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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•The first critical history of industrial music as a genre
•Draws on interviews with both famous and forgotten musicians, record label owners, DJs, and promoters
•Offers close readings of twenty exemplary works spanning thirty years
"Industrial" is a descriptor that fans and critics have applied to a remarkable variety of music: the oildrum pounding of Einstürzende Neubauten, the processed electronic groans of Throbbing Gristle, the drumloop clatter of Skinny Puppy, and the synthpop songcraft of VNV Nation, to name just a few. But the stylistic breadth and subcultural longevity of industrial music suggests that the common ground here might not be any one particular sound, but instead a network of ideologies. This book traces industrial music's attitudes and practices from their earliest articulations--a hundred years ago--through the genre's mid-1970s formation and its development up to the present and beyond.
Taking cues from radical intellectuals like Antonin Artaud, William S. Burroughs, and Guy Debord, industrial musicians sought to dismantle deep cultural assumptions so thoroughly normalized by media, government, and religion as to seem invisible. More extreme than punk, industrial music revolted against the very ideas of order and reason: it sought to strip away the brainwashing that was identity itself. It aspired to provoke, bewilder, and roar with independence. Of course, whether this revolution succeeded is another question...
Assimilate is the first serious study published on industrial music. Through incisive discussions of musicians, audiences, marketers, cities, and songs, this book traces industrial values, methods, and goals across forty years of technological, political, and artistic change. A scholarly musicologist and a longtime industrial musician, S. Alexander Reed provides deep insight not only into the genre's history but also into its ambiguous relationship with symbols of totalitarianism and evil. Voicing frank criticism and affection alike, this book reveals the challenging and sometimes inspiring ways that industrial music both responds to and shapes the world.
Assimilate is essential reading for anyone who has ever imagined limitless freedom, danced alone in the dark, or longed for more noise.
Noise, an underground music made through an amalgam of feedback, distortion, and electronic effects, first emerged as a genre in the 1980s, circulating on cassette tapes traded between fans in Japan, Europe, and North America. With its cultivated obscurity, ear-shattering sound, and over-the-top performances, Noise has captured the imagination of a small but passionate transnational audience.
For its scattered listeners, Noise always seems to be new and to come from somewhere else: in North America, it was called "Japanoise." But does Noise really belong to Japan? Is it even music at all? And why has Noise become such a compelling metaphor for the complexities of globalization and participatory media at the turn of the millennium?
In Japanoise, David Novak draws on more than a decade of research in Japan and the United States to trace the "cultural feedback" that generates and sustains Noise. He provides a rich ethnographic account of live performances, the circulation of recordings, and the lives and creative practices of musicians and listeners. He explores the technologies of Noise and the productive distortions of its networks. Capturing the textures of feedback—its sonic and cultural layers and vibrations—Novak describes musical circulation through sound and listening, recording and performance, international exchange, and the social interpretations of media.
"David Novak goes inside the Noise scene and presents an astounding perspective: historically astute, inspired, and completely shell-shocked."—Thurston Moore, Sonic Youth
"Edgy, compelling, and sharply insightful, this is the definitive book on 'Japanoise.' Drawing on his personal involvement in Noise scenes across two continents and over two decades, David Novak takes readers into the experience of Noise: its production and performance through apparati of wires, pedals, amplifiers, and tape loops, through its intensity on the stage and in one's ears and body."—Anne Allison, author of Precarious Japan
"This is a striking book: theoretically exciting, aesthetically intriguing, and well crafted. Japanoise is an extreme case study of modern musical subjectivity that demonstrates how core cultural ideas are formed on the fringe. David Novak's treatment of circulation as embedded in the creative process will shift the debate in ethnomusicology, popular music studies, and global media studies."—Louise Meintjes, author of Sound of Africa! Making Music Zulu in a South African Studio
Nearly every song on the album is strange and memorable in some way, but the strongest is probably the propulsive and sensual "Going Forth By Day," which marries Spanish-sounding guitar (or viola da gamba) with bittersweet clarinet and some very spirited maraca.  Another strong candidate is the chameleonic "Ursa Major Find," in which multi-tracked, skipping vocals and bird-like string-squealing gradually give way to a lush, almost hymn-like choral interlude followed by a twinkling cascade of plucked strings and piano.  I was also struck by much Schott's songs vary texturally, dynamically, and rhythmically from one another this time around, as she seems to be able to effortlessly change gears between locked-groove-sounding a cappella ("Break Away"); gnarled string-bowing (the title piece); intricate plucked arpeggios; unusual, off-beat percussion; and sounding like a church organist without ever making a misstep or breaking the album's mood.
Anonymous emerged from a group of friends who played at each other’s houses in and around Indianapolis in the early ‘70s. They recorded their debut and sole album in a garage in Milwaukee in 1976, the same year that the Ramones and Blondie released their debuts. They pressed approximately 300 copies, but never played a gig, never promoted the album, and released only one follow-up, albeit under a different name and with a different lineup. That one record is remarkable though, a private press gem with excellent musicianship, beautiful vocal harmonies, and imaginative songwriting from their front man, Ron Matelic.
Inside the Shadow was recorded in just a couple of days, but it sounds like it should have taken much longer. Matelic’s songs are lithe, unpredictable things that jump from one time signature and one style to another seamlessly. He juxtaposes colorful choruses with tricky rhythmic patterns and contrasts lilting vocal harmonies with hard edged guitar solos, hiding the seams as he goes. The band’s performances match Matelic’s nimble writing with energy and precision, sounding equally at ease whether they’re drawing out a slow, bluesy chorus or riding on the wave of an electric 12-string’s melody.
As it turns out, Shadow’s eight songs were written over a period of several years; starting perhaps as early as 1972, when Matelic befriended bassist Glenn Weaver. Vocalist Marsha Rollings and drummer John Medvescek were old friends who shared a mutual love for Buffalo Springfield, the Beatles, and groups like Hot Tuna and Jefferson Airplane, so there was a rapport between them all before they ever rehearsed a song or stepped into the studio.
Their long friendship translated into magic on record. Marsha and Ron’s harmonizing and singing are two obvious highlights, but Medvescek and Weaver make for an impressive rhythm combo. They rarely just keep time, and Ron’s songs give them plenty of room to show off their virtuosity. When Matelic takes off on longer solos or rips into his 12-string, they drive the music forward, accenting it with snappy about faces, big crescendos, and sudden left turns. On the slower songs, they anchor Ron and Marsha's lighter moments with heavier material, whether that means hitting the skins harder or laying down an extra layer of melody on the thicker strings.
Stylistically Anonymous may wear their influences on their sleeves—Matelic admits to borrowing ideas and melodies from The Byrds and the Mamas and the Papas—but the band integrates everything they borrow so completely that I can’t boil the record down to a particular style or a single source. Inside the Shadow sounds of its time, is maybe even a little anachronistic, but it isn't just another psychedelic record or rock ‘n’ roll curiosity.
So maybe Anonymous weren’t following the trends of ’76 when they recorded Inside the Shadow, but they weren’t living in the past either.
Limited vinyl reissue of one of our all-time favourite noise albums! The extreme collage sounds and insane vocals of Maso Yamazaki, one of the world's leading noise musicians. Brutal frequencies and rabid screaming vocals mix to create the finest album Masonna has ever produced. Divided into 25 tracks, this is considered by some as the last word in noise recordings! Ltd x 300 copies on brown vinyl in a full colour sleeve. Comes with the remastered CD version in a card sleeve.
Pan•American's first record in four years comes timidly, marked by magnificently produced songs on eggshells and generally downplaying every one of its own notes. Now a performing band with the addition of Steven Hess and former Labradford bandmate Bobby Donne, the project of Mark Nelson adds a few elements of traditional rock music to his palate but only in the scarcest concentrations possible. What was once scattered becomes rhythmic, melodic, and occasionally more sporadic but still as sparse.
Touting this as a "live band" record as Kranky has done gives me a different sense of interpreting each song on the album. The opener, "The Cloud Room," is as much crystalline production as it is musicianship, where each note sounds like a long night's labor in the making. Nelson's bowed guitar wafts along in dim decaying tones and Bobby Donne's bass hums patiently, while Steven Hess' excellent drumming, especially in his persistent use of riveted cymbals, glimmers with glassy beauty. "Fifth Avenue 1960" stirs the placid waters with an irritating high pitched sine amidst deep thunderous rumbling, and "Relays" uses a 4/4 kick pattern like a heartbeat, crossing effortlessly back and forth between ambient music and some distant cousin of dub techno's watery pulse.
The new dynamic makes for an easy entry into different song styles. With even the slightest addition from Donne's bass, Pan American turns "Project For An Apartment Building" into mock techno where it was at first a meandering clatter of hi hats and distant drones. Hess' contributions feel the most substantial, improving a multitude of songs heavy in middle frequencies by adding crisp, distinctive drum patterns. Only on the final track, "Virginia Waveform," does it feel like they are cutting loose, and even then it's a patient, cyclical, scholarly looseness, exactly as free and jammy as Mark Nelson had dictated they were allowed to be. For the most part, though, the band's chops lie in their jazzy simplicity, adding only the most necessary notes to complete the picture. So I don't fault Nelson for this more subtractive approach to performing.
In fact, the band often reaches such an immediate consummate atmosphere, just lingering on its perfect notes, that it seems an afterthought to fill it with direction. If I had to hold one major complaint against the album, it would be that once the band's pastoral ambiance is established, Pan•American often has no idea what to do from there besides listlessly wandering, appreciating their own schemes and textures like they were staring at monuments. Still, it's a gorgeous piece of audio tourism, so I'm content to just listen and drift along to it too.
The first collaboration between Kazuyuki Kishino and Cristiano Lucani is a mass of mangled samples, processed field recordings, electronics, and piano that at times resembles an understated take on harsh noise, and at other times a sloppy, yet engaging mess of sounds. While an intense devotion to structure and composition might not be here, there are more than enough pleasurable noises and small, but fascinating outbursts to more than make up for that
Across these five untitled pieces, the dynamic jumps and skips around hyperactively, never settling into one style or approach for too long.For instance, the first piece leads off with chirping noises and squelchy, spastic electronics propelled by an unconventional, yet distinctly rhythmic undercurrent that guides it along.It feels like the legion of noises someone like Merzbow might create, but with less abrasive components.The second half thins things out to clicks, piano improvisations, and odd alien atmospheres to close the piece in a much different way than it began.
The second segment immediately eschews subtlety and instead goes right into a dense insect swarm of harsh noise that eventually disintegrates into undulating electronics and a ring modulated rattling that is at times painful.This is all before settling into a glitch-ridden passage of disturbing ambience that conjures dark, obscured images of creatures lurking in the darkness.The third comes across even more of a collage feel with rhythmic throbs and a later emphasis on water and field recordings, complete with frogs and aquatic life that seemingly bounds from one setting to another.
The fifth piece especially has the most hyperactive qualities to it.Cut up and scattershot samples are thrown recklessly atop a bed of slowly pulsing electronics that makes for the only constant throughout the otherwise chaotic composition.The fourth segment demonstrates a bit more of a order to the entropy, however.Even amidst the stop/start stabbing electronics, a sense of organization can be heard, first directing everything towards an old school wall of harsh noise, but then stripping it away, leaving only the most sparse and delicate bits of the album to be heard.
Album does not necessarily feel like the most appropriate descriptor for Proto Planet.There does not seem to be any clear overarching sense of structure or composition notable throughout.Instead it comes across more as a series of sonic miniatures:captivating collages of processed field recordings and mutilated electronics that take multiple listens to pull apart.It is a case where cohesion is unnecessary, and instead it works best as a compilation of sounds that jerkily jump from one passage to the next, making it easy to dive in at any point and enjoy what is there.
This was my first exposure to the work of video artist/composer JR Robinson and it more or less left me absolutely flattened.  You've Always Meant So Much To Me is ostensibly just a single drone piece Robinson wrote to soundtrack one of his films, but a far better description is probably "a veritable Murderers' Row of Chicago's finest black metal and noise musicians converged at Steve Albini's studio to perform a truly crushing, slow-burning, and blackened epic."  More remarkable still: the album is even better than that sounds.
Given the brutal lineage of many of the performers involved (Leviathan, Nachtmystium, Bloodyminded, etc.), it came as a great surprise to me that You've Always Meant So Much To Me starts off sounding a lot like something off of Windy & Carl's We Will Always Be and stays that way for a deliciously long time.  That comparison is a very high compliment coming from me, but it is definitely warranted by the subtly swaying drones, simmering guitar noise, soft female vocals, exhale-like hissing, and warm beauty that unfolds.  In fact, there is no hint of menace to be found at all until around the 12-minute mark, when a high-pitched, quavering whine swells in and harmonizes dissonantly with the underlying drones.  Some crackling inhuman howls appear as well, alleviating any doubts I may have had about whether or not the piece was about to take a very ugly turn.
As jarring as that intrusion sounds, the piece still somehow stays relatively melodic, as the nerve-rattling thrum is perversely soon joined by a looping acoustic guitar arpeggio.  The tension never lets up though, which is why You've Always Meant So Much to Me actually transcends the incredible promise of its opening.  From that point onward, it grows steadily more dense and complicated in two separate directions at once: the melodic bed is lushly augmented with viola, cello, and harmonium while the undercurrent of dread expands in both texture and heft to create a roiling, overwhelming juggernaut of equal parts beauty and nightmare.  Then it all erupts around the 22-minute mark and all of the very patient black metal guys finally get to unleash their howling catharsis.
As explosive and well-earned as the crescendo is, it marks the point where the composition downgrades from "pure genius" to merely "great."  Admittedly, black metal is not my favorite thing, but my critique is somewhat objective in that the howling vocals and distorted power chord riffing are very contemporary and fix the piece at a very specific place in time.  That does not make it any less heavy though and the band deftly avoids all of the cartoonishness and excess that I normally associate with the genre.  Also, to Robinson's credit, I have absolutely no idea what else he could have done instead, as he maintained a smoldering intensity and tension for an improbably long time and a metal eruption is unquestionably a very effective way to release all that accumulated power.  Also, I like the idea of music this brutal and black-hearted being performed in museums (this piece was debuted at Chicago's Museum of Contemporary Art, for example).
After the fury subsides, the composition winds down with a melancholy denouement/fade-out centered around harp, viola, and harmonium with a bit of Tuvan throat singing tossed in for good measure.  It does not come close to recapturing the magic of the piece's first half, but it is still a very effective come-down.  Also, that magic was probably impossible to recapture anyway, as the first 20-minutes of You've Always Meant So Much To Me are basically as good as music can possibly get.  Which is even more remarkable when I remember that this album is actually just a soundtrack to accompany one of Robinson's films, making it just one facet of a multimedia work.  Also, I had never even heard of Robinson until this album came out.  That makes some sense, since he seems to have primary traveled in high art circles as a field recordist/installation artist, but I now have a gnawing sense that I have been missing out on something important.  In any case, I definitely need to track down that film now.  This guy is a monster.
I have historically had a very complicated relationship with William Basinski's work, as he has released some absolutely brilliant albums over the years, but he has also proven himself just as capable of producing fairly forgettable ambient music and/or flogging a single simple motif to death for a seeming eternity.  This latest effort lies somewhere in the middle of those two poles, as the blurred, uneasy title piece favorably calls to mind a more hallucinatory Morton Feldman, while the closing "The Trail of Tears" gradually devolves into an especially cold, dull, and dreary strain of dark ambiance that is best avoided.
I will never understand the bizarre alchemy that takes place, but it seems like almost all of Basinski's best work seems to result when he revisits and reworks recordings that he originally made 20 or 30 years ago.  "Nocturnes" is the latest such work in that vein, as it is built from a hyper-minimal tape and prepared piano composition from William's "San Francisco period" of 1979 to 1980 (I will ignore the fact that it is funny to attribute roughly 8 notes to a year-long period in one's life).
The piece's sole motif is quite a simple and bleak one, consisting entirely of a sad, skeletal descending piano melody and a couple of repeating chords, but Basinski somehow transforms it into something much weirder and deeper with his tapes: the notes all sound hazy, warped, and decayed and a queasy after-image trails behind each one.  Other than that, seemingly not much happens until the halfway mark (roughly 20 minutes in), at which point an insistent low whine joins the fray, making it sound like even the tape player is falling apart.  That turns out to be the piece's crescendo (of sorts) and it unfolds for quite some time, before gradually fading away to leave only the original motif.  If it were any shorter, it probably would not work nearly as well, but at just over 40 minutes, I had plenty of time to become fully mesmerized by its languorous spell.
Curiously, the more recent "The Trail of Tears" (2009) is much shorter and contains more themes, but feels comparatively uninspired and interminable.  It begins with some promise, however, as a somber, almost moaning melody repeats amidst a bleary haze.  Unfortunately, the haze gradually consumes the melody completely, leaving only a long stretch of forlorn-sounding murk with only some buried vestiges of the previous melody remaining. Later, a different motif appears that sounds like a glacially slowed-down and pitch-shifted cello ensemble playing at the bottom of a deep cavern.
Aesthetically, it seems to inhabit a stylistic gray area somewhere between early Caretaker (at best) and some of Cold Meat Industries' most unapologetically gloomy ambient releases (at worst).  I suppose that appeals to some people (like Robert Wilson, who borrowed an excerpt from this piece for his opera The Life and Death of Marina Abramovic), but I found it quite dull and dour coming from a composer of Basinski's stature.  In William's defense, I grant that the piece's floating emptiness was an aesthetic choice rather than a failure, but other people have covered that territory quite thoroughly already.  I will not necessarily say they covered it better, but that is solely because music in that vein all sounds the same to me.
Within the context of Basinski's discography, I would describe Nocturnes as a solid "second tier" release: not nearly as canonical as some of his other albums (92982, El Camino Real, The Disintegration Loops, etc.), but still quite a fine album in its own right if I pretend that "The Trail of Tears" is merely a bonus track (which is exactly what I intend to do).  It is very easy to be hard on William given his stature and my corresponding expectations, as the cynical part of me cannot help but note that Nocturnes sounds like it could have been realistically bashed out on a laptop in a single afternoon.  However, there is a definite artistry in surrendering the ego and letting go when something so simple sounds so perfect : anyone can loop a few piano notes for forty minutes, but it takes real vision to actually do it and have it come out sounding like some sort of spectral, rippling nightmare.
Consisting of the pair of artists that curate the Menstrual Recordings label, who have been heavy on the MB reissues, it is not at all surprising that Dedali and Disruptor’s grey, depressive electronics owe a notable debt to Bianchi’s legacy. However, their music stands entirely on its own, both in its emphasis on audio visual presentation and their approach to sound design. The lineage of this lavish CD/DVD set is clear, but the two manage to carve out their own niche as well.
The music contained on the CD portion of this package is a different mix than what scores the accompanying short films, so while the two share some similar moments, each disc is it is own distinct entity.The stand alone audio disc, Neurological Possession, is a great example of a modernized take on that bleak electronic sound pioneered by the likes of Bianchi, and also Murder Corporation and Atrax Morgue, but having a more inviting, almost classically musical timbre to it.The first of the three-part title suite is all reverberated drifts and cavernous noises, with a few snippets of mantra like voices appearing throughout, emphasizing the theme of religious fervor that is the predominant theme of the work.
The second and third parts are quite different from one another, with the former consisting mostly of shifting and almost melodic passages of sound, with a DX7 synthetic bell tolling in the mist.As a whole, it is the most spacious and inviting performance here, if still somewhat sad and morose.The third part is much more of a grimy analog synth throb that channels Bianchi more directly, as it does some of Atrax Morgue’s less aggressive material.This especially makes sense, given it was constructed using the late Pierpaolo Zoppo’s (Mauthausen Orchestra) equipment.
The long closer "Internal Bleeding" takes up almost half of the disc, and uses that extended time to stretch out and float into many different directions.Made up partially of demos, sketches, and pieces of material that were recorded for a collaboration with Maurizio Bianchi, it encapsulates the sound of the album perfectly, balancing reverb heavy tones and percussive bits with some of its harsher moments.
This double disc set is an expanded reissue of the first two 17 Pygmies albums and their debut EP Hatikva. It is a fine document of the group formed by Savage Republic member Philip Drucker (aka Jackson Del Rey) in an attempt to make music that was more melodic than SR.
In 1982 Los Angeles, Jackson Del Rey and Robert Loveless of Savage Republic got together with fellow UCLA students Debbie Spinelli and Michael Kory as the first incarnation of 17 Pygmies. Del Rey wanted to explore new melodic horizons, but the first track on the new group's debut EP—a weird, satisfying, surf and eastern cover of the theme from David Lean's epic "Lawrence of Arabia"—is not a huge departure from SR, in terms of rhythmic intensity and tone. "Child Bride" is odder, with some bizarre organ breaks that conjure frightening images of surreal television quiz shows. I half expect Del Rey to say "now let's see this week's prizes..."
Overall, though, these two discs are bright and accessible, and full of examples of relaxed experimentation, appealing spontaneity, and intriguing variety. Simple piano figures, brief outbursts of benign tribal percussion, an accidental zen aesthetic, folky restraint, and most of all simplicity.
The taut instrumental "To No Avail" has vague shades of a post-Joy Division sensibility—but as if that group had been forced to play in terrible desert heat or underwater. Spinelli had to be persuaded to sing on "Vows" but she manages to carry it off and become the group's main vocal contributor. She certainly sounds more confident by "Words Never Said," the opening track to the band's first album Jedda By The Sea. Loveless had contributed artwork for the EP and by this time had joined the group, while Kory had left. The loose collective approach meant that Del Rey and Loveless brought six songs originally intended for the second Savage Republic record to Jedda, while fellow member Bruce Licher kept the SR name.
Jedda is a charming and compact recording. "Waiting to Arrive" is punchy and crisp, while the short, odd, instrumental "Still Waters" is both melancholy and jaunty. 17 Pygmies songs typically have an airy quality with simple tunes communicating clear feelings. Singing on "The Living," Spinelli very nearly calls up the long-lost pastoral spirit of Virginia Astley. Equally, the opening beats of "Tropical Grasslands" almost imitate those of China Crisis's "African and White."
Depending on your point of view, Captured in Ice either tails off badly or is a splendid frankensteinian mutation. The first half of the release is an obvious continuation of the 17 Pygmies ethos, with simple yet affecting tunes such as "Suit of Nails," "Voices," "Monday," "Shade," and the heavier "Icarus," to the fore. But the second half appears to go off on an unrelated tangent. That is because, for reasons I am not exactly clear on, Jackson Del Ray completed these tracks to a last-minute deadline in a rush job of spontaneity and bodging together. I like the contrast, but can see how others might feel the opposite.
Of these pieces, the stark beauty of "Home Again" stands out, and wouldn't be out of place on a later Bill Fay release, as one of his more sentimental moments.
Eventually 17 Pygmies disbanded, but after a seventeen year absence, they returned in 2007 with a double disc 13 Blackbirds / 13 Lotus and a select few performances. Since then Del Ray & The Sun Kings have released various scores for classic film, including Nosferatu and Battleship Potemkin. 17 Pygmies also released Celestina, a space rock adventure that comes with a short story and screenplay all of which puts me in mind, once again, of the highly creative English group Sudden Sway. I am keen to catch up on that release, having developed some genuine affection for 17 Pygmies; they have charm, exhibit cross-cultural influences without much pomposity, and display a refreshingly modest approach to creativity.