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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Freiband is the solo project of Frans de Waard, one half of Dutchexperimental duo Beequeen. For past outings under the Freiband name, deWaard experimented with Asmus Tietchens-inspired tape-scratching,adapting the techniques into a digital medium and appropriating popmusic from the 1970s and 80s to make a unique form of experimentalglitch plunderphonia. This cute little 3" CD takes this idea a bitfurther, using source material from the Beatles' sole instrumentaltrack "Flying" from Magical Mystery Tour,reducing it to its barest structure and recomposing it for metallic,glitch-y pops and rustling undercurrents of shapeless drone. Scarcelight I amfairly certain I never would have made the Beatles connection had thepress notes not informed me of the piece's origins. Flying is a20-minute experimental concept piece broken up into eight differentmovements, each dissecting the original material in a different way,all of them rendering the original totally unrecognizable. Track oneretains the rhythmic structure, where track two creates various layersof throbbing electronic noises in which rhythm is far from a constant.The strictly minimal sound palette and clinical digital productionreminds me at times of a Raster-Noton release, which is frequently nota good sign of musical quality, at least in my opinion. There's nothingbad about the sounds on this mini CD, but it sort of defies any kind ofcritical assessment of its quality, as it is by its nature non-musicaland a bit prickly. There are some interesting moments, such as thesixth track, where alien, reptilian syllables lick forked tongues overa looped vibraphone. These moments are brief and insubstantial,however, and aren't anywhere near as intriguing as releases byBeequeen. I could try to make this sound more interesting by ruminatingon the implicit ideas of digital technology and the decay of the systeminherent in the incipient glitch, but what would be the point? Thoseideas could just as easily apply to a steel wool-scoured CD of the lastGreen Day album, which is not exactly my idea of good music.
Greh, Chondritic Sound's founder, has gotten a lot of attention for hisown noise work, but until hearing this I had no idea why. Death Tone,an album whose name I couldn't even get right, failed to impress mebecause it felt like one continuous spin through the same material thatwas introduced in the first five minutes of its one and only track. Sand Beasts,on the other hand, is a devastating trip through the least flatteringof sounds and, in the end, feels like it could be a recording of theugliest animals on the planet mating. Chondritic Sound/Pacrec The entire album is a thunderous,38+ minute track that booms and wails with all manner of crisp,textured sounds and open, cavernous poundings that echo like a giantcome to feast on the flesh of the living. Greh's approach on thisearlier record is roughly the same as his approach on Death Tone,but the density of his sound selection and his ability to wieldpressure and release perfectly makes this a far better recording. Thehissing, crawling, concrete sounds that he pulls out of his machinerycrawl at a deadly pace, sneaking through the cracks in the floors andwalls, waiting and growing until the intensity is too great andeverything comes crashing down in a stupendous wave of noise andearth-shaking booms. Imagine a block of granite is being pulverizedslowly by the elements, then imagine that Greh's managed to capture theprocess of its complete disintegration; he's just sped the recording upa bit so that it can be witnessed in a decent amount of time. There'snot a single cheerful moment on this record; its doom-laden soul is onecontinuous march through every destructive tendency imaginable: aconstant grimace that crushes at every twist and turn until I'm leftslumped down in my chair and in need of a break from the bleakness ofit all.
There are few clues as to the nature of the French play that this CD isa soundtrack for. Although it is described as an adaptation ofSophocles' Oedipus Tyrant,the Foreign language liner notes and sparse interiors depicted in thebooklet point toward an effort to take the music out of its context asa commission. Ant-Zen This music certainly has enough merit to exist separatefrom the live performances the Silk Saw duo of Marc Medea and GabrielSeverin gave during each performance of the play in late 2003 and early2004. The set consists of 11 mostly shorter, chaotic pieces bookendedby two lengthy tracks that are structured around a persistent kick drumpulse. The duo uses layers of various crackling, gurgling andsputtering electronics to achieve a dark, claustrophobic environmentthroughout. As their previous full lengths for Ant-Zen, Preparing Wars and 4th Dividers sounded markedly different from one another, Empty Roomsagain sees them exploring a different approach. Their usual rhythmstake a back seat to noise and atmospheric textures on most of thesetracks, and are instead fragmented or act as pulses. They have clearlybenefitted from the collaborative nature of the project, as it seems tohave forced them to think in a different way. The use of voices fromthe actual play during several tracks adds a human element to whatwould have otherwise sounded like alien material. The two long tracksthat open and close the set—"Konservatorium" and "Einaktiges Stuck"—arethe most rewarding listens. They allow Silk Saw to use one of theirmain strengths, developing layers gradually over 10 or 15 minutes each.Though the ideas explored on some of the shorter tracks are interestingsonically, many of them simply cut off abruptly just as they arebecoming exciting. The synthesizer sirens that cut through the chaoticnoise piling up during "Chor" are prematurely silenced, and thewheezing bursts of analog detritus that make up "Holderlin Und Zimmer"are suddenly stopped before the track reaches three minutes. Perhapsthe nature of the project limited the running time of several of thesepieces. It would have been nice to hear them take a few of these ideasand extend their duration to equal the success of the two long tracks,but as a soundtrack they fulfill a certain functional obligation. Thegesture to include challenging live music in a theatrical context isone that should be applauded. Although this release is an engaginglisten on its own, an accompanying DVD of the performance would havebeen welcome and may have helped toward understanding the larger intentof the project.
Alexander Hacke's new solo album Sanctuary bears some of the hallmarks of Einstürzende Neubauten's last album Perpetuum Mobile, an album that documented the concept of travel in a very tight and streamlined way. Unlike Perpetuum Mobile,Hacke uses a myriad of styles and tempos which make it difficult tolisten to at first. Koolarrow Repeated listenings reveal that the album's lack ofcontinuity is its strong point. It is like a series of audio postcardsfrom Hacke, each one giving a flavor of where he is. The album wasrecorded by Hacke during his travels and an army of guest artists(including J.G. Thirlwell, Andrew Chudy, David Yow and CasparBrötzmann) and the results were assembled into Sanctuary. Thereis no particular style that is common to every track, each one is itsown little microcosm. "Sister" is a mix of swirling guitars surging upduring breaks in the vocal sample taken from a women's self defencetutorial. This is the first point on the album that really captivatedme. The relaxed "Love me love my dog" is a massive shift of pace after"Sister," at this point I found myself being lulled into a cosysanctuary of my own. The title track and "Seven" are where Hacke getsto use all those guitar riffs that don't fit into Neubauten'srepertoire. These more straight-forward rock pieces seemed a little toostandard at first but, as with everything on this album, they laterrevealed some hidden depths. "Per Sempre Butterfly" is the highlight ofthe album and sucked me in straight away. Gianna Nannini's emotiveperformance is inspired and the layers of textured sounds and tabladrumming complement her voice perfectly. Sanctuary touches basewith many styles without sounding too trite or pretentious, however itdoes suffer because of its eclectism. Once I became familiar with thealbum and knew what to expect it clicked as a complete body of music.Hacke has made a very good album but it requires a little bit of workto fully appreciate what he has done.
Fortunately, the title of Piano Magic's new album is not indicative of the music. There is a certain coldness and calculation to Glen Johnson's ensemble but it does not quite approach disaffection. Part of the album's chill is due to the explicit motif of ghosts and spectral images which cuts across both the music and the liner notes.
The album's insert is filled with negative photographic images, giving the impression of looking across some dimensional boundary into another plane of existence. On the cover there is the moderately disturbing photograph of a man's head lying in bed as if asleep or, more likely, dead. Tree branches emanate from the top of his skull like antlers. The whole scene is awash in grayness and the antiseptic bed linens and death-stare give the aura of an open-casket wake. The songs themselves are a mixture of two very different sounds found on the last two Piano Magic albums: the first one is found on Writers Without Homes and it is a post-rock big band sound which doesn't mesh well with my conception of the band as an electronically eerie and spacious outfit. The second sound is from the more recent The Troubled Sleep of Piano Magic and it returns Piano Magic to an electronically-assisted and vacuous moodiness which is more consistent with the band's roots. I am not very fond of this first type of Piano Magic sound. "You Can Hear the Room," the album's opener, is an example of the former sound. It begins humbly but metastasizes into some gargantuan full band jam by the end. There is no space for the ghosts to inhabit the notes even though the lyrics tend to suggest that the song is in line with the album's central conceit. The first half of Disaffected is replete with this sound. Guest vocalist John Grant of The Czars has his obligatory appearance and continues his droll infection and inflection of Johnson's songs, twisting them into something hard to listen to rather than something pleasant. I find this second type of Piano Magic sound much more agreeable. "The Theory of Ghosts" is a prime example of this sound. You can simply feel the emptiness and space which haunts the music. The song is also the epitomic example of where less truly is more. Careful tunesmithing replaces crowded instrumentation and the eastern-sounding string work is a beautiful arrangement ornamenting the song. Other songs which fall into this latter category are "The Nostalgist," "You Can Never Get Lost (When You've Nowhere to Go)," "Disaffected," and "Deleted Scenes." "Disaffected" is an extended and finely-crafted synth beat featuring Klima's Angele David-Guillou on vocals. A delicate acoustic guitar part bridges the first half of the song (the vocal half) with the clicky electronic jam at the end. "Deleted Scenes," on the other hand, is a thoroughly moribund and enjoyable New Order homage. "Love & Music" creates a category all of its own and doesn't fit into the dichotomy I have laid out thus far. The syncopated drum beat is, at the very least, unexpected from the band, creating almost a Bossanova sound. This alone places the song as a strong antithesis to what I consider to be Piano Magic's sound (of either the first or second variety). The lyrics are inexcusably repetitive and monotonous, crying out for an indictment of laziness on the band's part. Along the same lines, I want to like Johnson's seemingly autobiographical "I Must Leave London" (which details his forsaking of the Queen's country and his repatriation on the continent in Spain) better but it sounds exhausted and almost uninspired. Disaffected has trouble existing as one cohesive entity. In keeping too thematically with its motif, the album constantly has one foot in the land of the living and the other in the land of the dead, like a ghost unaware of its ghostliness.
From the start, I didn't have much hope for Luke Vibert's latest, a CD reissue of his two Planet Mu records, 2002's Homewerk and 2000's '95-'99,with four previously unreleased bonus tracks. Upon hearing a handfulthe MP3 samples from the Planet Mu website prior to its release, I wasbrought back to the grand letdown that was his lackluster YosepHalbum on Warp Records, which I referred to back in 2003 as "a journeyfar away from the dancefloor to a rather deep place somewhere insideVibert's rectum." Planet Mu Fortunately, the material on this CD, while largelyunspectacular, isn't nearly as self-serving and kitschy, perhaps due tothe fact that 2/3 of it was originally released on DJ friendly vinyl(with the latter 1/3 now available in 12" format as well). The JUST ADDACID technique Vibert has employed consistently in recent years hasproduced a catalog of music that dramaticallyvaries in quality, rangingfrom delicious disco of the Kerrier District project to theover-the-top gimmickry of Wagon Christ's Sorry I Make You Lush. No exception to this phenomenon, Lover's Acidis all over the map. Tedious numbers like "Funky Acid Stuff," "Come OnChaos," and the title track are examples of Vibert's noodling goneboring, lazily blurting and bleeping along with no direction orpurpose. A surprising execution of the formula comes on "Dirty Fucker,"a rediscovery of the dancefloor with snappy breakbeats and a dirtybleating bassline complete with ominous breakdown and a bonkers acidbuildup. Still, the best tracks here are those where Vibert isn'tgratituitously doling out sloppy globs of TR-303 like a dementedlunchlady. "Gwithian" brings back the spirit of Musipal, deepand jazzy with well placed vocal snippets for feelgood Sunday afternoonvibes. Deceptively starting off minimal and brooding, "Prick Tat"evolves quickly into a smooth hip hop groover shimmering with brightsynth patterns and spaced out effects. Despite my initial prejudices, Lover's Acidhas more merits than expected, yet still leaves me wanting forsomething better, something revitalizing. All I can suggest at thispoint is plead for Vibert to take a chance and return to his old Plugmoniker. Considering some of the more "liquid" records coming from drumn bass labels like Hospital, I'm sure he would be greeted with openarms.
With any collaboration, searching for that elusive balance betweenrespective styles doesn't necessarily yield fantastic results, with thepitfalls of compromise and dominance playing significant roles in thesongwriting process. Many times, the sound of one musician will drownout the voice of another. Monika Unsurprising considering Lippok's prior work,this new album from two prominent names in the Berlin music scene fallsinto this category, basking in the glow of that painfully familiarspace between pop and kitsch often found on To Rococo Rot records. I'munable to discern what influence Morgenstern, whose work I'm familiarwith from select compilation appearances, has had on these accessibleand light recordings. It's hardly a unique venture considering thesurplus of acts doing precisely the same thing, I'm nonethelessexpected to take Tesrimore seriously than their peers. I've heard enough of the music in thiselectronic pop subgenre over at least the past six years to know thatthis isn't as special as it wants to be. I'm not trying to discreditLippok or Morgenstern based on their minor celebrity, but I cannot helpbut expect more than a mere rehash of The Amateur View withguitar and piano. "Ein Knoten Aus Schwarz" and "Kaitusburi" could haveeasily been outtakes salvaged from old TRR studio sessions, tweaked andreworked for this release. This is an unfortunate situation consideringhow much promise the album starts off with. The exciting opener "PleaseWake Me For Meals" drops lush acoustic elements over a solid electrobeat, introducing bleeps, scratches, and airy analogue synths aboutmidway. "If The Day Remains Unspoken For" stands out as the mostluscious fruit of Lippok and Morgenstern's endeavor. Featuring thesoulful vocals of Telefon Tel Aviv's Damon Aaron, the tracksimultaneously oozes melodic warmth and clinical abstraction yet comestogether remarkably well. Perhaps if these two collaborate again theymight employ Aaron for more than just one song. Tesri is not abad release, and fans of Lippok's earlier material will not bedisappointed, yet I had hoped for something much more memorable andless spotty.
Everyone pretty much knows by now that it's pretty useless to review anew Merzbow album. Merzbow is Merzbow, and he'll always be Merzbow, andhe "does" Merzbow better than all of the Merzbow copyists out there,and it will probably always be that way. Aside from a few minorquibbles over whether digital-era Merzbow is better or worse than theoriginal analog Merzbow, there really isn't a whole lot of criticaldivision over Merzbow's output. Scarcelight It's almost always noise, loud andaggressive, often with loud percussive slaps to the face thrown in forgood measure. Rattus Rattusis certainly no exception, a cyclone of atonal, shrieking digitalclamor with buffeting, battering ram beats that explore every level ofthe audible range of sound in an attempt to assault the listener on allfronts. The CD seems to have a concept of sorts, the title and thecover art being suggestive of everyone's favorite household pestrodent. This is very different from Matmos' rat concept album (2004's Rat Relocation Program),as instead of sampling said creatures as Matmos did, Masami Akita optsmerely to suggest the presence of the creatures with a series of tinyclaw-scratched noise attacks and high, trebly shrieking. Masami alsoprovides the address of the PETA website on the back of the disc'ssleeve, suggesting that perhaps the album has something or other to dowith animal rights. It would be hard to say where the vegan messagereally comes into Rattus Rattus, unless the album were to betaken as a noisy screed against scientific experimentation on rats.Your guess is as good as mine in this respect. I've come nowhere closeto hearing every Merzbow record, and in fact I probably only own fiveor six CDs, so I'd have a very hard time coming up with a goodcomparison to any of his previous works. This one does have a very nicequality that might warrant repeated listens, however. All three trackscontain enough rapid shifts in tone, frequency, tempo and aggressionenough to keep things dynamic, as opposed to past Merzbow records thathave easily fallen into a background of white noise. There is no chanceof being lulled into complacency while listening to this CD, especiallyduring the final lengthy "Rattus Rattus Suite," which variouslysuggests an Alec Empire DHR-style cyberpunk explosion, an earlyWhitehouse album, something from the noisier end of Ant-Zen, and adigitized grindcore version of an Anal Cunt record or some other suchthrowaway splattercore. This is not to suggest that there is anythinghere that noise fans haven't heard a million times before. As Merzbowrecords go, this is definitely one of them.
Drums of Death winds up as a suprisingly fun amalgam of styles and sounds that manages to overcome the threat of novelty.
"Drums of Death" Thirsty Ear I was skeptical about the potential clusterfuck of a record featuring DJ Spooky, Dave Lombardo (from Slayer), and Jack Dangers, but the presence of two of my favorite MCs of all time, Chuck D and Dälek, pushed me over the edge into "I've got to at least hear this" territory. Often, pairings like this come from well-intentioned musicians who want to work together, but don't realize that the sum can never equal the parts, so I braced for the worst. Happily, Drums of Death manages to avoid most of the cliches of supergroups and celebrity musical pairings of this sort, and instead boils down some signature elements from each artist involved into a quite listenable whole. Jack Dangers' production is well balanced with Spooky's turntable antics, while the MCs simply do their thing over the rhythm section of Lombardo on drums and Dangers on bass. The Meat Beat head honcho proves that he's still one of the best groove bassline generators on the planet, and DJ Spooky's cuts and sample selections work well to enhance rather than drag down the proceedings. It's Lombardo's drums that I can't swallow all of the time, as they have an unshakeable "rock" sound that doesn't always serve the songs the way a more nuanced sounding kit might. The grooves are tight if a little clangy on the cymbal end, but it always sounds like a metal drummer slowing down into a hip hop groove rather than just an accomplished drummer gelling with his bandmates. That's not to say the drums are bad—in fact almost every track gives sample hounds a free shot at an unobscured drum loop from the session, but I just wish the drums were somehow more processed and fitting with the primarily dub-leaning vibe. Chuck D and Dälek enhance the record with vocal performances straight out of their standard playbooks and there's enough guitar noise and metal riff sampling to possibly draw the the long-haired set out of their comfort zone a little, which I have to imagine is the point with a lot of this. Skipping past the embarrassing Spooky on turntable/Lombardo on skins call and response piece, and the oddly-lifted Jack Dangers sci-fi soundtrack pieces, Drums of Death winds up as a suprisingly fun amalgam of styles and sounds that manages to overcome the threat of novelty, even if it never elevates to the heights of its contributors' individual accomplishments.
Major Stars are Boston's best-kept secret, as anyone who has witnessedtheir live performances over the years can certainly attest. By day,under the auspices of their basement record shop Twisted Village—trulya Boston institution—Wayne and Kate are purveyors of psychedelic rockand hard-to-find underground sounds from around the world. Twisted Village By night,under the auspices of their group Major Stars, Wayne and Kate areequally enthusiastic purveyors of hard, loud and ferocious nonstop rockn' roll ecstasy. They've opened up for Comets on Fire on tour, eventhough their brand of high-octane, often instrumental rock is heavierand more substantial than the Comets' most wishful daydreams. This isnot to suggest that they are superior; rather that they are more pure,unadulterated and outright, unashamedly rawk. People who like to namethings call Major Stars a "psychedelic" rock band, but they're no more"psychedelic" than the sludge at the bottom of your Turkish coffee.What they are is kick-your-ass, balls-to-the-wall, energized freeformrock, full of big fat hairy riffs and powerful dynamics, rapidlyswitching gears to chase the next monstrous pummeling chordprogression. The foursome gel perfectly on stage, and this record,their first to be recorded in a state-of-the-art 25-track studio,captures the group beautiful, and is perhaps the best reflection yet oftheir live sound on record. The only things missing are the flyingsweat droplets and the heady breeze created by Kate's headbanging,hair-tossing stage theatrics. There are only four tracks and about 40minutes of music, but when the rock is this meat-and-potatoes, it can'thelp but leave me satisfied, even though I certainly wouldn't turn downseconds. "How To Be" wastes no time introducing their particular brandof crashing, resounding guitars, sounding exactly like Lester Bang'shyperbole-filled description of a Who gig, rather than what The Whoreally sounded like. The background is filled with a solid wall ofguitar runoff, Casey Keenan's caveman rhythms, forming a backdrop forWayne's soul-shredding post-Hendrix guitar performance, pulling farmore sound out of his instrument than should be physically possible."Song For Turner" is long and lyric-less, a study in reigned-in rockchaos if ever there was one, pausing for some detuned guitar noiseevery now and then, shifting to another rhythm and key when it suitsthem. It's totally accessible and totally grandiose, leading into thealbum's power-pop pit-stop "All Or Half the Time," which rivals TheBevis Frond for pure, pleasurable rock songcraft. Ending thingsbrilliantly is the 15-minute "Phantom #1," which starts out as slowlyshifting modal guitar drone, totally thick and hypnotic, beforeintroducing rhythm and rapidly upping the tempo until the song hasbecome a roof-lifting heavy metal beast, grinning and majestic. Nobullshit: Major Stars is just damned good rock music, so how come youhaven't heard this yet?
Nothing can stop this band from forcing me to participate in the most sinister of feelings. They're soaked in evil, sex, and those lonely and terrifying sensations that only open, dead spaces can convey. Bohren und der Club of Gore associate themselves with doom metal via their own website, were formally a self-described "hardcore" metal act, have all the mystery and intrigue of the best David Lynch films, and yet none of these descriptions get to the core of this quartet's sound.
Geisterfaust, translated as "Spirit Fist," is broken up into five long floods of keyboard, sparse drums, and atmospheric sludge, each named after one of the fingers on a human hand. Never heavy or loud in the way that a metal act might be, Bohren manages to flatten everything in its path with its rather morose and morbid disposition. At the same time, having sex to this record seems to add a certain personality to the act, a kind of intimacy in the round, smooth edges of every sound that slow every sensation and motion down to near nothingness. It's appropriate to say that the song index on this record serves as a map to the movements of the entire record. Instead of having five completely distinct songs, there are simply five takes on a theme that is presented by "Zeigefinger." As the music moves forward, the quarter oscillates between moods, but never takes the tempo beyond its initial sluggish pace. Silence dominates the music just as much as any sound does; when the band goes quite there's an anticipation for the next chords or notes to strike. The structure of Geisterfaust builds up a sweaty uneasiness that pulsates almost maddeningly throughout each track until "Kleiner Finger" reaches its final moments. It's like knowing a monster is just around the corner, its thumping feet crunching forward ever so awkwardly, but having nowhere to run or hide. It's a long, hysteria inducing wait for a terrifying end. And, speaking of ends, the final two or so minutes is remarkable. The most simple of additions draws the album to a close and makes the barren wasteland that was paved before ignite with a lustfulness that can only be sparked by absence and resignation.