Podcast Episodes 717-720 are live!
After two weekends away, the backlog has become immense, so we present a whopping FOUR new episodes for the spooky season!
Episode 717 features Medicine, Fennesz, Papa M, Earthen Sea, Nero, memotone, Karate, ØKSE, Otis Gayle, more eaze, Jon Mueller, and Lauren Auder + Wendy & Lisa.
Episode 718 has The Legendary Pink Dots, Throbbing Gristle, Von Spar / Eiko Ishibashi / Joe Talia / Tatsuhisa Yamamoto, Ladytron, Cate Brooks, Bill Callahan, Jill Fraser, Angelo Harmsworth, Laibach, and Mike Cooper.
Episode 719 music by Angel Bat Dawid, Philip Jeck, A.M. Blue, KMRU, Songs: Ohia, Craven Faults, tashi dorji, Black Rain, The Ghostwriters, Windy & Carl.
Episode 720 brings you tunes from Lewis Spybey, Jules Reidy, Mogwai, Surya Botofasina, Patrick Cowley, Anthony Moore, Innocence Mission, Matt Elliott, Rodan, and Sorrow.
Photo of a Halloween scene in Ogunquit by DJ Jon.
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Radio Palestine is the most recent of Alan Bishop's amazingradio collages released on his Sublime Frequencies label. "Palestine"is used here as a blanket term to denote the whole of the EasternMediterranean encompassing the various locations where these soundswere recorded over the summer of 1985. Bishop captures a stunningsnapshot of a region splintered by political upheaval and violence, butunited in its teeming, eclectic overload of cultures, traditions andlifestyles. Radio Palestine cycles through an endless multitude ofdisparate styles: the Nile River Nubian folk of Southern Egypt, modernArabic pop from Beirut, orchestrals from Cairo, Greek sartaki,Palestinian folk, shortwave signal jamming, Jewish Klezmer and othertraditional forms, European pop hybrids, Jordanian reverb guitar andscores of news reports, commercials and radio station IDs in aBabel-like cacophony of languages and dialects. English news reportsprovide grim details of terrorist bombings and political tensions inthe region, clearly showing just how little has changed in theintervening two decades. This prismatic approach to splicing togethermusic and dialogue is extraordinarily effective, juxtaposing absurdlyoverwrought French lounge music from Beirut with minimalist, hypnoticfolk of Egypt which might suddenly and unexpectedly segue intoshortwave radio interceptions of messages from military spies,clandestine political organizations and what sounds like fieldrecordings of gunfire and explosions recorded in the midst of Israeliskirmishes with the PLO. And I was just as likely to hear that kind ofhuman bloodshed as I was to catch a few seconds of Robert Wyatt's "SeaSong" or experimental female vocal pop sounding not unlike a LebaneseKate Bush. "Tangental Psychedelico" contains an amazing performance byan unknown Jordanian artist, calling up the spirits of Islam with theresonant echoes of his desert-surf guitar. Radio Palestine is apowerfully constructed document that forgoes making any politicalstatements, instead painting a painfully ephemeral portrait of acountry in violent flux. 
Out of the thousands of tedious archival record labels popping uprecently in this accelerated age of information overload, it's great tofind a label as fascinating as Sublime Frequencies. Alan Bishop of theSun City Girls created Sublime Frequencies as an outlet to releasevideo and sound recordings collected in his travels around the globe.Bishop's release schedule thus far has vividly illustrated his view ofthe third world as an alien landscape, an enticing ethnic cacophony ofmarginalized cultures and traditions, obscure music, vibrantenvironmental noises, hallucinogenic otherness and unraveled threads ofthe human narrative. Alan Bishop neatly sidesteps all of the tiredimplications of "world music" by refusing to editorialize; he simplyreleases unadulterated vintage recordings, impromptu radio collages,untreated field recordings and personal home videos. The recordings arequickly slapped onto the digital format and released with a minimum ofpost-production or fussy packaging. Radio Moroccois the sixth CD released on the Sublime Frequencies imprint, and it'salso one of the most intriguing. Culled from recordings of radiotransmissions intercepted all along the Moroccan coast in the summer of1983, Radio Morocco is a kaleidoscopic trip throughFrench-Moroccan pop, French and Arabic news reports, Berbertrance-folk, Arabic divas, Middle Eastern orchestral music, Europeannew wave, hypnotic jajouka and shortwave radio noise. I was immediatelyreminded of the revolutionary cut-ups produced by William S. Burroughsand Brion Gysin on Break Through in Grey Room that were oftenculled from radio and field recordings from Tangier. Interspersedthroughout are live recordings of Arabic divas like the legendary OumKoulthoum, who perform for an enraptured crowd of men who zealouslyshout "Allah!" at the end of each sexually charged refrain. At varioustimes, Radio Morocco operates as a sonic avatar, an audio timecapsule, a free-form diary through the crossroads of Western Africa, orexpressionist collage. Although Bishop clearly sees Sublime Frequenciesfulfilling the same sort of archival musical preservation function of alabel like Smithsonian Ethnic Folkways, Radio Morocco simplydoesn't work on that level. None of the performers or musical stylesthat we hear throughout the disc are identified in the liner notes, soits historical value is questionable. Instead, Radio Morocco isa postmodern collage of cultures alternately melding and clashing,replicating the fragmented memories of a unique time and place. Uponrepeated listens, these sounds can download into the listener's brainas an anti-virus to an unimaginative, safe and homogenized Westernculture that daily threatens to erase our uniqueness and culturalheritage forever. 
I'm certainly not the first to observe this strange paradox, and I won't be the last, but it seems that the release schedule of new Muslimgauze albums has somehow increased exponentially since the death of Bryn Jones. Every month since Jones' untimely passing has brought at least one new release to his already preposterous discography, often two or three. At this stage, I'm actually having a hard time believing that even the absurdly prolific Bryn Jones committed this much unreleased material to tape before his demise. By this point, Gauze might actually have crossed that Biggie Smalls milestone, having released more albums posthumously than those released during his life. I have to admit however, perusing the newly released 77-minute Alms For Iraq on Soleilmoon, it's hard to say who else could have produced this music other than the singular Muslimgauze.
Razing Darkness is the five years young solo project of South Carolina resident Jason Danielson. He is also a longtime member of the Tapegerm Collective, a "non-profit community of loop-based recording artists" in which members from around the world may cross pollinate megs upon gigs of sounds via good old fashioned file transfer protocol. Razing Germs is the result of 30 others' contributions being fed through the Razing Darkness filter over two years. Danielson adeptly composes and mixes with a palette that includes all manner of machinations, synth sounds, some percussive elements, heavily manipulated samples and various other more easily identifiable samples like bird song, lapping water and electricity. Nearly every track surrealistically (though more serious than humorous) juxtaposes moments of controlled calm and barely controlled chaos. The noisier end of the spectrum is well represented and listenable throughout but it's the more ambient end that I find most intriguing. "Bottom Dweller" announces itself with metallic sheen and later transitions to somnambulist drift and near-tinnitus tones. "In Death's Dreams", the lengthiest at nine minutes and my favorite, subconsciously shifts from deep moans and grumbles to brighter rays and surges, gradually revealing a light at the end of the tunnel. "Dimension Arachnia" opens with a gorgeous melodic loop then slips into fluid electronic waves and random-ish bleeps and faux disco beats. The occasional rhythm or melody comes off a bit forced but overall it's an almost surprisingly cohesive whole. Danielson is an amateur on his way to becoming a pro. Also of note is the wonderful cover art by DeVico, an antiquated partial profile of a woman whose beautiful features transition into tree branches and reptilian scales. 
After years in Trans Am collaborating on sounds from the extremelyexperimental to the completely inane, Sebastian Thomson finally giveshis own songs a go with The Frequency, and the results are enough tosend my head reeling into eternal confused giddiness. Thomson plays themajority of the instruments himself as well as handling vocal duties,with guests here and there as necessary. This album was finally anexplanation to me for TA, as most of the songs have a new wave/Beat Streetsoundtrack vibe. That's not to say "Blame Seb for that piece of crap,"but instead to say that his desire to make an '80s club booty recordmay have driven that release and bleeds over to this one. At momentswhile listening to this debut, I felt I was listening to the long lostmusic of hitchhikers on the Autobahn, then I wanted to breakdance, thenlaugh out loud the shouts of "move dat ass! move dat ass!" followed bysynchronized thrashing a la Warrant. In the middle of it all, though,is a unique voice trying to get out, and for that and trying to shakesome posteriors Thomson deserves some props. The style-meter is allover the place for this band, and that's sometimes the problem as theswitch can jar uncomfortably. Nevertheless, there are real nuggets tobe found. "Erasing Myself" is an arena rock anthem of magnumproportions, destined for inclusion on some teen angst coming of agecompilation bust still cutting-edge enough that indie rock and hairmetal fans might blast it. The gutter bass, snare snazz, and space saxof "Allnite" may just be the solution to the boredom on manydancefloors, where "You're the Perfect Size" and "Moonburn" are hardrock intensity with vague sexual innuendo spread throughout — withextra panting on the latter. There's also near-death metal here andthere, like on "Tell Me" and "Forgot," and a touch of that familiarTrans Am sound on "Chicas." Thomson appears to wrestle with thedifferent sides of his personality much in the same way Trans Am does,but he's at least decided on a pop-song structure, which in and ofitself puts him ahead of the pack in the electro-rock genre. TheFrequency are on tour soon opening for Trans Am, so show up early for ataste of this live.
For V/VM this is love in the time of controversy, and it's especiallyfitting for them to be making some of the hottest music of theircareers while in the hottest water yet. After I obtained a copy of thisnow rare commodity through means I will not disclose — a process othersmight find difficult, as well — I immediately dimmed the lights andfired up the candles and twinkle lights to get in the right mood forthis revisiting of the Frankie Goes to Hollywood classic. Truth betold, I knew my body was about to be rocked, just not this hard and notwith so much of a history lesson involved. This being the 20thanniversary of the original release of "Relax," it seems V/VM wanted toshare some of the more interesting tidbits of the single's background,and some of the controversy that surrounded it, as well. Hence, theartwork that closely resembles the sleeve of the Frankie single, andsamples throughout the remixes of radio programmer reactions and otherstrangeness. As for the digital reconstruction that is the musicitself, I was floored by some of the showmanship involved. V/VM havegathered remixes from a number of manipulators, including Animal,Toecutter, Shitmat, The Alien Porno Midgets and more that succeed incapturing the essence of the track and then obliterating allconceptions about it. Several of the tracks don't even feature the wordthat is the song's title, cutting and splicing the bassline and choiceother phrases, creating a neo-stomp in pasting it all back together.There's odd combinations to be sure, but they work so well: the uses of"Auld Lang Syne" and "Smoke on the Water" are particularly noteworthyfor their originality and creation of an irreplaceable leitmotif in mybrain. Where other V/VM releases have seemed to pick apart and mock theartist in question, I felt that this was an earnest homage to theorginal and to the process of remixing in general. This is more of astatement than V/VM have ever made, and it hits on all levels; thusunintentionally they defy the issue that makes it difficult to find inthe first place, as well as those responsible for it.
With her previous full-lengths, Head Slash Bauch and Westernization Completed,Antye Greie-Fuchs proved entirely capable of creating beautiful andunique electronic music without the help of her Laub bandmate Von Jotkaor frequent collaborator Vladislav Delay. Reaching an early peak onlast year's Westernization, AGF's mature style is both morechallenging than her past work and more rewarding. The increasinglyabstract free-association of Greie's characteristic speak-singing seemsto have found perfect accompaniment in a new loosening of songstructure which, instead of dissolving substance, allows for thecareful buttressing of her words with basic and unclutteredsound-forms, accentuating the language and aligning the music moreclosely with the power of suggestion. The "instrumental" portion ofAGF's music remains a recognizably laptop-based affair, full of crisp,bass-less beats, clean synth-like melodic lines, and a delicateunderpinning of digital drone and flutter; however on Westernization and to a greater degree on Language is the Most,these elements are treated with greater economy of use, layered lessfrequently or abundantly, and approached with more attention to varietyand improvisational flow. It's as if Greie treats instrumental soundlike it were part of her vocal, as if these melodic shards and openrhythms have assumed fixed places in the artist's advancing word bank,lent the same concise, charged delivery as her speech. This effect isconsistent with the broader theme of Language is the Most,essentially a live recording from AGF's performance at the ArsElectronica Festival's Klangpark in 2003. The theme of the festivallast year was "Code - The Language of Our Time," and it's hard toimagine an musician engaged in a more literal dialogue between digitalcode, musical composition, and spoken language than Antye Greie. Westernization is as much sound poetry as it is patient left-field electronica, and Languagemakes the distinction even more complicated. The live setup, by forceor by choice, has Greie's voice appearing with less regularity and lessreliance on structural cues, creating music whose success is largelyreliant on the tact of the artist's speech and the resonance of herwords taken alone. Her compositions progress along astream-of-consciousness logic, incorporating numerous field recordings,samples and organic-sounding clatter to make Language AGF'smost complex listen to date, despite the equally unprecedented amountof open space appearing throughout. Compounding the event's thematicinterest in coded language, text, and the relevancy of establishedcommunication methods, Greie incorporates pieces of Westernization, as good a document of the artist's own "language" as any, into her live set. This decision has ended up granting Languagesomething of a "companion piece"-status, and while I'd be more likelyto recommend the former to new listeners, the live disc has provided anequal amount of rapturous listening and contains the seeds of newrefinement in AGF's sound, making it just as essential.
When feeling below the weather, this is the kind of sound that managesto pick me up and put me at peace. The cool, glass melodies andrainforest rhythms never cascade out of control leaving only the breezeand scent of spring in their wake. Calling "Über Die Wasserscheide" agentle ride might leave the impression that Cicadidaeis a simple record, but the masterful combination of live instrumentswith electronic moans is anything but that. Kammerflimmer Kollektiefhave an ear for space and fluidity — short tracks like "Blood" relate auniverse of thoughts and feelings in just over a minute while "...DennNacht Ist Jetzt Schon Bald!" unfolds in acoustic strips and wandering,mystical drum patterns. The weave of patterns andstream-of-consciousness noise-melodies play well with eachother, neverchoking out one another and never floundering in chaos; each second ofsound plays an important part in the song at just the right time. Denseor heavier moments always find themselves relieved in the caress of awoodwind instrument or the lazy kiss of a strummed guitar. "Sie TrankenRegen (Version)" ushers forth like cigarette smoke, slowly expandingthrough the room, tasting of memories, and shrouded in mystery — thedrumming pulsing from beneath a veil of jazz and the horns hover overthe lullaby of a lustful saxophone. The residue this record leavesbehind sticks to the walls and reverberates perpetually until finallyit seeps into the blood and animates the mind. Though melancholy findsits way onto the record, its the sort of sadness that only serves torejuvinate the soul and lift it back to its feet. As a little addedbonus, the latter portion of the record unfolds into a sultry dancethat can only be called sexy. Late-night excursions and secret thoughtscourse throughout "Mantra" and "Edierdaunen (Gerupft)." The variety ofcharacter that marks these songs stand out as one of the records beststrengths. There is a unique quality to the production,instrumentation, and arrangement of each tune that cannot beoverlooked.
Those expecting Black Dice to travel further in the trajectory suggested by the beat-infused abrasiveness of Cone Toaster will no doubt be disappointed by Miles of Smiles. Black Dice's newest 12" on DFA is not very similar to the material on the aforementioned EP, and it doesn't share much in common with the blissful psychedelic clamor of their Beaches and Canyons album, either. It's something else entirely, an unexpected tangent into the realm of sampling and tape music.
Maybe I'm getting too old, but I'm starting to suspect that some of these records that I like are imposters of records I should like. If I take a step back and look at what's going on in the disconnected quagmire that one might call a music 'scene' at the moment, it seems that there is a disproportionate number of bedroom knob twisters turning out lo-fi/hi-tech hybrids of guitar and clicky electronics that are actually worth listening to. This record by The Remote Viewer is a great case in point. It's short, maybe the length of an EP, and it's got a particular aesthetic that it sticks with: soft melodies, some effective guitar poking and proding, and a deep dubby bass that makes everything sound warm and full. This is a terrific combination of sounds and the tracks are produced with an ear for detail and for the emotive content of things like mic noise and tape hiss. The tracks with female vocals are absolutely outstanding, hedging just on the right side of the disaffected/melancholy vocal divide. In fact, the songs with vocals are some of my favorite tracks that I've heard yet this year, as the combination of clean, loud bass and particular drum programming works wonders under and sometimes over the distant, echoing voice. What I'm worried about though is the idea that these kinds of records are becoming too easy. It won't take long before bedroom electronic folk/pop is to the 00's what trip-hop was to the 90's: a good idea executed well by a few and then imitated ad infinitum until even the good examples of the idea began to lose their lustre. I hope I'm wrong about this, but I could easily hear this record playing in the background as people shop for smart knit sweaters and double mochaccino lattes. I heard Portishead once in a not-so-bohemian cafe and I thought "this has been reduced to cafe music." Well, Portishead survives, if just barely. I wonder if The Remote Viewer will fare as well? I hope so, because I can't shake the feeling that I like it.
Newest addition to the most sparsely-populated of Ground Fault's threeseries headings (series III, the "harsh noise" category), Shipwrecker's Diarycertainly justifies its placement. Providence's Prurient (aka DominickFernow) is a learned student in the brutal school of power electronics,but one whose intentions lie more in the head-cleaning, catharticcorner of the genre than in the kind sensationalism practiced by othernotables like Deathpile, who has recorded for Fernow's own HospitalProductions. The noise on Shipwrecker's tends to occupy ahigh-frequency range with layers of crisp static making a thick cushionfor most of the other activity and keeping the whole from sinking intothe doom-y sludge that is a popular pitfall for others working in thismedium. No sounds reach truly cringe-inducing, spectrum-piercinglevels, making the disc highly listenable following a short adjustmentperiod. Once inside, there's enough nuance and careful construction tomake for a very rewarding noise record. It's clear that Fernow favorsnot the guttural thrash of people like Deathpile or the explicit,confrontational side of the genre, as embodied (still) by Whitehouse.Instead, he works with less-concentrated, incremental noise, usingspeed and a more gradual, swarming approach to achieve his desiredeffect, which is every bit as powerful as his peers' though less likelyto get bogged down in bad posturing. It's interesting to try and dividethe 33-minute Shipwrecker's into two conceptual halves. Thefirst eight tracks offer the disc's grittiest noise, crumbling staticwaves and washes that develop patiently enough to sound almost capableof being touched or traced with the hand. This is unrelenting, physicalnoise, and Fernow knows it, naming each track after a part of the body,starting with "Shin" and moving up to "Elbow." There is, despite thesheer mass of sound bombarding the ears, a level of comfort availablein the "material" quality of the noise during this half. However with"June 19," Prurient moves on, breaking the connection with the body andallowing the sound to bottom out considerably, leaving only a scorchedwhine and weighted hiss, allying him more with the current crop ofMidwestern homemade noisemakers than with the stoic "power" camp.Following the track's interlude, Fernow's familiar face returns for thedisc's most harrowing section, a 4-track blitzkrieg run through wildlypunctuated bursts, quickly modulated pitch shifts and blasted vocalyelps. For titles, the artist returns to the body, but is now localizedat the head ("Earlobe," "Jaw"), suggesting to me that, from the basephysicality of Shipwrecker's first half, Prurient has moved nowto a site of deeper mental anguish, hence the obsession with the headand the tortured quality of the music in the latter half. In myunderstanding, "June 19" arrives midway as bitter introduction to theworld of the mind, like a repressed memory, foregrounding the nakedemotion that arrives with the disc's closing tracks, two unalteredanswering machine messages left by a young girl. They are late-nightlove messages, innocent, tender, and certainly in contrast with thehellish vision that preceded them. And while some may find Fernow'sconclusion too "neat" or explicit as a thematic rendering, these tracksdo help establish what was suspected before, that Prurient is, atleast, one of the more introspective or "personal" noise artistsworking today, if not the kinder, gentler new face of powerelectronics. 
