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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An album with a name like Piano Nights immediately calls to mind a dour and downtrodden moment in a group's catalog. Bohren & Der Club Of Gore, however, thrive in the long and patient spaces between beats, where they eke out a brooding stagnant blend of drone and jazz, so melancholy is not exactly a new mood for them to explore. Strangely enough though, Piano Nights is probably more cathartic than their usual material. They make purgatory lounge music this time, as opposed to waltzing around in hell itself.
Often remarked on as the spiritual successor to the jazz scores of Angelo Badalamenti, there is no one currently so prolifically macabre as Bohren; so pregnant with emotion and ready to conjure up the appropriate images of checkered floors and red velvet curtains. Inspired by a Moscow performance where pianist Chrisoph Closer performed some of their older songs on piano, Piano Nights lends a lot of its weight to the titular instrument. Each song on this record draws out its lounge-y harmonies to the psychological extreme, withholding change right up to the point where a pressed hi-hat or a rattled cymbal signal some great sigh of relief. The piano arrangements are heard in a number of different iterations, some electric and some organic, but the strength and breadth of the sounds produced on this record are all held together by the inimitable plod of a baby grand, softly heartbreaking its way through each moribund composition.
"Fahr zur Hölle" plays with haunting organ and "Segeln ohne Wind" hits some oddly dissonant harmonics suggesting dark ambient music, but for the most part much of this album is indistinguishable between songs. "Verloren (Alles)" expands on a few ideas with the best successes, due to its length and arc. It is still fairly similar to the rest of the record, but when every moment is so calculated, playing anything more complicated than an eighth note seems revelatory and divisive. What is probably most jarring about this album is its relative pleasantness; Piano Nights seems to be one of Bohren's more uplifting suites when contrasted against past releases like Sunset Mission and Black Earth, pressing the limits of jazz versus ambient music in a way that makes the music sweeter and sadder but also lighter. It is an inessential release in that a lot of Bohren's music does not focus on progress or development, but it is as fine a record as they have ever put out.
Fans and detractors alike would probably agree that a defining characteristic of Mogwai's last few records has been the symbolic spinning of wheels. It is disappointing, then, that the band would deem the best course of action is to frame the spinning wheels as a deliberate move to concretize a style and not the lack of inspiration everyone knows it to be. Rave Tapes was promoted as having an abundance of electronic instrumentation, but that is a disingenuous move, both because it is neither a new element nor is it nearly as prominent as it is suggested. Rather, it is the only distinguishing feature of a release interred in its own indifference.
What I didn't need to hear from Mogwai was them trudging through another middling instrumental workout as if the exhaustion of syncing these analog synthesizers to the BPM they wanted drained whatever life force was left for writing melodies. No one should be championed for landing on beat a full four minutes or accomplishing rudimentary layering. "Simon Ferocious" is the most pragmatically energetic of the songs on Rave Tapes, and even then the guitar soloing in the last minutes seems forced. "Remurdered" pulls the same kind of reluctant synth arpeggio exercise to slightly improved results, with a low-pitched analog saw wave carrying the momentum that Mogwai forgot was important on much of the later songs. "Repelish" plays the spoken word trope card to save a dying melody, while "Deesh" clings to anthemic buildups that cannot find a point. The rest do some variation of the same slow burn post-rock thing that has been in vogue and simultaneously kind of played out ever since it existed. "Blues Hour" and "The Lord Is Out Of Control" plug some sheepish vocals in between choruses for a change, standing out only among such odd bland company.
It is a credit to Mogwai's innovation that in their prime and even occasionally past it they have been able to take the typically sedative processes of guitar-driven post-rock to interesting places, and it is probably not a surprise that such a perfect storm of inspiration as seen onYoung Team is a rarer thing than they would like it to be. Still, the shifting averages of quality material on albums like Rave Tapes are doing a shame to the good work they have contributed in the past. Mogwai cannot be running to the studio to record every time they purchase a Juno; they owe it to themselves and their reputation to simply try harder than this.
When Keiji Haino reignited the fires at the center of Fushitsusha that had lain dormant for about a decade, it was inevitable that a change of focus would occur in the group’s music. Two albums recorded for Heartfast in 2012 saw the gaping chasms of noisy rock dropped for something more angular and rhythmically challenging. A third album was promised but, Haino being Haino, this has expanded the series further to become a tetralogy with these two releases.
Both discs were recorded at the same time with the latest line up of Fushitsusha with Ryosuke Kiyasu on drums and Kamekawa Chiyo on bass who have been touring with Haino for the last couple of years (the line up who recorded the 2012 albums seemed to have been left at home early on). As a result, Kiyasu and Chiyo have had time and experience to delve deep into Haino’s methods and this is evident from the recordings here. This Fushitsusha feels lean and powerful, gone are the nulling voids of previous line ups and instead the music is tight and punchy.
On 名前を つけないで ほしい 名前 つけて しまうと 全てで なくなって しまうから (Please don't name it. If you name it, it will cease to become all), the group run through five tracks in about 15 minutes which is practically punk rock speeds for Fushitsusha. Haino’s guitar is still wild but seems less aggressive than before and I would almost (stress almost) suggest that "なしくずし" is one of his more accessible songs in a long time. Though I would hasten to add that it is accessible in the same way as The Velvet Underground’s "I Heard Her Call My Name" is accessible. Things get a bit more adventurous on "はれつしろ (No.1)," where an older sort of Fushitsusha vibe is channeled. Haino manages to tear the temporal relationships between his singing and his guitar playing apart without once letting either aspect of his performance fall into step with what the rest of the group are doing.
The demanding time signatures explored during their last couple of tours pop up on songs like "なぞらない" and "ここにあるものは あっちにあるときは…" (the album’s one long song which makes up about half the disc’s run time). Here, Kiyasu and Chiyo head into what at first seems like free improvisation but quickly reveals itself to be highly controlled and exacting rhythmic patterns. It takes a few listens to get adjusted to what they are doing but, once my brain has acclimatised to it, it becomes quite hypnotic. In particular, "ここにあるものは あっちにあるときは…" has such a gentle and restrained approach that makes the unusual structure of the piece seem less alien. The barely-there music makes it more theatrical, bringing to mind the precision and strangeness of Samuel Beckett.
There is another change of direction on "ここになってしまう." They take a straight but distinctively non-rock rhythm (think Faust’s bit of their collaboration with Tony Conrad, Outside the Dream Syndicate) and on its skeletal frame, Haino hangs sparse vocals with a sense of detachment to match the music. However, the rest of the disc feels a little directionless; the out of time experimentation having run its course given that it was also present on the first album. Part of me feels that one great album could have been made out of the two sessions rather than a good and a not quite so good album. Perhaps part of my problem is that I have been listening to them back to back since I got them and should probably give them a bit of thinking space in between. In any case, a mediocre Fushitsusha album is worth ten albums by most other groups so once Haino keeps churning them out, I will be happy.
Even though Turman began his music career in the early 1970s and co-founded NON with Boyd Rice, he has not been as prolific, nor has he garnered the same accolades as many of his contemporaries have. Recent collaborations with the likes of Jandek and Aaron Dilloway have lead to a resurgence of interest, and Beyond Painting is one of the products of this rediscovery. Presented here as a luxurious double LP reissue of a self-released CDR, Turman's work is given the recognition it deserves.
The material was actually recorded back in 1990 but did not see the light of day until Turman self-released them as a CDR 20 years later.Two-plus decades after their initial creation, these pieces do not sound dated in the slightest, and in hindsight perhaps more progressive and prophetic than many from the era do.
It is on pieces like "First Quarter," with its light, echoing ambience and drifting feel that seems to herald the development of the isolationist sub-sub genre of minimalist music some years later.The repetitive drone and almost chanting voices element of "The Unforgiven" that, via its sporadic but noteworthy evolutions, conveys a similar sound and sense that the likes of Bill Laswell and Mick Harris would later work heavily within.
There is a certain darkness that resides within all of these pieces, but one that is sophisticated and restrained.On "Soft Self Portrait" the bleakness comes about amidst gentle horn-like tones and reversed melodies that results in a composition that is more haunting, rather than frightening.The layered, looped string sounds of "Beyond Painting" convey a similar feel, one that is a bit more tinged nostalgia rather than outright malignance.
For me though, the stand out piece was "Al-Qa'ida," with its vaguely jazz noir guitar and electronics structure that has more of a rhythmic throb to it, rather than the more spectral, textural ambience of the other pieces.From a similar cloth is "Reflux," with a more conventional synthesizer sound and cyclic sequenced melody at the forefront.As it goes on, the melodic pattern falls away to focus on a reverberating expanse and what sounds like echoing digital bells, one of the few moments that reflect the era in which it was recorded.
It is only that bell-like tone on "Reflux" that places this album at a specific point in time, because beyond that it sounds as if it could have been recorded yesterday.While the technological aspect of that might not be overly impressive, since this is not a work that was hung up on digital reverbs or synth presents of the era, it is more the sense of structure and composition that is so forward thinking.The swirling melodies and shifting layers resemble the top tier of artists working currently within this style of music, so considering this dates back nearly 24 years serves to emphasize the brilliance of Robert Turman as an artist and composer.
As one of the preeminent psychedelic rock/electro acoustic super groups in the Upstate New York/Massachusetts area, Twilight of the Century have not been overly prolific amongst their many related projects, with this tape representing their first actual release since their founding in 2008. The rock half, Eric Hardiman and Ray Hare, make up Century Plants and have a slew of solo guises, while the more avant garde experimentalism is the work of Mike Bullock and Linda Aubry Bullock, who largely work under their own names and as Rise, Set, Twilight. Hibernation captures the quartet carefully balancing those more aggressive, guitar focused tendencies with the subtle use of electronics wonderfully.
The four pieces that make up this tape were recorded in a single session, yet each have their own distinctive feel.The first half of the cassette is skewed towards the lighter sounds more, with "Hibernation 1" heavily built upon modular synth twinkles and a low, wavering electronic drone that sounds just slightly, intentionally out of tune in order to sound just a bit uncomfortable.Vocals from both Linda Aubry Bullock and Ray Hare lay low in the mix, and even when the bass guitar booms a bit, it remains hushed and just as quickly drifts away into a universe of space echo and engine-like electronics.
The following piece emphasizes the electronics more, but with a looser and less structured feel, bringing in a fair bit of chaos.It is a bit messier comparatively, but never does it come across as unstructured or unfocused noodling.On the flip side, "Hibernation 3" is where Hardiman and Hare flex their muscles a bit more and move to the forefront.Right up front there is distorted guitar and foundation rattling bass, but tastefully echoed and reinforced by a subtle bed of electronics.The bass leads crank up the psychedelic aspect of the sound, while the guitar provides a nice noisy squall as a backing.
The final piece does not seem to sit too definitively in either the electronic or the rock ends of the spectrum, but its wet, splattering electronics and disjointed rhythmic pulses lead to it developing its own idiosyncratic identity.It has a harsher, aggressive quality to it that vacillates between soft and rough, at times tightly honed and well organized, other times a bit disheveled.The concluding half is more structured, however, and even has a somewhat pretty finish to an otherwise spiny and jagged composition.
It is a bit frustrating to know that Twilight of the Century has been so non-prolific in the past five years, because Hibernation is a tantalizing bit of improvised psychedelic electronics that simply made me want to hear more.However, their extremely sparse discography makes that pretty much impossible, so I will just have to wait patiently for the next release.All four artists here are amazing in their own right, but Twilight of the Century has them playing off of one another that ends up being greater than the sum of its parts.
Listening to this EP is like being run over by a goddamn tank. Ren Schofield was one of the first harsh noise artists to take his cacophony to the dance floor and–along with Pete Swanson–he remains one of the best.  In fact, this, his first release for Mute's experimental music imprint, might be one of the finest Container releases to date.  While no dramatic evolution has taken place, aside from slightly more simple and accessible grooves, Adhesive is a perfectly distilled dose of relentless, pummeling noise-damaged techno from start to finish.
The opening two pieces strip the Container aesthetic down to its bare essence and work beautifully for it.  "Glaze" kicks things off with groove that sounds like it was unexpectedly cribbed from Neu!, but Schofield amps up the intensity with a thick, loud one-note bass line and some incremental additions to the pulsing beat.  I cannot point to any specific aspect that stands out as particularly brilliant or amazing, but it is extremely effective nonetheless, simply because an obsessively insistent and propulsive groove being strafed with electronic noise is an inherently wonderful thing.  I suppose it is a very meat-and-potatoes approach, but it definitely works.  In fact, the second song "Slush" is even better, emerging from a cacophonous industrial-noise opening to lock into a rumbling disco groove (and, of course, a similar firestorm of grinding, stuttering noise chaos).
The EP's second half is a bit more varied and adventurous, but occasionally less bludgeoning as a result.  "Complex" is probably the weakest track, though it reprises the "hyper-muscular krautrock pastiche" of "Glaze."  The problem is that it errs on the side of being too "rock" and is not quite wild enough to make it work.  It would have made a very cool breakdown or bridge in an actual, complete song of some kind, but it is not particularly compelling as a stand-alone, contextless vamp.  Much more exciting is the closing title track, which is absolutely pummeling and menacingly mechanized-sounding.  Also, "Adhesive" is on a completely different level than the rest of the album in regards to songcraft, as Ren throws in quite a few satisfying dynamic variations (stops and starts, breakdowns, etc.) and even attempts a hook of sorts with a loop of swooping dissonance.
Unfortunately, "Adhesive" inadvertently calls attention to the flaws of the other pieces, as Ren has a definite tendency to lock into a looping groove and ride it out for the entire duration of a song.  Also, his songs often tend to just endlessly build in density rather than offering multiple plateaus of tension and release–there is much room for improvement.  That said, Adhesive is so brief and so bludgeoning that Schofield's compositional deficiencies wind up being almost totally insignificant.  And Ren's prodigious talents as a producer render them even more so–these songs all invariably sound crushing.
Adhesive is a visceral, unrelenting bulldozer of a release. The details and nuances are ultimately fairly irrelevant, as this EP starts like an out-of-control train and ends before I have much time to think anything much deeper than "woah- that was heavy."
For some reason, there was a brief period in my life a while back in which every single person who learned of my early Red House Painters obsession immediately responded with some variation of "You know who else you would love? Tara Jane O'Neil."  At the time, I did not think the two artists had much in common at all, aside from the superficial traits of being both slow and melancholy, but I have always enjoyed hearing O'Neil whenever she resurfaces.  This time, after a five year solo album hiatus, she has resurfaced on Kranky–the perfect home for someone who sounds like Grouper's more sophisticated older sister.
The overarching aesthetic of this album is a drifting, dreamlike sense of being barely there, but it is a masterfully sculpted, deliberate, and hypnotic one.  Consequently, Where Shine New Lights is best experienced as a complete album, so O'Neil's sensuous, half-lit reverie is allowed enough time to fully seep in and cast its enveloping spell. On a few occasions, however, Tara emerges from her languourous bliss-haze with something that resembles a possible single, like the achingly beautiful "This Morning Glory," which augments its wonderful melody and swooning hooks with atypically forceful accoutrements like drums, strummed rhythm guitar, and discernible lyrics.  That is inarguably the album's centerpiece, but each of the remaining few "real songs" are similarly wonderful, particularly the sad waltz of "Elemental Finding," though the folky, lilting "To Lull The Going" is certainly quite lovely as well.
The rest of New Lights shares a lot of common ground with labelmates Windy & Carl, offering up quite a bit of warm guitar/organ shimmer and cooing, reverb-heavy vocals.  Tara does that quite well too, of course, but it is always welcome when her too-often-latent experimental tendencies and other more distinctive touches surface.  Those tendencies increasingly come to the fore as the album gets closer to the end, culminating in the closing "New Lights for a Sky," which features bowed cymbals or gongs, some actual dissonant notes, and tensely bowed strings.  Less overt instances are strewn about elsewhere though, as Tara's music is so extreme in its minimalism and understatement that even the smallest events can seem quite dramatic.  In fact, some of my favorite moments, such as the clanging buoy sounds in "Welcome" or the trilling guitar in "The Signal, Winds," probably would have gone completely unnoticed if they had appeared on an album by anyone else.
This is a great album, but that comes with a large caveat: it requires quite a bit of patience and attention to fully unlock its magic.  With the exception of perhaps "This Morning Glory," it is very easy to imagine most casual listeners dismissing this as something between "vaguely pretty" and "too sleepy."  It certainly is both pretty and sleepy, but there is much hidden depth to be found as well, as O'Neil excels at creating the quietest of quiet storms.  That, I think, is a large part of her appeal, as connecting with this album feels a lot like being let in on a secret.  Also, I can think of few other albums right now that I would rather wake up to on a frigid winter morning, as almost no one does "warmly narcotic" quite as wonderfully as Tara.  Very timely release, Kranky.
Originally released as an extremely limited LP on Savoury Days and recently reissued by Luke Younger's Alter imprint, this Southeast England band's second album was one of 2013's most criminally overlooked releases.  Combining post-punk deconstructionism, heavy industrial textures, and a strong bent for collage/improvisation, this enigmatic ensemble is a welcome addition to the beloved pantheon of hard-to-define, fringe-dwelling British weirdos like Zoviet France, Throbbing Gristle, and This Heat.
This is an atypically difficult album to describe, as there are all kinds of disparate strains colliding at once and they often come together in a rather uncategorizable way.Although the participants are uncredited, one of the group's founding members is recording engineer John Hannon, which explains a key part of the band's aesthetic: these pieces are clearly rooted in noise and improvisation but the end products sound deliberate, heavy, and hallucinatory in a way that indicates that someone with a distinct vision spent an enormous amount of time in the studio sculpting the raw material into something far better.  Some other probable participants are recent Andrew Chalk collaborator Tom James Scott and vocalist Nina Bosnic, though only Bosnic's contributions are distinctly identifiable.  There are other members too, but most of their contributions have been cannibalized for texture and atmosphere, though some melancholy violin melodies seem to have made it through the editing process intact.
There are two distinct types of "songs" that Liberez do brilliantly: heavy, quasi-industrial soundscapes and pieces that I would call "ethnographic forgeries," for lack of a better term.  The album's clear highlight, "A Warning," falls into the former category, combining a deep rumbling hum with Bosnic's disjointed "distressed answering machine message" vocals and a gathering storm of distorted, detuned bass; crackling noise; and swooping feedback.  Nina's vocals are even more prominent on the similarly excellent "Nema Te," endlessly intoning a sad, ravaged melody amidst a haunting miasma of hiss and eerily looping and chirping field recordings.  It only lasts for a minute and a half, but it is pure disturbing, surreal genius.  If I had heard it totally out of context, its mystery would probably haunt me for months or years, as it sounds far more like a creepy communique from the spirit world than anything resembling a song by a band of living humans.
"Nema Te, Pt. 2," on the other hand, is the finest of Liberez's ethnic/ritualistic "folk" excursions, an area where they share some common ground with folks like Natural Snow Buildings and Big Blood.  Though it initially begins with clanging metallic thump and a reprise of the forlorn melody from the first part, the piece gradually morphs into an echo-heavy vocal chant amidst snarling, anguished violins.  The violins make another strong appearance in the buzzing, ominous thrum of "Unhomely," embellishing Bosnic's clipped, looping vocals with a scraping, whining minor key melody that sounds both timeless and vaguely satanic.
The rest of the album is a mixed bag, but it is mostly a successful one.  Several pieces are quite atmospheric or incidental in nature and exist primary to further Sane Men's prevailing mood of disquiet and simmering menace.  Of the remaining pieces, the lengthy "My Madness Offends" is another album highlight, marrying eerily distant angelic vocals to an escalating rumble and frequent jarring slashes of static.  Another extended piece is the brutally cacophonous "What's Mine is Mine," which I am still very much on the fence about.  It kind of sounds like a crust punk band playing a drum kit made entirely of amplified garbage cans and oil drums most of the time, but unexpectedly segues into an interlude that sounds like a gnarled string collage culled from a The One Ensemble album.  Neat trick.
The fact that even my least favorite song on the album is totally striking, visceral, and unique is quite telling: this is an absolutely killer band.  While not all of Liberez's experiments are unqualified successes, they just about tear my head off when they get things just right and they do that with an impressive frequency.  Of course, I recognize that plenty of other fine bands have mined early industrial influences in the past, but these guys are different: Liberez is of the first acts that I have heard who feel like an genuine continuation of the UK's early '80s experimental music heyday rather than just a mere pastiche of very cool bands that they like.  And, if I am being completely honest, they are actually a lot better than quite a few of their influences.  I have not been this excited about a new band in a long time.
There has been an avalanche of fine dispatches from Eliane Radigue's voluminous vault in recent years, which both pleases and overwhelms me, as I want to hear them all and cannot hope to keep up.  Adnos is one of the latest of those great albums and offers the added appeal of being a major, decade-spanning, formative work as well.  Originally composed between 1973 and 1980, these three lengthy pieces are stylistic precursors to Radigue's minimal drone epicTrilogie de la Morte (widely regarded to be her masterpiece). While Adnos is not quite on the same level as its similarly ambitious successor, it certainly comes damn close.
The Adnos trilogy is quite an interesting suite historically, as it began fairly early in Radigue's career–not "feedback era/assistant to Pierre Henry" early, but not long after Radigue started making music using a Buchla synthesizer in a NYC studio that she shared with the similarly amazing Laurie Spiegel.  The first part of Adnos was originally performed at Mills College in 1974 after Eliane was invited to play there by Robert Ashley (for an "embarrassingly low" $250).  That occasion proved to be quite fateful, as some visiting students turned Eliane onto Tibetan Buddhism, which wound up having a profound influence on much of her future work (both thematically and structurally).  Despite that revelation, the two sequels (spanning another seven years) still feel very much like variations on the original theme and seem like they could have easily been composed at the same time.  Also, the first "Adnos" actually seems more transcendent and meditative than its successors, which are a bit more experimental in nature.
Despite the fact that this is box set containing a somewhat lengthy booklet, very little information is divulged regarding how two of these three hour-long epics were created.  Amusingly, however, very specific information is provided regarding "Adnos II," the most aberrant and dissonant segment of the trilogy (Arp synthesizer, 3 1/4 tape decks, and a three-octave filter).  It is probably a decent bet to assume that "Adnos I" and "Adnos III" were the fruits of quite similar set-ups, though the presence of recognizable synthesizer tones is often quite hard to detect.  In any case, these three pieces all roughly follow a similar stylistic and compositional trajectory: a minimal, droning electronic hum glacially transforms into something more as subtle oscillations and harmonies gradually snowball.  Sort of like a butterfly gradually emerges from a chrysalis, except that the butterfly is sometimes complex and dark rather than pretty.
Aside from parts of the aforementioned and divergent "Adnos II," these pieces present exactly what I have grown to expect from Radigue: entrancing, slowly unfolding beauty and a timeless sonic purity delivered with almost-superhuman patience and attention to nuance.  For the most part, there are few textures or stylistic indicators that tie Adnos to any fixed period in time: humming feedback will always sound like humming feedback.  Consequently, the very simple and pure "Adnos I" still sounds like the very cutting edge of drone in 2014, despite being constructed four decades ago (very prescient).  Also, that trait goes a long way towards explaining why it took so long for Radigue's work to be fully embraced–she was very much ahead of her time..or possibly removed from time altogether (also, it probably did not help at all that she was a woman in a very male-dominated field).  The other two pieces do not quite maintain that illusion of timelessness as fully though.  While "Adnos III" is probably my favorite part of the trilogy, its plinking, phase-shifting dissonances definitely feel temporally related to work of some of Eliane's contemporaries.
"Adnos II" is, unsurprisingly, the least "eternal" of the trilogy, as it is extremely hard to avoid sounding like A Very Serious Electronic Composer From The 1960s Or '70s when you are making abstract music with an early synthesizer: the timbres are inherently artificial and dated-sounding (albeit in a pleasantly retro-futurist way).  That makes for something of a polarizing work, as I have seen others proclaim that it the highlight of this set, while it is personally my least favorite.  I still like it though and can easily see its appeal, as there is a lengthy passage of queasy dissonance and beeps that sometimes sounds quite beautiful and sometimes resembles the cold horror of being adrift in space.  The latter is not a feeling that I generally get from Eliane Radigue albums, so that makes for a unique, if somewhat uncharacteristic, entry into Elaine oeuvre.
Naturally, I have a few small gripes (I am chronically dissatisfied), but they are ultimately fairly trivial.  For example, I would have loved some more information about both Radigue and the pieces themselves and I am very curious about what Rhys Chatham had to say in his liner notes for the original 2002 issue (on Table of Elements).  However, the stuff that is included instead is very cool in its own right (old flyers, a handwritten letter from Arthur Russell inviting Radigue to play at The Kitchen, etc.).
Also, I found 3 1/2 hours of very similar sounding material to be a bit exhausting and I think each of these pieces would be better appreciated as a stand-alone album.  That said, there is absolutely nothing stopping me from listening to each piece as a stand-alone album (they are all on separate discs) and it is certainly convenient to not have to buy three separate releases.  In any case, this is a great set.  While I would probably not categorize Adnos as one of Radigue's masterpieces, I certainly would not argue with Important's claim that this is "one of the high points of modern minimal electronic composition."  It is exactly that–it is just that Radigue is also responsible for some even higher points than this one.
At first glance, Katie Gately has a hell of a lot in common with Holly Herndon: both are CA-based and use the voice as their primary instrument and both debuted to international acclaim while still attending college.  The similarities end there, however, as Gately's latest work displays a strong pop sensibility and talent for hooks that was not especially apparent on her significantly more unhinged and abstract cassette from earlier in the year (Pipes).  While I still do not think her aesthetic is fully developed, her combination of heavily grinding and crunching field recordings and lush vocal loops is nevertheless quite promising and unusual.
Gately's debut cassette proudly proclaimed that "no instruments were used in the making of this recording" and her stance on that seems to have only softened slightly in the ensuing months.  For the most part, this EP is built from complexly collaged machine noises coupled with Gately's own fairly simple and unadorned vocals.  Initially, I thought Katie resembled some kind of post-industrial Julianna Barwick, but ultimately decided that was inaccurate for a very fundamental reason: Katie does not use her voice to create any kind of multi-layered, reverb-heavy, ethereal dreamscape.  Instead, she generally keeps her central vocal melodies straightforward and relatively unprocessed, which befits her quasi-hymnlike songs wonderfully.  That said, she is also quite prone to sudden artificial pitch-shifts, which keeps things nicely unpredictable and disorienting.
Given that this is only a six-song EP, there are not many fully formed songs, but the ones that do exist are almost all quite good.  "Last Day" is the closest thing to a single, sounding like a simple, pretty folk song bolstered by crunching, stomping, and scraping field recordings and a cool looped vocal hook.  That formula is reprised a bit with the even better "Dead Referee," but Gately balances its slinkier, breathier tendencies with an impressive cacophony of violently chopped and distorted vocal snippets.  I was also quite fond of the heavily pulsing "Stings," which unexpectedly gives way to a rather beautiful and warm coda.
The remaining pieces are a mixed bag, but generally a very likable one.  The opening "Ice" eschews recognizable vocals completely, but coheres into an appealingly lurching and buzzing industrial soundscape.  The brief "Left Half," on the other hand, eschews Katie's sound collage tendencies for a bit of dreamy This Mortal Coil-esque atmosphere (think "Dreams Are Like Water").  Only the closing "Stems" could be considered a bit of a misstep (albeit an adventurous one), as Katie multi-tracks and processes her vocals to a disorienting, artificial degree before plunging into heavy, grinding noise.  The ideas themselves are not bad, but their execution lacks the deft touch of the other pieces.
If this EP has another flaw, it is merely that the songs are not universally memorable enough to elevate this from a very good release to a stunning one.  While a couple of pieces are definitely hooky enough to rattle around my head long after the album is finished, these are generally more "soundscapes that sound like songs" than "songs that sound like soundscapes."  Also, I think this release would have been significantly more attention-grabbing and powerful if its harsher, more "musique concrète" elements were not quite as smoothed over.  That said, Gately's aesthetic is still quite a striking, inventive, and unique one and she tends to execute it quite skillfully.  Having original ideas and a strong intuitive grasp of dynamics and space is definitely the hard part: all the rest is just tweaking the formula.  Given the radical evolution already displayed since Pipes, I suspect that Katie's next release will probably eclipse this one handily, but this is certainly an impressively strong and promising effort in its own right.  Gately deserves far more attention than she has been getting.
I know I am not the only person who has caught himself in a public situation hearing some sort of malfunctioning machinery and thought it would have sounded great on record. Obviously not, because it is that concept specifically that defines Blake Edwards' newest album, a gorgeous picture disc with accompanying CD-R of related material. It is his careful mixing and understated processing that make this shine, however.
Even though it is made up of loud, occasionally obnoxious machinery noises, much of Fait a la Machine is actually reserved and almost serene at times.While "Metal Scrapping Facility, Exterior (Conveyors, Loaders, Compactor, Baler)" resembles early Esplendor Geometrico with its use of miniscule delays that give it that vintage spring reverb feel (which may have simply been a natural occurrence), the overall sound is warm and almost calm."Lathe, Vertical Turning Machine, HVAC System, Air Compressors, Gas Compressors, Cooling Fans, Factory Acoustics" has a similar placid quality via its slow and droning atmosphere, but here tainted by a sense of menace.
Perhaps most impressive are the pieces that lock into a rhythmic groove that is so tight and effective that it sounds programmed and sequenced.The idling on "Metal Scrapping Facility, Interior (Chain Conveyor, Alligator Shear, Loader, Hammer Mill)" sets the foundation for the piece, but everything else expands it to a polyrhthmic, almost catchy piece of mechanized clattering.The layered, inhuman chugging of "Hydraulic Hammer, Diesel Engine, Forge, Die Mold Cutter" does this as well, with whistle-like white noise bursts and machinery sounds resulting in the most complex piece on here. "1600 Ton Forge Press, Milling Machine, Cylindrical Grinder" is rather sparse compared to the rest of the album, with a slower paced metallic kick drum sound that is rather repetitive, but also functions well as a deconstruction of techno music.
Unsurprisingly, the recordings do—at times—dissipate into unadulterated noise, in the best possible way."Diesel Engines, Lathe, Sander, Gas Turbines" sounds like pure white noise covered in heavy reverb, like the Incapacitants playing in a vacant aircraft hangar."Lathe, Loader, Vibrating Conveyor, Chain Drive Conveyor Belt, Hydraulic Motors" is similarly devoid of rhythm, but has more nuance to it, becoming more textural and varied throughout its duration.
The accompanying CD-R, Machines Domestique, is a single hour-plus length composition that presents machinery on a smaller, more ubiquitous scale.Focusing on HVAC systems, computer server ventilation, and turntable motors (along with some of the larger scale machines), it has a quieter, slowly developing pace to it that works better both with the sonic clarity and length possible with a digital medium.
Unlike a lot of recordings of natural and dissonant phenomena, Fait a la Machine works just as well as a piece of music as it does an audio documentation of the world surrounding us.It makes that leap from interesting to enjoyable in a way few such recordings can.Even though I do not think Edwards did much in the way of direct sound manipulation, his careful mixing and structuring is what crosses this over into something far more musical than it would seem on the surface.