as a whole is quite anaccomplishment. With more to come from Kranky, perhaps this fineensemble will finally get the respect they deserve.
Tom and Christina Carter's work as Charalambides improves with everyrelease, and now with the addition of Heather Leigh Murray —Christina's bandmate in Scorces — on pedal steel and vocals, they are aforce to be reckoned with. Kranky is generously reissuing severalCharalambides releases that were never widely available. Unknown Spinwas originally released on the band's own label in a CD-R pressing of300. With this particular reissue, Kranky is righting a colossal wrong:that this music was relatively unavailable for so long. These songs area real step forward for the band, as they work more into each other'spatterns, with the expansive nature of the music benefitting from anodd start/stop quality that intensifies the whole album's aura. Theopening track, also the title track, is thirty whole minutes ofminimalist joy, haunting in its need to take so long to build. Littlepieces of music are repeated, but spaced out in an almost mind-alteringpace. Eventually all parts join together, build, soar, and chill to thebone. With not a track under eight minutes, and given their history,this track sets the tone for the whole release. The songs approach purebeauty here and there, but is is the final track, "Skin of Rivers,"that pulls it all together. With Heather and Christina's dueling vocalsand little else until about five minutes in, there is a pure fear andisolation in place that just decimates. It's probably the bestCharalambides track ever, and the album as a whole is quite anaccomplishment. With more to come from Kranky, perhaps this fineensemble will finally get the respect they deserve.
Somewhere there exists a Metal Valhalla, an otherworldly paradise where all of the head-banging Vikings, beer-swilling Satanists, fist-pumping Klingons and face-painted Odinists are slam-dancing under the dark crimson moonlight to the pure amplified glory of the heaviest sounds in the Universe. For all we know, this Guitar Nirvana might be completely out of reach of mere mortals, at least in this lifetime, but that doesn't stop people from trying time and again to invoke it right here on Earth.
Don't be fooled: this isn't some silly pot-worshipping reggae groupcome to praise the benefits of marijuana use to the masses. This is abody-swaying group of musicians fusing "acoustic" reggae with the bestelements of dub. The sexiest horn combo this side of the universe blowsthrough "Kneel At the Feet" and slithers through a sax solo hell-benton turning these cold days into humid, fire-lit nights in a steamy bar.There's the moon shining over the mountains just outside the openwindow of the bar and the smell of salt-water splashes up through mysenses with every drum POP! and guitar stroke. The music isn't justsexy, though: 10 Ft. Ganja Plant recalls the best of classic reggaewith upbeat and playful rhythms, bass-led melodies, and, especially inthe case of "Let the Music Hit," outstanding lyrics celebrating thepower of great reggae tunes. The best part is that each track soundsdistinctly different: the production is never the same between twotracks and all the instruments have a unique voice that bursts away andstands alone as a shining beacon. If that beacon isn't shining, though,it's pulsing and moving like the waves on the ocean: it's hard not totap a foot or get caught up in the melodies. With each track being asurprise both musically and production-wise, it's an album that movesalong quickly and leaves a hunger for more. The chiming, foreign, andexotic "Midnight Landing" stands out like a lone dancer on the beach:the strange bells used that form the center of the melody couldn't bemore whimsical and yet they stand at a paradox: they're a sharpcontrast from standard reggae instrumentation but they keep in focuswith the soul of the album. I could spend hours talking about theimagery this album throws at me every time I listen to it. I don'tthink I've ever heard a reggae/dub album quite as diverse as this. Infact, even putting a name like "reggae/dub" on Midnight Landing is unfair: this isn't just reggae or dub and this isn't justsome combination of the two. Between the vocal-pieces and theinstrumentals there is an amazing variety of styles employed and it'shard not to stand back and look at it all and wonder: this is one ofthe most creative albums I've heard all year. It's diverse, fun, risky,experimental, creative, and entirely unique. This goes beyond itsstylistic marker and shatters into something entirely new and beautifulwithout forgetting where it came from. 
This is a mysterious piece of music. At times rising above nothing morethan a series of simplistic drum patterns and a possessed guitar, theeffect is radiates is eerie and strange. It's as if the wholearchitecture that the sound rested upon was made up of a liquid masssubject to change at anytime. Symphonic washes of melody that soundadrift on the sea are meshed with the sound of metal or wood beingground into a pulp and then recycled into a series of hypnotic rhythmsthat move each track along in a soft but drunken manner. On a tracklike "Random Hiver" the spectacular residue of this combination isnothing short of enchanting, but the hollow and vaccuous halls of soundsometimes become too plain and uninvolving. This is especially true forthe middle third of the album. Vocals samples are used early on in goodtaste to provide a sense of voyeurism within the music, but in themiddle portion of RI.Tit just serves to stretch out tracks that weren't meant to be stretchedout. "Aritec" and "We Watch Over You" are both far too alike to beenjoyable back to back. If it weren't for "Random Hiver," I might havebecome sick with the album too soon and missed the promisingconclusion. A series of sucking sounds (think snot) lead "We Watch OverYou" into "Cheyenne," a tune that creates an empty and strange embracebetween keyboards and drums. The drums never quite sync up witheachother nor with the self-destructing melodies fading and buzzing outof the sound spectrum. The end of the song is a mess of alien sound andinstellar noise that dissipates into thin air before the escapist"Enron State" topples into being and blows itself out on its own gustof wind. Yes, the song has a bit of a political tint to it, butnevermind such a distraction: the music is lovely. The end leaves mefeeling lonely and somehow depressed: the entire album just feels likea byzantine cathedral that echoes to the point discomfort. It'sgorgeous, without a doubt, but there's something about that void thatis unsettling; it's a space that's hard to look into without beingabsorbed by it.
The immediate reaction I had to my first airing of this CD is probablyquite common: It's impossible, at first, to believe that this isgenuine. Thankfully, the intensity and craftsmanship of the music lenda great deal of credibility, and after repeat listens I am less andless inclined to challenge the band on whether or not their hearts aretruly in this. I grew up listening to Slayer, Anthrax, and Metallica,sporting the worst mullet on the planet and a backpatch on my denimjacket to strike fear into all those who opposed. As I grew older, Igot into Yes, Dream Theater, and even some King Crimson, and learnedhow expansive one could make rock sound. Nightfist have taken the worksof these and other collective metal and prog-rock influences andbettered them, even if only here and there on their first release. Iftheir bio is indeed true and Nightfist's members are recent high schoolgraduates, then color me doubly impressed, as there's not one slip-upis to be found in these louder-than-love anthemic passages, and thatkind of skill is rare on music so technically precise as this. Theprologue and epilogue come off a bit forced, like an afterthought,detailing the warrior's journey in two brief monologues; thankfullythey let the music do most of the talking. Furious drumming, blazingguitars and mad-scientist keyboards abound, and the songs take on alife of their own. I saw the warrior, put upon by so much strife,swinging his sword and crushing enemies with one blow, striving towardsthe final battle. The entire CD is a metaphor for this up and comingband, and at this rate they'll be the stuff of legends sooner ratherthan later. 
Tribute albums can often be enlightening. They can also beexcruciating. It can be illuminating to hear differing interpretationsof a songwriter's back catalog. A cover version can give you a freshperspective on a familiar song, or place it in a new musical contextthat may lend itself brilliantly to the original material. In the past,I've heard wonderful collections of artists interpreting the songs ofsinger-songwriters Leonard Cohen, Tom Waits and Lee Hazlewood. The Bells Shall Sound Forevercollects 15 tracks from 15 artists, paying tribute to the songs ofCurrent 93. From the beginning this project is doomed. David Tibet'swork as Current 93 is so irredeemably idiosyncratic, and is performedand produced in such a specific way, that any reinterpretationnecessarily runs the risk of diluting the meaning and power of theoriginal material. Current 93 albums do not contain songs; they containstanzas. Each album is a poetic cycle, weaving together Tibet's musingson Christ, cats and apocalypse with sparse and evocative soundsettings. The very idea of isolating a track and reinterpreting itseems, on the surface, to be a ridiculous venture. Tibet's dramaticspoken-word vocals, Michael Cashmore's haunting instrumental backdropsand Steven Stapleton's mindbending soundscapes and production acumen:all of these elements are vital to the sound of Current 93. David Tibetcan't play any instruments, he can't read or write musical notation andhe can't write a song. Therefore, the idea of covering a Current 93song seems just as pointless as covering a Wesley Willis song. TheEuropean and American artists on Bells are largely obscure,often amateur, with a clear emphasis on bedroom industrial and neo-folkmusicians — people who have had their brains twisted by constantexposure to Sol Invictus records. Sonne Hagal's limp take on "Death ofthe Corn" is made comical by the thick German accent of the singer.Dorien Campbell turns in a capable but unremarkable rendition of "ASadness Song." Vequinox manage to make the already boring "Earth CoversEarth" even more lackluster, sounding like a middle-aged, pot-smokingWiccan couple recording on a four-track in a dusty tool shed in theirbackyard. German industrial band Engelsstaub attempt to transform"Happy Birthday Pigface Christus" into one of those faceless EBM clubtracks. What an outrageously bad idea! Hungary's Cawatana contribute ahilariously corny version of "A Song for Douglas After He's Dead",complete with silly pan flutes and broken English. "Crowleymass" is anembarrassing mess — it's hard to tell what Storm of Capricorn werethinking with this annoying cacophony of multi-tracked vocals and dullCasio keyboards. If you've ever wanted to hear a heartbreakinglybeautiful song turned into utter shit, listen to Der Feuerkreiner'sself-consciously "gothic" reading of "Soft Black Stars." PancreaticAardvarks turn in a seven-minute dark techno track clearly influencedby Coil, but it appears to have nothing in common with the Current 93song that it purports to be a cover of. The tracklisting containsseveral glaring errors, mixing up the order of the tracks 12 through14, which is fine with me because I'm sure I won't be searching forthese songs in the future. I actually liked O Paradis' psychedelicflamenco version of "Calling For Vanished Faces I," if only for theamusement of hearing the lyrics sung in Spanish. Apparently, DavidTibet donated a Louis Wain painting from his personal collection forthe sleeve image. If this means that he is giving his stamp of approvalto this project, I would question his judgment. All I felt afterlistening to The Bells Shall Sound Forever was an overwhelmingdesire to dig out my old Current 93 records and listen to these songsin the proper context. Perhaps that was David Tibet's plan all along. 
Those familiar with Electrelane may not recognize them now. Wherebefore they were apt to formulate long, dire instrumentals with murkybass, flamboyant keyboards, and fuzz guitar, these four ladies fromBrighton have apparently decided that less can be more, provided that the energy is right. On Paradeis a sample of what's to come from the band on their debut full-lengthon Too Pure, and has an intriguing concept given their past. Threesongs weighing it at a little past eight minutes is a little shocking.The Bruce Springsteen cover ups the oddity level, though they've playedit live in the past with good notices. But the punk-injected soundtakes the taco, as the Electrelane of before has been replaced by thebastard daughter of Snowpony and Sleater-Kinney (recent tourmates =coincidence?). At any rate, it's a fairly by-the-numbers EP: new soundon track one, strangely appealing though out of character cover ontrack two, and a more traditional-sounding (read: instrumental) trackthree to prove to fans they haven't completely lost their minds. It'sfairly mediocre, but not in that it-almost-stinks kind of way. It'sjust nothing all that special. Verity Susman has that husky JohnetteNapolitano quality in her voice that always sounds like it can't domuch more than it is right now. The music is catchy and has a certainulterior groove to speak of, but at the end of the day I'm left wantingto give it all the old heave-ho on days when I want to trade in old CDsfor new at my local. The jury's not out so far that I wouldn't listento the forthcoming debut, but I'm suspect nonetheless. 
Rune Grammofon is known for releasing consistently excellent recordswhile at the same time convincing listeners that all their music comesfrom Norway. One would think, given the output of this label alone,Norway should have long ago become the new Iceland…or something. Rune'sreputation for continually thwarting audience expectations will not betarnished by Fevergreens,the second release from outsider-composer Jono El Grande. Next to ArneNordheim's abstract electronics, Supersilent's dead-city jazz, andSpunk's inimitable improv, Fevergreens occupies a territory ofits own; problem is, the territory isn't so thrillingly exclusive thistime around. While El Grande's playful blend of easy listening,exotica, and soundtrack styling may stand out in Norway, there is a"tried" quality to this music that makes the disc less than impressive.Fevergreens is enjoyable; the exuberance of these tracks iscertainly palpable, the pathos-ridden moments gripping even. ElGrande's forays into easy listening and a kind of quasi-exotica arewritten well, never drifting into (more-than-appropriate) parody. Thedisc fails, somewhat admirably, in its ambitious nature. The musicoperates under a classically informed, theatrical guise, bookendingprologue/epilogue sections and all, with the soundtrack-influenced vibefueling the listener's vivid journey through the crests and denouementsof an elaborate, though abstract tale. Such a framework clashes with ElGrande's interest in jazz and the progressive rock sound bearing themark of people like the Mothers of Invention and Henry Cow. The avantpresence is subtle, isolated to bursts of rock drumming, spasticsynthesized melodies, and a more pronounced jazz edge, but relevantenough to pull the stoicism out from under what would otherwise be arather refined musical achievement. The short lengths of the songs,each packed with enough mood changes to make one's head spin, likewisedetract from the latent seductive quality of this music. I find myselfwishing the avant-rockist bits were allowed to flail and degeneratefreely, or the moments of a more classical resolve given more room tobreathe. The former would provide Jono El Grande a welcome (and stillunique) spot on Rune Grammafon's intimidating roster, while the latterwould still make him the best Norwegian making such interesting music(which, to be honest, could mean the best worldwide). 
Like the 23Five label's recent success, Variable Resistance: Ten Hours of Sound from Australia, this new two-disc compilation from Preservation seeks to document a burgeoning sound art/experimental electronic scene among Australian musicians. "Scene," however, may be inappropriate given the variety available here. Motion: Movement in Australian Sound does distinguish itself by veering (slightly) away from headier sound art pieces into a more repeated-listener-friendly zone.
The future of indie rock mixed with electrorock funk is definitely indoubt. Black Audio are a Finnish pop outfit with a mission to be thebest club band ever, or so it seems listening to their slickproductions on this release. The sad thing is that their beats arederivative, and every track is ruined by the mispronunciation of aword, or a strange effect that throws everything out of balance. Thereis a lot of creativity in their music, no question there, but it hasvery little substance that can be called originality. This single,composed of one undisturbed track off their debut album and two remixedversions of album tracks, is enough to give a taste of the band andtheir flavor, but there is precious little here that would give me anycause to want to listen to their full-length at all. "Louisiana" iskeyboard funk with scratch guitar and a steady programmed beat, butit's crippled by the flatulent keyboard bassline, and the repeatedphrasing of "Yamaha" as "Ya-MAH-ha." "Rock 'N' Roll Egos" starts offfairly strong, with a labored rhythm and guitar bend, but it's thelyrics that ultimately do this one in, as well: "Yeah I hate therednecks, dislike hipsters even more/Getting along with mean morons forthe sake of business makes me a whore." It just shows that subjectmatter only gets you halfway there; next you have to carry the conceptto the masses on your words and feelings. Maybe something is lost inthe translation here, and that's part of the problem. "Mockba 1980" isa tribute to Finnish Olympic medal winners of the past, but the remixhere just plods at first, then annoys at the end with its blandkeyboard sounds and rapid-fire for no reason beat. It's a good attempt,and maybe there would be more on the full-length for me to enjoy. Withthis as an appetizer, though, I have very little stomach for the maincourse.
