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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Dave Wright's approach to music serves as his greatest strength and thehinge upon which his weakness rests. Near every song on his newestrelease has a soundtrack quality to it, coming across as if it belongedto any number of gritty sci-fi movies from the past twenty years. Thereare layers upon layers of jumbled drum tracks, erratic signal chaos,computer malfunctions, and muscular bass melodies. I can see the floorsof abandoned houses soaked and creaking from numerous leaks, the lightof candles flickering across the walls, and the awkward crawl ofshadows jumping across the room with the sudden gusts of air billowingthrough the rooms; but what's missing is some element that keeps mewanting to come back. Carrion Soundsfeels so thematic that I find that I have difficulty maintaininginterest throughout the album. By the time "Worlock Radar" drops itsblack breath over my head, I'm feeling rather removed from the musicand there's little making me want to get back into it. Some of thesongs just over-extend their welcome: seven minutes of insane drumprogramming and strobe-light special effects is difficult to sitthrough unless it's done to perfection. With that in mind, "BebeBarron's Panties" (featuring Mr. Meat Beat Manifesto) is a realstandout: it isn't one of the longest tracks on the disc, but the spacethat Jack Dangers provides in between the sounds improves the formulathat Not Breathing works with throughout the duration of the album. Carrion Soundsis unique, however, many of the sounds have a life all their own anddon't feel overused or familiar. David Wright certainly providesinteresting rhythmic and melodic combinations, but overall fails tokeep my attention for a long stretch of time. I find the record pullingat me every now then for a quick and heavy dose, but the record is besttaken in steps: Wright certainly has a lot of talent, just a littlerefinement and this record would be excellent. 
The meeting-of-the-minds approach is extremely popular in the remix realm, bringing a new edge and almost rebirth to the music. It's almost designed to backfire on occasion, where the new work is different enough from the original works of the two main ingredients that fans of either are not impressed. It can also be magical, where the new work transcends the original. Unfortunately, this "remix" of Stylus tracks by EAR lies in a third area, where the new work becomes so convoluted and strange that it's almost better used as a cure for insomnia.
Whoever considers Einstürzende Neubauten's musical output from the 1990s to be lackluster has got to be tone deaf. The group opened the decade with a forceful sound that began to integrate their noise tendencies with clever musical arrangement and song craftsmanship. Haus der Lüge—although released in 1989—started the phase off, paving the way for 1993's Tabula Rasa, which was a complete breakthrough marrying elegance, sound exploration, composition, and noise.
John Darnielle has the reputation of being a consummate storyteller.His prolific output contains a variety of song cycles and storylinesthat unfold in chapters throughout his catalog, as well as individualvignettes that rise and fall in the space of a scant few minutes. Whatmakes his stories viable is the deep sense of urgency and passion thathe imbues them with. On early records like Zopilote Machineit seemed as if these tales were so heavy, so grand, that he couldn'tpossibly wait to confess them to his recording boom box, to give themlife with a reedy voice that made it clear to the listener that thesewords were important, and these stories were important. His firstrecord on 4AD, the immensely wonderful Tallahassee, proved thatthe cassette medium was not the magic that gave his songs life. Thefirst all-studio Mountain Goats album, it sounded every bit asimmediate, sometimes warm and sometimes caustic, but alwayscaptivating. We Shall All Be Healed claims to document acollection of characters that Darnielle knows (or knew) in real life, aslice of time where these characters moved about each other and playedan important role in a larger story. While it seems as if that shouldbe no trouble for the Mountain Goats, the storyline presents itself ina far more patient, meditative manner than the last effort. Perhaps itis the proximity of the subjects to the author, but the incisiveobservations and illuminating metaphors that traditionally overpopulatehis songs are strangely absent. Darnielle's voice dwells in a moderate,plaintive register for much of the album. Many of the songs seem likethey are indistinct messages to a single individual. Ideas appear asreferences without context, or nostalgic wisps that never really takeform, and leave a craving for some kind of impact that must lurksomewhere in the formlessness. "Home Again Garden Grove" peeks its headout with a glimpse of what we're used to. The vocals are crisp, directand pointed, and with lines like, "I can remember when we were in highschool / our dreams were like fugitive warlords / plotting triumphantreturns to the city / with tec-9's tucked under the floorboards /ah-ah-ha," it's a pleasing respite from the lack of concentration thatdominates the other songs. Perhaps more disappointing than thedisconnection of the lyrics is the simply flat sound of the music, likea soda left in the open air for too long. "Mole," which features anunfortunately under-observed scene in an intensive care unit features athreadbare guitar that absently plucks away at what sounds like a roughapproximation of the theme song to Hill Street Blues. There is verylittle energy in what is heard, and it is not a question of raucousspeed or volume, but of thoughtful investments in crafting a song thatdoes not merely plod along a stale strum or hackneyed change. We Shall All Be Healedsounds an arm's length away, a record that wishes to keep its distanceand wrap its secrets in a collection of comfortable tones thatcamouflage whatever kind of power they truly have in reality. 
In many ways Sunder, Unite feels like a continuation of the dialogue that began with Block's first two recordings, Pure Gaze and Mobius Fuse,both released on Sedimental to much acclaim. For those records, herstyle of composition centered on ideas of combination and alignmentinstead of juxtaposition; the music achieved a subtle melding ofextremes: found sound with scored passages, orchestrated parts withimprovised elements, and live or "natural" space with the imaginedresonance of synthetic creation. The disparate pieces of Gaze and Fusecome together to create half-hour intervals of transcendence, subtlesound environments as quick to reject the atmospheric, mood-orientedinterpretation as they are to quietly envelop the most unwilling oflisteners. I feel carried through her deceptively thick and intricatecompositions, afloat on currents of de-sourced field recordings,invisibly suspended piano notes, wind and brass ensembles blowing in asif on short-wave frequency, and all manner of electronic blurts andorganic sounds, sometimes manipulated via sampler, though more oftenleft unruffled to hang like flies in the gleaming web of the whole. Thesensuous drift of these early recordings makes them challenging in thebest of ways; Block's thorough blending of the natural and artificialrealms introduces confusion and disorientation only in afterthought,almost through a willful suspension of disbelief. Even the harshest ofsounds used, such as the clashing rock and wood noise or fireworkexplosions in Mobius Fuse, Block treats with the care of asurgeon, guiding each into unique functionality without a scrap ofsensationalism or over-emphasis. Sunder, Unite works in similarways, but with an increasing stress on the motion and physicalmanifestation of the piece. This shift in momentum comes with thepresence of Seth Nehil, who played with Block in Austin's Alial Straaand whose impressive solo output focuses largely on rough, physicalsounds sourced in the natural world. Much of the sound on Sunder, Unitecomes from previous live and field recordings by Nehil and Block duringa Japanese tour where the duo's performances involved the live, oftenextreme manipulation of natural objects like leaves, grass, and rock.But while these shows seem easily located within the Japanese noisetradition or the influence of sound artists like Akio Suzuki, Sunder, Uniteis a truly foreign creation. The piece is rarely harsh, nor does it getcaught up in Suzuki's ponderous method. Block and Nehil recognize theessential physicality of their source material, but their arrangementsshow greater interest in leading the sounds through the composed dramaof the piece's movements ("through," "within," "beyond" etc). Theyaccomplish this through an elaborate cut-and-paste of the originalmaterial, including the insertion of large chunks of silence andglitch-ist sound-chopping. Elsewhere synthetic drones or heavilymanipulated pieces of the original tapes form swooning backdrops forthe microscopic clatter and pop painstakingly organized across the Sunder's40 minutes. Block's contributions become especially effective as a windensemble fades in and out wonderfully on a few tracks. As a whole, Sunder, Uniteechoes Block's previous work in particular, through the subtle way itbrings together (in this case aggressively) natural or organic soundand "artificial" elements of strict composition and digitaldeconstruction. The result is music less concerned with the detail orclash of different sounds than with synthesis and progression, analways-beautiful blending of disciplines. 
Kraakgeluiden is an ongoing and evolving series of events andperformances organized by a group of musicians based in Amsterdam. Likea smaller, Dutch version of the LA Free Music Society, Kraakgeluidenopens its door to musicians all over the world interested in improvisedelectroacoustic music, setting up weekly performances where musiciansfrom classical, jazz, improv, rock, even dance backgrounds, including aremarkable number of well-established personalities, perform beforeother members and guests of the loose collective. The musicians willoften play with others for the first time on the Kraakgeluiden stage,producing results that are sometimes mediocre, more often amazing, andalways interesting. Document 1is the first release from the collective and presumably not the last,compiling some of their best recorded moments to date. The disc comesin the wake of the recent inauguration of Werkplaats, a series of nineweekends in '03-'04 in which Kraakgeluiden pays for groups of musiciansto experiment for three days preparing for a Monday night performanceon the stage, held in a legalized squat in Amsterdam. The project aimsto eliminate the logistical problems (equipment-related, etc.) thatplague tighter scheduled events and to allow for deeper, more fullydeveloped communications between dissimilar musicians and their chosenmediums. Based on the music included here, it sounds as if they'resucceeding. The twelve pieces cover a huge amount of ground, rangingfrom sloppy, broad-stroked combative approaches, to nuanced moodpieces, and traversing the freest of jazz styling in between. Mosttracks utilize computers in some way, but the machines keep comfortabledistance, each musician clearly conscious of his or her presence withinthe group. While most everything bears the influence of electronicmusic making, these improvisations never slip into the faceless,formalist rut that is certainly a risk with this kind of undertaking.Even at their most indulgent, the tracks communicate the vivacity andprogressive nature of the collective, and oftentimes, the multitude ofstrange instruments, in stranger juxtapositions, is enough to keep thelistening experience interesting. This disc is worthwhile if only forthe inspiration it might lend to the formation of more organizationslike Kraakgeluiden.
After some research I've learned that someone, or perhaps several nerds, working simultaneously in different countries (as these things usually occur), has developed software for turning Gameboys into sophisticated electronica machines. Ever one to outdo his peers, Matt Wand, former half of genre-defying, genre-destroying electronic duo Stock, Hausen, & Walkman and current Hot Air label head, has taken to eschewing the software altogether and doing live shows with nothing but the hand-held gaming devices and effects pedals in tow.
Jimmy Edgar is Warp's most recent signing, a sweet and vulnerable19-year old Caucasian from Detroit who allegedly spent his formativeyears playing Detroit raves alongside Juan Atkins, Kevin Saunderson andDerrick May. His new EP Access Rhythmproves that Edgar has inherited none of the genius of his culturalforefathers. This EP contains four faceless tracks of largelyinstrumental hip-hop, made specifically for that growing demographic ofclueless, rich, vaguely urban white boys wearing backpacks. JimmyEdgar's music sounds almost identical to his labelmate Scott Herren'sPrefuse 73 project, an uncomfortable similarity which makes the musicall the more excruciating to listen to. It shows a serious lack ofjudgment on the part of Warp Records that Edgar's promo wasn'timmediately tossed into the "sounds like everything else" pile.Promotional material for the EP has the audacity to compare Edgar'stalentless Powerbook fuckery to the Neptunes. On their very worst day,Pharrell Williams and Chad Hugo could easily kick this guy's lily-whiteGrosse Pointe ass all the way back to design school. Edgar's clean,angular production tries to achieve some of the same innovation as hisobvious hip-hop influences, but the kid is seriously lost when it comesto creating a beat that is interesting enough to listen to for longerthan 10 seconds. Flip over any Timbaland-produced 12" to theinstrumental side, and you'll hear what Jimmy Edgar wishes he soundedlike, but never will. About his style, Edgar says: "My music has a hugeDetroit Techno influence, but I wanted to go even further beyond that,to the point where it feels literally like Detroit itself." Huh? Ifanyone can figure out what that load of bullshit is supposed to mean,be sure to let me know. On a positive note, it's not too late for JimmyEdgar; he's still young, and there's still time for him to enroll incommunity college or learn a trade.
Imagine my astonishment when this unassuming new CD from Amsterdamproducer Tom Holkenborg turned out to be the most painfully dire albumI've heard in a decade. Radio JXL: A Broadcast From The Computer Hell Cabinis so entirely rotten on all fronts, it's almost refreshing. From theawful album title to the plug-ugly cover art, this is the album to playfor people who think that everything has some kind of redeeming value.This proves that those people are wrong. Radio JXL has noredeeming value. It has negative redeeming value. The mere existence ofthis album actually detracts from the work that good musicians aredoing. Junkie XL is what would happen if you multiplied Fatboy Slim'sworst song times Moby's worst song to the power of The Crystal Method'sworst album. It is slickly-produced stadium-rave trash for the newgeneration of retarded fat girls on MDMA. It's the soundtrack togetting a toothy blowjob from a guy in a rainbow wig and plasticclothes. An array of guest artists humiliate themselves by contributingguest vocals on this atrocity. Peter "Legalize It" Tosh goes throughthe Kingston motions over Holkenborg's track, one of the moreoffensive, ill-conceived desecrations of dub yet conceived by aEuropean. Dave Gahan participates in an overblown travesty whichmanages to make latter-day Depeche Mode sound positively ingenious bycontrast. Why has Gary Numan lowered himself to contributing vocals to"Angels," a song which had me pining for the glory days of top-40 raveanthems from the likes of Praga Khan and Sunscreem, which seem sotasteful in retrospect. I'm not even going to mention the tracks withChuck D and Robert Smith. Fuck, I mentioned them. Sorry. Remember whenMTV "broke" electronica circa 1994, and every suburban kid in Americawas running out to Circuit City to pick up the newest Urbal Beatscompilation? Tom Holkenborg doesn't think anything has changed in theintervening decade. He lives in a universe where The Prodigy still havenumber one hits and all that every consumer really wants is a raveremix of an Elvis Presley song. Which he provides, by the way, in theform of "A Little Less Conversation," a catastrophe of near-Biblicalproportions. I couldn't bring myself to listen to the bonus disc ofremixes. Frankly, I'm surprised I got as far as I did. 
It's hard to describe the sort of movements that music evolve towithout giving it a genre name that gets used, then overused, thencompletely hated and rejected only a couple years later. I do like whatI'm hearing, however, a LOT. Trapist are the latest in a line oftalented collective players who integrate some of the elements thehigh-brow fashionable snotty music press faves have introduced over thelast couple years (software, electronic reprocessing) with honedplaying skills that can lend to collective improvisational pieces, andheavy tendencies towards actual song structure (yes, it's nice not tohear "jazz" fans noodling around with no goal). On Ballroom,the Viennese trio's first studio record, all elements come togethergracefully for an amazing listen. The trio consists of MartinBrandlmayr, Martin Siewart, and Joe Williamson: names which haveappeared in Radian, and alongside people like Christian Fennesz, DeanRoberts and Werner Dafeldecker, Stefan Schneider, Ken Vandermark, KevinDrumm, and plenty more. Comparisons will no doubt be drawn to thesparse guitar work of quieter Tortoise and Angelo Badalamenti andgroups like Nudge and latter-day Talk Talk, but Trapist tend to explorethings a bit deeper, with songs that stretch well past the 15 minutemark as opposed to collecting between eight and ten 3-5 minute tunes.Songs often open with light brushed drum sounds, double bass andguitar, but are soon joined with unobtrusive keyboards, subtleelectronic effects, percussion, and rhythmic noise. While Ballroomis already one of my most frequently played albums of the young year,it's not hard to wonder if this stuff will catch on. Bands and criticsmay complain about the post-rock pigeonholing but it did provide somesort of attention and leverage to a lot of groups' budding careers. Ifthis stuff never catches on, it'll be difficult for a number of reallygreat groups to book shows, get out of their remote areas (Dean Robertsis in Australia, Nudge is in Oregon) and help evolve music to the nextlevel.
The last few years have seen popular movements in the development ofimprovisational rock music, whether it's influenced by Anglo folk,experimental, or jazz music. There's another dimension, however, whichin my mind takes the music up a notch: the psychedelic/prog bit. Byincorporating the colorful drug-crazed lunacies of a few decades' past,Ghost have been pleasing very devoted international crowds for years,and it's no wonder, their songs are true songs and not just a bunch ofpeople farting around who can barely play their instruments. Hypnotic Underworldis easily one of 2004's first fantastic albums of the year, with thefamiliar genre-bending stretches of Ghost and shimmering over-the-topproduction by Taishi Takizawa. It opens with a stunning four-partmovement of "Hypnotic Underworld," and the slow building 13.5 minute"God Took a Picture of His Illness On This Ground." Here, a commandingbassline underscores saxophone, malleted drums, echoes and twitters ofsound effects, all contributing to an experience remeniscent of masterslike Taj Mahal Travelers and Magical Power Mako, siezing control of thesenses, disallowing much else to be paid attention to, other than themusic. Part two, "Escaped and Lost Down in Medina" picks up the pacewith a steady beat, a sea of other instruments (including prominentdrums, guitar, strings and piano), and a mesmerizing looped basslinethat doesn't change for the entire 7+ minutes. It acts as a perfectcrescendo on to the rest of the album as the buildup of sound andtension increases steadily through pretty much every cycle of the bassloop. The choral vocals of part three, "Aramaic Barbarous Dawn" ache tobe dragged out much longer than the 2+ minutes and scream of late 1960sacid-induced psychedelia before it quickly runs right into the22-second part four. From here on, the album picks up with variousstyles of rock, jazz, and sound textures, toying with pop tendenciesnearly all the time with instruments remeniscent of experimental pop ofyesteryear. Organ, harpsichord, tabla, sitar, and flute aren'tuncommonly found alongside squealy guitar solos and trancelike vocals.Whether the music conjures up images of babbling brooks and folkloreforests, staring endlessly into a clear starry night, the hellfire ofthe underworld, or completely dazed black light parties, the songs on Hypnotic Underworldare never weak or loosely strung along, and the album seemssurprisingly short at 70+ minutes. While I look forward to seeing themlive, I'd much rather be sitting on the grass outside rather than bestuck in a dirty rock club with an obnoxious cash machine jingling offin the distance.
