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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Godspeed's caterwauling Efrim pummels out another Silver Mt. Zionrelease complete with an elaborated band name. Each subsequent releaseappends another piece on the original A Silver Mt. Zion appellation. Constellation
Among the other things that have been augmented since the first releaseis Efrim's vocal presence, which at this point is pretty ubiquitous. Inthe lower registers, his voice is a fairly stable countertenor whichover-pronounces the lyrics disarmingly. But Efrim can warble his voiceand destabilize it when he reaches and extends it slightly. The effectis purposeful but perhaps not always pleasant. The Mt. Zion music risesand falls behind the vocal wanderings, creating either an impressivemountainous background or an insufficient mole-hill which leaves themusic unguarded and vulnerable. In either case, the socio-politicalcritiques and commentaries of the vocals take center-stage on thealbum, sometimes supported by glittering beautiful music and sometimesleft out to dry like so many of the disenfranchised subjects of theseptet's lyrics. The album's opener "God Bless Our Dead Marines" begsthe question, "Does Canada have Marines, or is he talking aboutAmerica's?" In either case, someone is putting angels in electricchairs, according to Efrim, and the band marches through six disparateand disconnected movements describing a collection losses or deaths,none of whom sound very much like the few and the proud. "MountainsMade of Steam" is the best song in the album, elaborating quietly onthe theme of "My Favorite Things" in its first half. Mt. Zion's chorusbacks up Efrim in this first half, eventually yielding to areverberating guitar which itself gives way to the more fascinatingcello bridge between the final movement. The choir sings over thecello, "The angels in your palm/ sing gentle worried songs,/ and thesweetness of our dreams/ like mountains made of steam" while otherstrings casually but importantly join in. The violins' melody over thecello lilts hypnotizingly and too soon the song dissipates without anyhint of a departure. It marks one of the most graceful exits ever for asong. The title track is a quiet, contemplative song marked more byrestraint than most of the album. To see an example about how the musiccan throw the vocalists under the bus, you need only listen to "Hang onto Each Other." "Ring Them Bells" is the most Godspeedesquecomposition, while "Teddy Roosevelt's Guns" is the most thematicallyand lyrically interesting (think of it as Canadian national protestanthem outfitted thoughtfully with the obligatory apostrophe "OhCanada"). Horses in the Skyis a very holistic album, comprising and even colliding various soundsof the Constellation Records family under this one, though admittedlyrambling, band name. If the rambling can be weathered, there are someworthwhile moments on the album which are not drowned out by the equinestampede of the band's thoughts.
The first disc of this two CD set contains a live recording from 2003,originally intended for studio completion, while the other containssome of Ivan Pavlov's first recordings as Coh from 1997. Mego
In 1997 Pavlovseemed content to let a consistent rhythmic pattern remain unchangedfor nearly four minutes, as evidenced on "Fracture," however, with2003's "Untitled Smash Hit," the skeletal groove transforms into atechno-esque pattern that most of the preceeding tracks were remotelyhinting at. An entire set of this type of solid 4/4 groove would wearthin quickly, but by gradually building the set to this point, it is awelcome release of the tension that has built up during therhythmically ambiguous first half of the set. "Dynamo Babe" seamlesslykeeps up the pace and sees Pavlov weaving layers of interlocking 16thnote patterns that build up to a distorted ending. The newer set worksbetter because the tracks build off of each other and have a bettersense of cohesion. Much of the early set has a similar feel to hisrecordings released between 1998 and 2000 on Raster-Noton, exploringthe intricacies of single tones and pulses for minutes on end. Hearingthese two sets back to back it is clear that he has since becomeskilled at combining these base sounds into more structurally andcompositionally advanced pieces, which have become more enjoyable forme at least. The recent tracks are also noticeably shorter than their1997 counterparts, showing that he has learned how to distill theimportant information into a tighter composition, and not waste as muchspace. While the crisp, digital textures Pavlov was exploring in 1997still sound fresh texturally, his subsequent development as a composerand arranger is what will allow him to remain relevant in the future.
Jason Molina seems to be getting all the wrong kind of attention. Pegged as a follower and adherent of any number of past songwriters, Molina's distinct voice and his band's broad musical range often goes ignored in favor of unnecessary name dropping and undeserved, negative comparisons. Secretly Canadian
The Magnolia Electric Co showed Songs:Ohia taking off into a full sound that covered epic guitar-driven pieces just as well as old-time country feelings. Molina was certainly pulling spirits out of the past, but his own mark was clear and distinct on every track. What Comes After the Blues continues the varied character of Molina's last record and sees Molina and his band emerging from whatever lines were drawn between them and other performers. The album begins with the rush and force of "The Dark Don't Hide It," a song that's appeared on the road for some time, now, but sounds incredible in the studio with the new band that Molina has decided to record with. The arrangement is fluid, crossing in and out of acoustic and electric instruments and building with a hidden intensity that culminates in one of my favorite lyrics on the record. Molina's delivery might seem restrained, but the resignation in his voice and the chorus make the intensity greater than it would've been with simplistic volume increase or dynamic explosion. The slide-guitar playing stands out on several songs, but nowhere more than on "The Night Shift Lullaby." Its warm tone literally bleeds all over Jennie Benford's lovely vocals. The first four songs on the record are incredibly strong. "Leave the City" is one of the more unique songs in Molina's catalogue. The trumpet playing takes center stage in front of a cast of country guitars and piano, but cannot seem to escape Molina's lament over leaving his hometown. Magnolia Electric Co have never recorded anything as beautiful as "Hard to Love a Man" and the easy disposition of the entire second half of the album is simply blissful. Both "Hammer Down" and "I Can Not Have Seen the Light" are maybe two of the best Molina has written; they're simple and naked lyrically and sonically. Molina might be compared to a whole slew of people, but nobody sounds like him and there's only a few bands that can touch on Magnolia Electric Co's soulful delivery and power. -
The third album from one of my three favorite Rune groups makes the second essential Rune release of the year (after Food's Last Supper).The title does not describe a new modus-operandi for the duo; it isinstead an abstracted definition of Alog's unique position since theirfirst record. Rune Grammofon
Apparently a specific reference to Turkish miniaturepainting—where artists are subject to a rigorous structure demanding noperspective, no shadow, no uniqueness of objects, etc,...—the album isthe group's most beguiling work yet, emphasizing ideas that definetheir sound: that no track is merely a sum of its parts, that arrangementis central and will not be led by predictable dependences orpattern-for-pattern's-sake. Like so much of John Cage's work, Alogmusic is necessarily un-improvised but stands firmly on the side ofchance, suggestion, and natural lopsidedness. Their technique remains arather straightforward computerized cut-loop-paste-repeat of warmdigital flicker and the disassociated instrumental sounds of guitar,organ, string, bell, and percussion, though to call the duo's musicfragmentary is to miss something. Theirs is not an Ovalian world ofcompositions realized through faulty connection or breakdown, but asimilarly electrified domain in which sounds approach an abstract (ifnot pure) reverie, repeated only enough to erase the temporal nature oftheir origins, lent only enough open space to wind themselves out, andgiven momentum only through a kind of forced contact with contrastiveelements. While on past releases this kind of directive-lesssong-building could sound amateurish or at times even grating, Miniaturesfeels uncommonly graceful after only a few listens. The probability ofa track's ending entirely unrecognizable from its beginning will alwaysbe a reason to give Alog a chance, one that is justified immediatelyhere with the opening track, "Severe Punishment and Lasting Bliss,"which served also as the attractive start for the latest Rune sampler, Runeology.A virtual hour in ten minutes takes tiny, plastic synth smears througha fuzzed toy guitar, growing miraculous and soon to steam engine, thento 4-track feedback harness attempt, and on to the anticlimax that inAlog fashion comes forward to claim my whole climactic memory of thetrack: a penetrating, fat ass-end of a drone, bottoming out and outuntil reeled in to simple, sleepy strings, a miniature quartet allalong. Another of the disc's longer tracks ("St. Paul Sessions II")appeared as the lead-off track on Rune compilation/mission statement Money Will Ruin Everythinglast year, but such previous exposure need not be a deterrent as thealbum is completely solid, both patchy and fluid in the best ways. Forthe Alog-familiar, plenty of surprises wait inside, like the duo'sincreased incorporation of ambient sound (more on-the-surface andpopulated with voices) and a pleasant favoritism of live, clatter-heavypercussion over drum machines. As usual, listening is less involvedwith marveling at just how different sound is shifted into themix than with the experience of drifting forward with each newlyabstracted noise and uncovering the powers of suggestion latent ineach.
This disc reissues a live LP from Sunburned Hand of the Man that wasoriginally released in 2003 in a small edition that was immediatelysnatched up by collectors. It is part of a trio of digital reissues oflimited live LPs by the Wabana label (the other two are from AcidMothers Temple and Wolf Eyes), all of which come packaged in genericpurple digipacks with a skull on the back and a clear sticker on thefront.
This was originally issued on LP in a run of 1000 copies, released tocommemorate the Acid Mother Temple's tour of America in the year 2000.Wabana's digital reissue in the generic purple digipack reproduces theexact same tracklist as the original, with no extras: just five tracksexcerpted from live shows at various venues across the land of the(mostly) free. Wabana
The recordings that comprise this album could only bedescribed as dodgy, often sounding not much better than a fan-recordedbootleg made on a wobbly old cassette deck. As per usual, AMT pushtheir noisy space-rock contortions into the red zone, which togetherwith the low-fidelity, high-distortion recording quality, makes for analbum that will be unappealing to all but the most committed listenersof blistering, atonal noise rock. Personally, I prefer other AMT livedocuments to this one, most especially the superlative Live in Japanreleased in 2002. Because of its relative brevity, this album must cutshort certain songs, which in the case of epic, monolithic tracks like"La Novia" and "Pink Lady Lemonade" is truly unfortunate. "Pink LadyLemonade" is to AMT what "Dark Star" was to the Dead: they perform itat nearly every gig, and there are as many variations and permutationson the song as there are times they've performed it. The relativelybrief variation included here only hints at the full power of the song,excerpting an eight-minute maelstrom of churning guitar noise andsquealing synthesizer from what was most likely a much longerperformance (it's not at all rare for performances of the song to last45 minutes to an hour). AMT's longform adaptation of the Occitainianfolk song "La Novia" is also included, with Kawabata Makoto pullingsome particularly fierce, ephochal solos from his much-abused electricguitar. However, without the enraptured vocal harmonies that normallybegin the song, this version feels stunted and incomplete. The Japanesepsych-rockers' insane rendition of "Acid Tokion 2000" is probably theonly track that recommends this album over past live documents, aheavy, acid-drenched wall of chirping, twittering electronics matchedwith Kawabata's senseless, masturbatory improvisations, falling overhimself as he races towards the song's orgasmic conclusion. Even withthis inclusion of this killer cut, I'd say it's a safer bet to seek outLive in Japan. That is, of course, unless you are a completist, in which case you should consider getting a life.
This particularly cruel, sustained assault on the senses was originally issued in a run of 600 LPs in 2002. After listening to Fuck Pete Larsenthrough several times on headphones, then on my stereo cranked up loudenough to scare the entire apartment building and prompt a police call,I've come to the conclusion that it's probably not a good idea to pissoff Wolf Eyes the way Pete Larsen must have. Wabana
As a way of expressingtheir violent distaste with he-who-shall-not-remain-nameless, Wolf Eyeslaunch into a lengthy, aggressive, speaker-cone obliterating storm ofelectronic noise and senseless junkyard scrap metal percussion.High-pitched squeals and grating, piercing shrieks and monstrousscreams echo through a maelstrom of cheap junk electronics that haveturned against their masters, shooting out showers of sparks andshrapnel that embeds itself into your cranium, sizzling your scalp likehot battery acid. The sweet, putrid smell of protein burns, decayingflesh and cross-wired electrical smoke fuse together, burning nasalpassageways faster than a gram of dirty bathtub crank. A demented,jerry-rigged post-consumer junkyard cyborg lumbers through a dystopianfuture cityscape that resembles what Escape From Detroit mighthave looked like if John Carpenter had ever made such a film. Far inthe distance, contract builders hired by the occupational governmentdrill giant holes in the ground in order to erect a giant rustywatchtower that transmits a 24-hour tinfoil-hate-penetrating brainscramble frequency to keep the street gangs in line. The cold, bitingwind howls and the moon is blotted out by smog that chokes the lifefrom every living thing not equipped with industrial-strength breathingfilters. Sure, this is well-worn territory, and it could be argued thatWolf Eyes don't stray too far from the imperatives first set in motionby Throbbing Gristle and their ilk more than 25 years ago. However,Wolf Eyes are very good at negotiating this territory. Their noiseassaults are narrative in their scope, building fascinating dramas fromjunk electronics, air raid sirens, homemade distortion boxes and otherassorted stuff. Though there is, obviously, a dark streak of nihilismrunning through the sounds on Fuck Pete Larsen, there is alsoan atmosphere of a few guys having a lot of fun making a big, scaryracket. It's this punk-rock attitude and playfulness that has earnedthem a place in the Sub Pop roster (not to mention their morestructured, rhythmic work on Burned Mind). I'd be lying if Iclaimed there was anything particularly unique about this album overmany of the other limited LPs, cassettes and CD-Rs by this veryprolific band, but it does the job nicely, and sometimes that's all youcan ask for.
Tired of hip-hop's limitations, onetime club DJ Andrew Broder went intohis basement with a slew of second-hand instruments that he didn'treally know how to play. What came out—a mishmash of keys, drums,turntablism and an army of odd sounds, organic and otherwise—became hisone-man band Fog. Lexicon
Most of the compositions on his first two records,though nothing like the jams he used to spin, had recognizablebreakbeats and vaguely similar song structures to the very music Broderwanted to abandon. On his third effort and first on Lexicon, he makes aclean break, coming very close to making a pop record. 10th Avenue Freakoutstill displays Broder's talent as a sound collagist—the album'sthirteen tracks are simply brimming with patchworks of differentnoises: horns, woodwinds, blips, beeps and even the stray turntable.The arrangements are alternately sparse and low key and cacophonouslybusy, providing the perfect backdrop for Broder's pleasantly thin,reedy voice that takes the stage when it needs to, but sometimes fadesinto the sea of noises and becomes just another pleasurable sound. Therecord starts off strong. "Can You Believe It?" subtly layers organsand strings over a distorted broken drum and ends with hornsflourishing. Broder's songwriting is strongest on "We're Winning," anapocalyptic warning that is nearly lost in the staccato backbeat.Unfortunately, nowhere on the record do Broder's lyrics and music workbetter together. While 10th Avenue Freakout is more accessible andeasier to hum than anything Broder has done before, the end resultfeels like two distinct entities vying for attention at the expense ofthe other. In the end, the music wins, and 10th Avenue Freakout is the better for it. Broder is capable of beautiful harmonizing, and 10th Avenue Freakoutis full of bizarrely wonderful duets. He is probably the only person onearth who can make a song out of a telephone call, white noise and acar-wreck and actually do it well. And his lyrics aren't worthless—he'swonderfully charming to listen to, especially when his soft tenor emitscouplets like "and as for today/ I've had sneezes with much more tosay/ with tiny little novels in every fleck of snot." 10th Avenue Freakoutwill never be mistook for The Postal Service, but that doesn't detractfrom Broder's accomplishment: a uniquely charming and sonicallychallenging record.
The most notable quality of this Bad Seeds retrospective is howincredibly competent and comprehensive it is: with just a coupleexceptions, Cave and company have stuck to including only hard to find,rare, and unreleased material on each disc. Mute
A quick glance at the tracklisting will reveal the obvious; there have been plenty of singles, 7"records, compilation recordings, and soundtrack appearances from NickCave and the Bad Seeds since they formed in 1983. Another glance willreveal that there's more to this release than just those b-sides orone-off recordings. The inclusion of radio session tracks, unreleasedalternate takes, tribute album songs, and altogether previously unheardpieces have made the near impossible journey of finding all these songsfar easier than it would've been previously. Though I love Nick Caveand the Bad Seeds, I own very few singles by them and have been lesscompelled to go looking for the odd appearances that pop up here andthere (a Neil Young tribute album, the X-Files soundtrack, etc.) and sothis release makes complete and total sense. The first two discs areespecially captivating because they contain roughly 35 tracks ofmaterial I've never had the chance to hear before. Not included aresolo Cave pieces nor Cave guest appearances with other bands (with theexception of "Time Jesum Transeuntum Et Non Riverentum," which wasrecorded with The Dirty Three and "hidden" on the X-Files soundtrack),but that only makes sense seeing how this is billed as a Bad Seedsrelated release. B-Sides from each era of the band's history isrepresented on all three discs, up to and including material recordedduring the Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheussessions. There are raw, maniacal, and completely unhinged songssituated next to some of Cave's signature slow and brooding ballads,but the roughly chronological order of the tunes never sounds toouneven or haphazard. Many of the songs sound as though they belong toone another; "Blue Bird" and a cover of Neil Young's "Helpless" sitbeautifully beside each other before the rough and rumbling "God'sHotel" annihilates the peace and calm of those performances and theentire "What a Wonderful World" single rolls out gently enough, but isthen torn to shreds by an excellent acoustic version of "Jack theRipper." There is a version of "Where the Wild Roses Grow" with BlixaBargeld singing Kylie Minogue's part, a version of "What Can I GiveYou?" with new lyrics, a surprisingly excellent version of "Red RightHand" with Barry Adamson, new orchestral arrangements, and new lyrics,and many other stand-outs all over each disc. The third CD is dividedbetween outtakes and b-sides from The Boatman's Call, No More Shall We Part, and Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus.While this material is less interesting to me than the music on thefirst and second CDs, it is nice having all the songs from the singlesthat were released during that time, as well as a couple extras thatinclude the song "I Feel So Good," which was used for Martin Scorsese'sdocumentary about the blues. There is a wealth of material on thistriple disc set that will be valuable to all but the most obsessive ofcollectors. Even those collectors will find plenty to be happy about.For people like me, this is an outstanding collection of songs that Imay never have had the chance to hear otherwise.
Followers of Michael Gira's storied career might have anticipated his latest work with The Angels of Light as a natural reduction of his emotional approach to songwriting to its most basic form.
After the great digital reissues of Judee Sill's legendary pair of 1970s albums on Rhino Handmade last year, and the superb vinyl facsimile editions on 4 Men With Beards, the Water label puts the icing on the cake with this outstanding double-disc set containing, among other things, Judee's never-before-released third album Dreams Come True.
Low-fidelity versions of these songs—studio recordings that would have comprised Judee's follow-up to 1973's Heart Food—have been floating around for years on bootleg cassettes and file-sharing services. Water went the extra mile, however, recruiting indie superstar and self-professed Judee Sill fanatic Jim O'Rourke to complete the mix on these eight tracks and make them into a proper album. O'Rourke could not have been a better choice for this task, not only because of his obvious love for Sill's music but also because of his production acumen, and that crisp, high-fidelity 1970s rock sheen that characterizes his production work for Sonic Youth, Wilco and others, which perfectly imitates the Laurel Canyon sound of Judee's first two LPs. Comparing these newly mixed versions with the bootlegs, it is clear that O'Rourke has done an excellent job delineating each instrumental track, deftly underscoring Judee's vocals and the soaring church choir backup. Other than bolstering the fidelity of the songs, O'Rourke seems to have pretty much stayed out of sight, showing the proper respect to his idol's work. These eight songs were composed when Sill was convalescing after a series of drastic back operations, and while they are not nearly as strong as the material on her pair of classic LPs, they are still quite impressive. Mystical Christianity is still her main lyrical obsession, and these songs deal with her physical and spiritual pain through uplifting, hopeful lyrics about transcendence, transfiguration and resurrection. A clear emphasis on eschatological themes—songs like "Apocalypse Express" and "The Good Ship Omega"—make this brief, final album very haunting, especially in light of Judee's tragic and untimely death by accidental or intentional heroin overdose. Despite these dark undercurrents, all the indicators on these songs point to hope and spiritual vivacity, especially the opener "That's the Spirit," a rollicking number on piano in which Judee is joined by churchly voices in a resounding hymn to the ascendancy of the soul. "Til Dreams Come True" is another winning song, this time a slower ballad with cryptically beautiful religious symbolism throughout the lyrics: "Assembling a dream/And in each one a manger is seen/Where the dark by the spark is redeemed/While milk through the firmament streams/Over all we do/'Til dreams come true." In addition to demo versions of a few of the songs on the album, this generous package also contains a second disc which collects rare demos, outtakes and home recordings, including a marvelous solo piano performance by Sill ("Oh Boy the Magician"), combining her love for Bach and Mahler with the light jazz and pop idiom that informed the majority of her songwriting. Also included is a 15-minute Quicktime video of Judee performing a live set of her best songs outdoors at a California university in 1973. It's a real treat to have this rare material collected in one place, even despite the understandable technical limitations of much of it. The packaging is also exemplary, containing a massive 68-page booklet filled with insights and interviews with those closest to Judee, as well as extensive biographical information and rare photographs. Dreams Come True is a lovingly rendered tribute to a marginal but extraordinary artist, and it's the one to beat for makers of deluxe reissues and box sets. -