Plenty of new music to be had this week from Laetitia Sadier and Storefront Church, Six Organs of Admittance, Able Noise, Yui Onodera, SML, Clinic Stars, Austyn Wohlers, Build Buildings, Zelienople, and Lea Thomas, plus some older tunes by Farah, Guy Blakeslee, Jessica Bailiff, and Richard H. Kirk.
Lake in Girdwood, Alaska by Johnny.
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Alessandro Cortini is best known as the lead electronics performer in Nine Inch Nails’ live unit.
His recordings under his own name have gained prominence in recent years and he has become known as one of the pre-eminent Buchla masters in North America. Cortini makes a surprising departure into the 202 on his debut album for Hospital Productions - Sonno.
Sonno was recorded in hotel rooms, using a Roland MC 202 through a delay pedal, recorded direct, sometimes into a small portable speaker system.
"I liked to walk around the room with a handheld recorder to hear where the sequence would sound better, turn on faucets, open doors or windows to see how the ambient sounds would interact with the MC 202/delay/speaker sound. It was very relaxing and liberating to make music this way..."
The result is a beautifully restrained yet oddly emotive album that's quite distinct from the overly academic approach so often undertaken by hardware driven devotees.
Considering its title is a hybrid of the Norwegian words for "sun" and "dust," I almost expected a drastic change from this duois usually frigid, frost-laden landscapes. Even more so upon finding out that the primary source material utilized by the duo was that of a trumpet, which to me seems like anything but a cold, isolationist instrument. There are some notable variations in the sound of Solst√∏v, but as a whole it remains a faithful addition to the Pjusk discography.
The trumpet seemed an odd choice for me, as I am used to hearing it more in the context of chaotic free jazz or in a harsh, militaristic setting, neither of which are conducive to the calm, peaceful sound I had come to expect from this project.Its appearance on "Streif," featuring Sleep Orchestra, immediately put my concerns of a drastic departure at ease, because while a trumpet note cut through immediately (paired with a processed variation that sound more synth-like), it drifted into a lighter, gauzy sound as the song went on.
Pjusk (with SaffronKeira) demonstrates a similar pattern on "Gl√∏tt," pairing shards of pure trumpet with ghostly wisps of processed sound, with the former bursting through at times aggressively compared to the minimalism that surrounds it.It almost sounds as if a guitar appears on "Falmet" to nicely offset the obvious horn, resulting in a piece that is perhaps ore akin to traditional jazz than the ambient abstraction around it.
My favorite pieces are the ones that go in slightly more bizarre directions, however."Diffus" bends the sound of the horn to resemble pained screams amidst a click and reverb heavy backing, resulting in sounds that are familiar, yet extremely difficult to identify, and taking on a rather dark tact overall."Demring", on the other hand, sounds like synthetically created field recordings (chimes and wind), that mimics nature, albeit imperfectly.As a whole the piece stays rather open and spacious, with the hint of melody here and there.
"Gl√∏d," on the other hand, seems pieced together from conventional elements, like textures acting as a rhythm, melodic notes, and maybe another guitar.Again the trumpet cuts through aggressively, but in a way that fits well, and rather than being disruptive just feels like a dynamic addition to the more peaceful moments."Skimt" is almost twice as long as many of the pieces here, and the duo (with Yui Onodera) uses that extra length to build up an appropriately level of drama, mixed with hints of rhythm.As the mix between sounds is constantly changing and moving, the piece stays fresh throughout.
Solstøv is a bit of sun throughout the duo’s usual arctic soundscapes, but not so much as to drastically depart from their previous works.Instead it feels like a variation on their sound, like a seasonal shift in a climate that never warm no matter what time of year.It might seem a bit lighter, but the cold is always present, as is Pjusk's unique and complex style of composition.
Tashi Dorji grew up in Bhutan, on the eastern side of the Himalayas. Access to any music created outside the country is limited, as are most cultural options, given the geologically isolation of the country. How Dorji went from a life so remote to developing his innovative and revelatory guitar style is mind-boggling.
Yearning for access to the world outside, Dorji pursued and obtained a fully-paid scholarship to a liberal arts school in Asheville, NC, in his early twenties. He’s since settled in there (save a short stint in Maine), soaking up a vast array of music, most notably the works of Derek Bailey and John Zorn. Along the way, Dorji developed a playing style unbound by tradition, yet with a direct line to intuitive artistry. His recordings feature improvisations that spasmodically grow along tangential, surprising paths. All references break loose during a composition, as Dorji keys into his own inner world.
After a handful of cassettes on various labels, Dorji presents his first proper album on Hermit Hut, the label created by Ben Chasny (Six Organs of Admittance) and inspired by spreading word of Dorji’s talents. The six compositions here are hand-picked by Dorji and Chasny as the most representative and far-reaching of his recordings. Taken together, they announce a new guitar music unlike anything being made today.
Shivers is a new jazz trio (of sorts) featuring Machinefabriek's Rutger Zuydervelt, though "anti-jazz" might be a more accurate descriptor given their willfully plodding rhythms and murky anti-virtuosity.  What the trio have going for them instead, however, is a distinctive strain of creepy, broken-sounding sci-fi brooding, which makes a great deal of sense for a band named after an early David Cronenberg film.  Appropriately, my opinion of this debut closely mirrors my opinion of almost every Cronenberg film that I have ever seen: an inspired aesthetic and some cool ideas, but it seems like it probably could have been a bit better.
While Shivers is ostensibly a new project, both of Zuydervelt's bandmates have been Machinefabriek collaborators several times in the past, just not together.  Perhaps that is why this album frequently feels more like an atypically heavy Machinefabriek album than any kind of fresh, equal partnership.  There are a couple exceptions though, most notably "Otomo," as bass clarinetist Gareth Davis initially unleashes quite a squawking and howling cacophony over Leo Fabriek's clattering free-jazz drumming before the whole thing collapses into buzzing and humming industrial ambience.  Leo and Gareth take charge yet again on the exceedingly baffling "Rabid," but with much diminished results, meandering along in a sleepy vamp for several minutes after a promising introductory firestorm of blown-out drums, noise, and overloaded bass.  I have absolutely no idea what Shivers were hoping to accomplish with that particular piece, as it seems inconceivable that there is anyone alive who wanted grinding industrial heaviness combined with a lazily pastoral clarinet jam within the same song.
For the most part, however, Shivers' aesthetic is much more seamless and successful, though still somewhat unfocused and occasionally a bit perplexing (the synth-heavy "Brood" sounds like a straight-up John Carpenter pastiche, for example) .  The best pieces are the ones that bookend the album, the most impressive of which is probably the opening "Ash."  Built upon a quivering haze of Rutger's guitar noise, crackling electronics, and heavy synth drone, "Ash" weaves a deliciously throbbing and menacing backdrop for Gareth's eerie warbles and whines.  The only downside is that Leo Fabriek's sole contribution seems to be sporadic drum-machine-like punctuations of snare hits and bass thumps, which seems like a waste of his talents (though he eventually comes in with some appropriately shivering brush-and-cymbal work).  Also striking is the comparatively minimal "Spacek," which locks into a lurching, hollow-sounding groove embellished with metallic cymbal swells and a host of squiggles, squeals, and dissonant keys.  Weirdly, however, it sometimes sounds like Davis is playing in another room entirely and that Fabriek just recorded a cool percussion loop and went home.  It is still quite a fine piece though.
"Replicant" closes the album on yet another high note, as Fabriek locks into a stomping industrial-damaged groove while Davis drifts in and out of Rutger's swelling and crackling electronics with melancholy Eastern-tinged snatches of melody.  Gradually, it settles down into a gently simmering shuffle that would not sound at all out of place on a Twin Peaks soundtrack before unexpectedly surging to a snarling close.  More than any other piece on the album, it sounds like both a legitimate collaboration and a legitimate composition.  I wish more of these six songs felt that way, as Shivers too frequently feels like Zuydervelt pieced together soundscapes from improvisations.  That is not inherently a bad thing, but I feel like this debut could have been better with some more effort, more time, and a more coherent focus (more of Shivers sounding like Shivers, less jamming and less John Carpenter).  As it stands, this is roughly just half of a very good album, but it is a promising start to a compelling vision nonetheless.
A collaboration between these two artists makes perfect sense, given how both have carved out their individual niches working with rhythmic sounds in non-traditionally rhythmic situations. Russell Haswell has worked overtly in both realms, and his recent work with power electronics legends Consumer Electronics has him going as far as conventional techno beats. Pain Jerk's Kohei Gomi, on the other hand, has worked mostly as a harsh noise artist, but one of the few that has shaped harsh noise outbursts into ersatz rhythms. Split into two discs (one edited by Haswell, the other by Gomi), this is a sprawling, brilliant mass of sound culled from solo recordings and live performances that stand out strongly amongst both their other work.
Personally, I am more familiar with Gomi’s Pain Jerk output than I am with Haswell’s prior work.Pain Jerk always stood out as a unique project in the often crowded Japanese noise scene due to his penchant to not only work with hyper-speed edits and micro-cuts of sound, but to frequently get "stuck" (for lack of a better term) in short loops that made for excellent, memorable bits of clanging industrial rhythm before dissolving back into an unadulterated roar.This technique can be heard throughout both discs, but he does not overly rely on it, even on his own disc.
Of the two, "Russell Haswell’s Mega Edit" is the most varied and diverse, which is important since his is over twice the length of Gomi's (73 minutes versus 35).Here the electroacoustic part of the wordy title of the set are the most fitting, with filtered radio static and tonal swells that nod back to the earlier days of experimental electronic music showing up frequently in its early moments.Different passages seem sourced from the high brow world of modular synthesis, then back to the dirtiness of guitar pedals. Some archetypical Pain Jerk junk loops appear, but with a different laptop DSP sheen to them.
A junky drum machine does appear about half way in, making for the only traditional rhythmic accompaniment on here, but buried under harsh expanses of squeal and distortion to work as a perfect symbol of Haswell’s two extremes.At times it even drifts into some Autechre like pseudo-generative rhythmic synthesis before just coming apart in sheets of pure noise and overdrive.
On the other disc, "Pain Jerk’s Mega Edit" begins with probably the most peaceful moments of both discs, with filtered static and processed feedback smoothing out most of the most abrasive elements of a noise recording into an almost calming ambient expanse.This is short lived, as I had expected (and hoped), because soon it just becomes a paired ultra high and low frequency blast, like the world’s most annoying hearing test left on for way too long.
From here, things slip more into Gomi’s comfort zone, emphasizing the harsh noise moments versus Haswell’s occasional nod to academic electro-acoustic sound.He relies less on his looping as a form of rhythm and more as a texture, such as the extended, frozen moment towards the middle that, sustained for as long as it is, seems to slip into some sort of melodic mood (but might just be my brain pretending that it is).Regardless of that, he chooses to end the mix on his standard blown out noise style, resulting in an appropriate harsh climax.
Gomi and Haswell had been in touch for some 15 years before actually collaborating live in 2012, which is where the source material for these mixes originated.In performance, the two were using solo material both had exchanged for years prior as their source, so this set is a convoluted bit of solo material-live collaboration-solo edits.Given how strong both discs are, and how distinctive each of them make their respective mixes sound, I would say that the collaboration is a definite success.
Flame is only Skodvin's second solo album under his own name (following 2010's Flare), but he has long been quite a prolific fellow in both his Svarte Greiner solo guise and as one-half of Deaf Center.  While I do not yet have a comprehensive command of Erik’s entire oeuvre, this latest effort seems like a significant detour from the bleakly heavy drones that I normally associate with him.  Flame is still dark, of course, but it is more of a gently smoldering darkness than a crushing, oppressive one.  More importantly, this is a wonderful album, as Skodvin's lighter touch, clarity, and increased use of space combine to bring his excellent ideas into sharp relief.
Admittedly, there are many other albums that sound like alternate soundtracks to Twin Peaks, Lost Highway, or Blue Velvet, but Flame is different, as it does not sound at all indebted to Angelo Badalamenti.  Rather, Skodvin has found his own neo-classical path to ominous and subtly hallucinatory nocturnal atmospheres.  While I certainly appreciate that originality, Flame's greatest asset is its execution: Skodvin and his collaborators (Anne Müller and Mika Posen on strings, Gareth Davis on clarinet) organically keep things at a menacing simmer without ever lapsing into static ambiance or blundering into heavy-handedness.  The best example of this mastery is "Reflections," as an eerie repeating piano motif twinkles with perfect rippling clarity amidst darkly massing strings, demanding (and deserving) my complete attention.  Also, Skodvin ingeniously keeps Flame lively with some surprisingly varied and wonderful percussion, like the oddly timed clapping/clacking rhythm in "Shining, Burning;" the lurching, hollow thump of "Black & Bronze;" and the buried metallic plinking of "Cypress Reverb."  Notably, however, the album highlight (the closing "Drowning, Whistling") works beautifully with no percussion at all, as its drones gradually build to an achingly beautiful crescendo of oscillating warmth with minimal accompaniment.
While there are admittedly a few songs that did not make a particularly strong impression on me, I ultimately loved Flame anyway.  It is refreshing and inspiring to hear something so nuanced, anachronistic, and meticulously crafted in today's musical landscape: this album is a feast of quiet power, attention to detail, appealing textures, well-used space, mood, and effective dynamics.  Also, I always appreciate it when someone crafts an album using people, wood, and steel rather than synthesizers and laptops, as it creates an appealing illusion of timelessness.  Equally importantly, this album was a huge surprise and I love surprises—I always knew that Erik was good, but never suspected that he was this good.  This is definitely one of the finest releases yet to come from the wonderfully aberrant Miasmah/Sonic Pieces milieu.
OOIOO has always created a musical language all its own. Under the leadership of Yoshimi, also a founding member of Boredoms, the group has recorded six albums that have subverted expectations and warped perceptions of what constitutes pop and experimental music. Four years of work went into making Gamel, their bold new album inspired by the Javanese style of gamelan and the first new music from Yoshimi in over five years. Gamelan is an ancient form that has inspired a great many composers and musicians over the past century, from Erik Satie and Claude Debussy to Mouse on Mars and Sun City Girls. The introduction of this traditional form transformed the group into a super tribe, side-stepping the road between the past and the future. Their focus is not to replicate these ancient styles, but to incorporate them into their consistently inventive, constantly shifting musical frameworks. They take their love of indigenous music into an entirely new dimension by freely weaving organic and electric tones into a vivid tapestry, employing their keen sense of color and texture.
While previous OOIOO albums have been largely studio creations, Gamel is the most accurate portrayal of the band's overwhelming, forceful live presence they have released yet. Yoshimi leads her minimalistic rhythm ensemble by making quick, impulsive shifts in tone and attack, the group acting as one mind under her expert instruction. While the gamelan elements will be brand new to many listeners, the band offsets the bizarre with familiar, at times even nostalgic and childlike, melodies. Gamel is euphoric, bursting at the seams with an exhilarating frenzy that is universal yet uniquely their own. OOIOO’s music is reflected in the ear of the beholder, with each listener taking away something different.
Yoshimi began her music career in 1986 playing drums in UFO or Die with vocalist Eye, and later joined him in the revolutionary noise-pop group Boredoms. Her explosive drum performances captivated audiences and even inspired Wayne Coyne to name a now-famous Flaming Lips album in her honor. While the band’s tours of the United States are infrequent, they are as The New York Times has stated, transcendent.
For the past decade or so, Polish musician Michał Jacaszek has been exploring a new, resolutely modern chapter in Eastern Europe's long, storied love affair with classical music. His creations are painstakingly crafted collages of electronic textures and baroque instrumentation, harpsichords being swarmed by woolly static one minute and pulled apart by billowing wind the next. A push-and-pull tension runs deep and constant throughout. Ambient music is rarely so sonically challenging. Jacaszek has recorded for Ghostly International, Miasmah, Gusstaff Records and Experimedia and other labels. This is his first release for Touch.
Michał Jacaszek writes:
"When poets and writers declare their enchantment for the forms of nature, they often use musical terms as metaphors. Visual artists' creations often resemble graphic partitas, when recapturing the rhythms of landscapes. Confirming, in a way, these musical intuitions, composers write great music deeply inspired by birdsongs, wind rustlings, waves repetitions etc."
This album is about resonance: on Saman, which means "Together," Hildur melts her voice with her cello, connecting the two instruments together. The result is a highly involving and moving album, recorded, mixed and mastered in Berlin. Hildur's sylph-like vocals contrast beautifully with rich cello tones, resolving the tension between light and dark to produce a unique listening experience.
Last year's Collected Works Vol. I – The Moog Years was one of my favorite albums in recent memory, so I was very much looking forward to this suite of entirely new modular synth pieces from Gengras.  Naturally, my anticipation turned out to be justified, but the meditative, pastoral Ishi has a radically different feel than its moodier, more haunting predecessor.  While I happen to vastly prefer moodiness to serenity, Geddes' compositional talents and intuitive understanding of both space and pacing ensure that Ishi is still a characteristically enjoyable effort.
All other qualities aside, Ishi is likely to be the most conceptually ambitious modular synth album that I will ever hear, as it takes its name from "The Last Wild Indian," who was "discovered" in 1911.  That, however, was only the starting point for Gengras' inspiration, as Ishi’s story got him thinking about the gulf between our world and life on the fringes of it.  In essence, Ishi is an album about "the man who walks into our world understanding none of it but forced to live in it regardless."  Importantly, that is not abstraction, but a description of actual people from Gengras' actual life.  Given that (and Ishi's own nightmarish experience of losing absolutely everyone he knew), I would have expected this album to be a bit of a brooding and melancholy effort, but Geddes surprisingly went in the complete opposite direction: Ishi is a rather transcendent, celestial, and turbulence-free affair from start to finish.
It is also a rather brief one, consisting of just three songs and clocking in around 35 minutes.  The comparatively brief title piece opens the album with a dreamy, blissful thrum of lush swells enlivened by a bit of buried stuttering amidst the billowing chords.  The following "Passage" does not overtly stray terribly far from that template at all, but it is significantly better (and longer).  A lot of that success is due to the added length, as "Ishi" ends before it has a chance to become fully absorbing–being nearly twice as long, "Passage" does not have that problem.  There are some other notable enhancements to the formula as well though, as "Passage" is also considerably more vibrant, embellishing its heavenly reverie with layers of dynamically undulating, twinkling, and flanging synthesizer.  Also, its bliss-ocean is not entirely pure, as it is muddied by some welcome hints of spacey, retro-futurism.
The closing 18-minute epic "Threshold," however, brings the album unambiguously back to untroubled, oceanic synth bliss, evoking flickering shafts of sunlight amidst a sky filled with slow-moving clouds (or something similarly poetic).  In any case, it is quite pleasant and immersive, though the subtly more divergent "Passage" still feels like the album’s clear zenith.  That said, I cannot emphasize enough how similar Ishi’s three pieces all feel to one another–this album truly is just three variations of "warm swells of drifting bliss."  That is not necessarily a bad thing, as it makes for a well-sequenced and connected whole, but it makes differences between the individual pieces feel a bit beside the point.
All of that, of course, adds up to yet another solid effort by Gengras, but a comparatively minor one that feels less distinctive than much of his other recent work.  While Collected Works had an undeniable advantage in gradually taking shape over a few years of cassette releases, I do not think Ishi suffers from being rushed or from a regression or weakness of Gengras' compositional talents.  Geddes did not make any bad or false moves-he just skillfully made an unusually radiant and edgeless album that is probably exactly the album he wanted to make.  I am still a bit troubled by Ishi's lack of distictiveness, but I suspect that Gengras made a conscious effort to work as purely and egolessly as possible on this album.  Even if I am wrong, it certainly sounds like he did.  Of course, it is always dangerous to hypothesize about artist's motives and methods, so the real conclusion here is this: Ishi is a lush and pleasant album, but those looking for something deeper than that should investigate some of Gengras' previous work instead.
It has been five years since Benjamin Finger released his masterpiece, 2009's Woods of Broccoli, which makes it as good a time as any for him to release a thematically similar successor.  Though not quite a full reprise of Woods' lushly hallucinatory aesthetic, The Bet's warped piano-and-sound-collage miniatures make for yet another warmly beautiful trip down the rabbit hole.  Nobody does fractured dreaminess better than Benjamin Finger.
Now that I have heard The Bet and have the benefit of hindsight, last year's comparatively simple and Satie-esque Listen To My Nerves Hum makes a lot more sense to me.  I now realize that it was not a departure or divergence from the abstract psychedelia of Finger's earlier solo work, but merely a rather unexpected bridge to the next frontier in abstract psychedelia (this one).  More succinctly: The Bet reprises Finger’s recent fascination with fragile, melancholy piano motifs, albeit in altered form.  Initially, the change is not especially profound, as the opening "Faintheadedness" merely adds some watery reverb to Benjamin's quiet plinking, but The Bet is an album of escalating weirdness and it does not take long before anything recognizably Satie-esque starts to drift in and out of focus, sound stretched, or sound like time has stopped cooperating entirely and caused a single snippet to keep piling up on itself.
Of course, the pianos are not the weirdest part of The Bet by a long shot, though I do not think the album becomes fully unstuck from reality until the fifth song, "Bad-Luck Planet."  I use "song" in the loosest way possible here: things like hooks and structure are but distant specks in Finger's rearview mirror these days.  I actually mean that as a compliment, as The Bet's warmly hallucinatory dream-soup is simply not a place where fully formed, graspable things can or should exist. What exists instead are mere snatches of hooks and beats amidst an increasingly fluttering, burbling maelstrom of skipping loops, distant voices, beds of lovely wordless female singing, snippets of radio, and fragments of tinkling piano.  Despite that, a few songs still manage to stand out a bit, primarily those parts with some hint of menace, like the eerily plunging strings(?) near the end of the aforementioned "Bad Luck Planet."
I am also especially fond of the dissonantly droning strings and industrial pulsing in "Care in Motion," but The Bet is truly an album that is meant to be experienced as a whole.  The gradual journey into Finger's shifting alternate dimension of gibbering, surreal lunacy mingled with delicate beauty is the real attraction here–not any of the specific stops along the way.  That said, all of the individual pieces are almost invariably quite good (though the ephemerally brief "Faintheadedness" does not linger long enough to make much of an impression).  And even when they seem weak, the offending part generally transitions into something better so quickly that it is immediately forgotten.  Does that make The Bet yet another masterpiece?  I am not sure.  I think I still prefer Woods of Broccoli (I like songs sometimes), but The Bet may very well be a cut above in regards to artistry, sophistication, and vision.  Regardless, it certainly is a wonderful and unique album, as well as a very promising contender for "best headphone album of 2014."