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The Oakland California trio Replicator ignite their debut album with an instrumental that puts the rock into rocket. Slow burn smouldering dual note guitar atmospherics soon zoom boldly skyward with big brash jettison chords that'd make Trans Am's Red Line go green. For the next six songs they twist and turn through angular song forms with clipped vocals which couple melodic hooks with a complexity which is forceful but never forced. The hard hitting precision production from Shellac bassist Bob Weston gives equal weight to every aspect of Replicator's sound, and might just get them a few more Shellac comparisons than they otherwise would get, but they are definite fans of that band and at times employ similarly dynamic song structures.
However they have a stronger melodic sensibility that on 'Strategery' recalls an angrier Poster Children and on 'Motivationally Challenged' they remind me how good the first Archers of Loaf album was. Replicator play with an engaging energy and exuberance on their songs but it's the three instrumental tracks that really fire me up. The mournful guitar on 'Journey to the End of the Night part II' rises to another crescendo that doesn't quite erupt like the opening '(No More) Salted Beef' did but sounds just fine even so. The long goodbye of their 'Taxi Driving' finale couples a moving piano melody with tub thump drums and a backwards rotor loop betrays a Flaming Lips influence, and perhaps opens the door to more experimentation with their sound next time round?
 
 
samples:
- Check the Replicator site for downloads of three "Winterval" tracks.
 
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Based on my first encounters with Ambarchi’s work, I have always associated him with the abstract, post-rock tinged world of experimental guitar noise and drone. However, following up his recent Audience of One album, this album continues his transition into more "song" oriented work, and brilliantly so. Simple, but hypnotic in its execution, it a taut, dramatic 30-plus minute single track that grabbed my attention immediately and has stood up strongly ever since.
Sagittarian Domain is a single track album, with most of the instrumentation (guitar, synth, drums and vocals) played by Ambarchi himself, with a hint of stings arriving later on, initially as an additional element, but eventually becoming the focus.His penchant for more oblique, dissonant guitar experimentation is still here, but pushed more to the back, punctuating a tight, tense piece of music.
Repetition is the name of the game here:opening with tightly clipped notes and erratic delays, the guitar is soon matched with a robotic Moog synth bass line and subtle, punctuating feedback.It makes for an excellent slow build, never dragging too long, and elements eventually settle into a notable groove.
Once the drums kick in, it becomes a film noir-meets-raut motorik excursion, the perfect score for a car chase or other tense, kinetic scene.Ambarchi's drumming is not complex or exceptionally poly-rhythmic by any means (he is no Jaki Liebezeit), but has just the right sound and production to give a noisy, effective garage quality that makes it utterly engaging. The rhythm section remains consistent mostly throughout the bulk of the piece, with only small variations to be heard.They are minute, but quite effective in the otherwise hypnotic repetition.All the while Ambarchi's guitar scrapes become louder and more forceful, only to retreat back into the mix and come back once again.
It is not until the final third that he lets loose, casting out waves of squalling guitar noise as a frenzied compliment to the tightly disciplined rhythms.When it eventually overtakes the rhythm, everything falls away to reveal a trio of strings in tight harmony with one another, making for a lush, cinematic flourish to the relentless tension that preceded it.
Given that it is a long-form single piece, the intentional repetition might be off-putting to some, but it becomes this album’s greatest asset.It is through this complex, nuanced repetition that the variations and eventually dramatic ending shine through.To use an aforementioned metaphor, it is akin to a tense chase, which seems almost unrelenting, until it does, releasing that pent up energy in a glorious, beautiful ending.
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Much ado has been made about its two hour duration, and Michael Gira's assertion that The Seer represents the culmination of the entire Swans discography, which is not to be disregarded. From the monolithic, visceral guitar stabs, to the dark, folk hued melodies, and dissonant, deconstructed samples and loops, it all appears here, sometimes within the same song. Thankfully, it does not come across as a conclusion, but the culmination and self-actualization of a long, unparalleled career.
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Much ado has been made about its two hour duration, and Michael Gira's assertion that The Seer represents the culmination of the entire Swans discography, which is not to be disregarded. From the monolithic, visceral guitar stabs, to the dark, folk hued melodies, and dissonant, deconstructed samples and loops, it all appears here, sometimes within the same song. Thankfully, it does not come across as a conclusion, but the culmination and self-actualization of a long, unparalleled career.
In some ways My Father Will Guide Me Up A Rope To The Sky felt incomplete as a Swans album in that pieces of it ("Jim," "Reeling the Liars In") sounded more like Gira's work with Angels of Light than the explosive, grandiose drama associated with every step of Swans' career.This was exacerbated to me upon seeing them on their 2010 tour, where the more Swans-like tracks from that album took on an even stronger, more fully realized form in the live setting.While no recorded medium can fully replicate the physical impact of a Swans concert, The Seer comes closer to that intensity than most studio albums could.
The centerpiece of the album, the 30+ minute title track, brilliantly spreads all over the place.Opening with a sustained mass of horns and strings that resemble some of Hermann Nitsch's best compositions, it eventually retreats into a slow build guitar/bass/drums arrangement.It unsurprisingly comes to a dramatic head:a pounding, abusive roar of drums and guitar that has all the aggression of something from Cop, though with full on violence rather than seething rage.It does ascend from music into something different: a living, breathing monstrosity of sound that no other band could build.However, while this song could be the embodiment of Gira's 30-year career, it is not afraid to throw in some curve balls.The uncharacteristic vocal delivery at the end bears more than a passing resemblance to Damo Suzuki, atop an Eastern affected instrumental backing, something I would have never expected to hear.
Closer "The Apostate" is the other monolithic pillar of The Seer.Clocking in at just over 23 minutes, it also does an admirable job at condensing the Swans legacy into a single piece.Expansive, opening textures and ambient loops give way to a glorious wall of guitar noise and massive drums, forming into the pounding riffs and guitars, and ending with Gira literally singing in tongues.With this, the album and song culminates with that sense of religious ecstasy that Gira has been working with since Children of God.While it has been hinted at on previous albums, here it is fully realized.
Divisive former Swans member Jarboe even appears, in the form of vocal fragments on "A Piece of the Sky."Throughout its 20 minutes, it is a backwards journey through the Swans discography.Initially resembling Soundtracks for the Blind via its dissected loops and heavily processed recordings that are almost completely unidentifiable, it all transitions into a melodic bombast akin to Love of Life, with its slower pace and rich orchestrations, with vocals appearing only within its dying moments.
The smaller pieces here could potentially get lost within the sprawling epics, but for the most part they stand on their own, even in their shorter durations."Lunacy" has the unfortunate slot opening for such a dramatic album, but does so very well, embracing that barely contained mass of sound that is Swans which inevitably explodes.It is a bludgeoning introduction, even with the folky vocals from Gira and guests Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker from Low.
The early form of "The Seer" that appeared on the limited first run of We Rose From Our Beds—that Gira said would be discarded—appears in a more fleshed out form as "The Seer Returns," which is not a reprise as much as it as stand alone piece, a vaguely bluesy number that moves along with a relatively high level of restraint.
"Song For A Warrior" is the only odd duck on this album.This is an acoustic ballad of sorts with Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs on vocals (Gira doing background).Perhaps it harkens back too much to the Angels of Light material, or it just has a different sense to it overall, but it just seems a bit out of place.Even after a number of plays, I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about it.
The Seer is one of the few albums that are not listened to as much as experienced.Like the body of Swans discography, it is not as much about catchy songs or memorable melodies, but a cathartic experience like no other.However, it is more than just a work of power and drama, but a piece of art that is best experienced again and again.Like all good art, it is not always pleasant or enjoyable in the traditional sense, but it a vital work nonetheless.
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Currently only available as limited edition CD-R (though there are plans for a regular CD/vinyl release soon), these three soundtracks for short films of Derek Jarman have provided Stephen Thrower and Ossian Brown plenty of inspiration following their superb album Wounded Galaxies Tap at the Window of last year. Some of the same textures and moods are revisited but it is already possible to hear that Cyclobe are developing creatively at an unprecedented rate. Between Wounded Galaxies… and this, they have completely met, exceeded, and destroyed any expectations I may have had of them.
 
Unfortunately, I have never seen the three films featured here so how Cyclobe’s sounds actually pair with the images are beyond the scope of this review. However, given the group’s musical pedigree and love for avant garde cinema, I can only imagine that they suit each other perfectly. Bearing that in mind, the music on its own is intoxicating. "Sulphur" is a stuttering, blurry composition that slowly ripples the air like a dream. The shuddering electronic aura is punctuated by Cliff Stapleton’s eerie hurdy-gurdy, the music shifting like a fog that has suddenly becomes too dense to see through.
With "Tarot," there is a very different take on the mood with Stapleton’s hurdy-gurdy sounding more like some kind of desert serpent. Mike York also joins in on bagpipes to create a fantastic, slow melody. A web of gurgling electronics and dramatic piano chords frames Stapleton and York’s intense performance, all the constituents coming together to form one of the best few minutes of music I have yet heard from Cyclobe. Though, "Garden of Luxor" is definitely in strong contention for that accolade too. Drifting glacially from note to note, the piece slowly builds into a decadent, vaguely Egyptian theme which finishes off with regal poise. The end result is something resembling the music of Coil's "Tenderness of Wolves" but without the menace.
This is an essential EP that not only deserves a wider distribution but also should come as a DVD with Jarman’s films included. Considering both David Tibet’s new group Myrninerest and Coil have previously composed music for Jarman’s Journey to Avebury and of course Throbbing Gristle’s soundtrack to In the Shadow of the Sun, there is plenty of material out there for a decent DVD set. In the meantime, I will have to just enjoy this sublime music on its own which luckily is no great hardship.
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There was always the fear that the reformed Swans might have been a one-shot moment of greatness but The Seer counters any argument that My Father Will Guide Me Up a Rope to the Sky was an aberration. Across the two hours, the group cover more ground here than most bands cover in a career. This is visionary, powerful statement that manages to be both visceral and transcendental, something more akin to a birth than rock music.
What strikes me first about The Seer is the brightness that permeates the music. Mandolins, strings and piano dotted throughout the album bring a lightness of sound not heard since The Burning World though here they are used far more effectively. Despite its slightly depressing topic, "Lunacy" has the same ebullient feeling that The Angels of Light did during their Akron/Family incarnation. Almost ecstatic chanting (backed by Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker of Low) and a driving rhythm catapult the song into a searing locked groove before suddenly opening up into the desert blues developed on the last Swans studio album. It therefore comes as a surprise when the next piece seems to jump back to the kind of style that I would have expected from Swans in the mid-80s; "Mother of the Love" is taut and powerful yet it does not sound as thuggish or malevolent as the old Swans. Here, Swans are more like dancers than fighters.
The album’s title track was originally developed during the tour supporting My Father… and a work-in-progress of the piece can be heard on the live album, We Rose from Your Bed with the Sun in Our Head. Those lucky enough to nab the limited edition version of that release will have also heard a very different acoustic demo of the piece. Here, Gira and his group have succeeded in combining the two sides of "The Seer" into a two-piece masterpiece. Starting with a glorious bagpipe drone that would put Yoshi Wada to shame before Thor Harris and Phil Puleo’s dulcimers and percussion appear, adding definition and color to the work. When Puleo hits the bass drum, it feels like the world’s heartbeat is joining in with Swans. It is still possible to hear the ghost of "I Crawled" in the bass line (the piece began as a jammed out intro to "I Crawled" during their last tour) but once the hammered-on guitar joins in, the character of "The Seer" changes completely. It is like they are showing us what Swans used to deliver and where they are heading towards now.
The second part, "The Seer Returns," picks up on the lyrical ideas explored in the acoustic demo but sounds like Swans playing funk (a lot better than expected). Usually, Gira’s demo versions sound close to the "finished" piece but here the band have annihilated the original sketch. Jarboe provides backing vocals, an almost angelic choir taking the place of the bagpipes and the result is something close to a religious experience. Honestly, these two tracks could have made a great album on their own and I have been finding it tough to continue on with the rest of The Seer without a break. It is overwhelming but not difficult, the fatigue is that of paying so much attention that it wears me out rather than The Seer suffering from a case of double album bloated-ness syndrome.
Something that has polarized pre-release discussions of the album has been Gira’s announcement that Karen O would be singing on the album. "Song for a Warrior" had been included in Gira’s recent solo sets and although I do not agree with him that his voice does not suit the song, Karen O’s vocals do work particularly well here in the full band arrangement. If this was some unknown vocalist, I expect there would not be so much undeserved derision. This is a sweet song and all the sweeter and stronger for Karen O’s inclusion.
Naysayers do not have to wait long for Swans to bring things back up to the boil with "Avatar," which has the same apocalyptic glory of Johnny Cash’s "Ghost Riders in the Sky." Here Christoph Hahn’s slide guitar subtly follows Gira’s lyrics as the rest of the band gallop alongside them. The song’s climax explodes in a rain of fire, guitar, and joy before dissipating into the night, replaced by the sound of the real flames that summon in "A Piece of the Sky." Again, Swans engage in a slowly evolving build up before releasing the pent up energy in a cathartic and utterly satisfying way. Unlike similar explorations during the '90s, the aforementioned brightness and ecstasy reigns supreme over the darker moods and vibes of older Swans. This is more like classic Neil Young recordings (before he started losing close friends to heroin) in that it rocks hard without sacrificing the bliss at its core.
This is an incredible continuation of Swans’ legacy. The Seer has all the hallmarks that have made Gira’s music so essential and compelling yet it also pushes the idea of what Swans can be even further than before, which is saying something considering the breadth of styles that Gira has incorporated into his music over the years. Bearing in mind that Gira has mentioned that this year’s touring will already include new songs, it would appear that there is still at least another album left in Swans. Based on where they are at now, I cannot wait to hear where they go next.
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This is easily one of the most intriguing and enigmatic debuts to surface this year, as two musicians that I am completely unfamiliar with (Daniel Lea and Matthew Waters) have managed to assemble a killer noir jazz ensemble and enlist collaborators as impressive as Ben Frost and David Sylvian. Although they draw their inspiration from a wide array of disciplines (Gerhard Richter and Paul Auster are influences), the resultant music is extremely narrow in scope (or, more charitably, "focused" and "thematically coherent"). Night Within is essentially all brooding nocturnal atmosphere and texture with little in the way of songcraft, but Land are almost so good at what they do that it does not matter.
I suspect "noir jazz" may not be quite the right term for Land's aesthetic, but Lea and Waters have carved out a very strange and amorphous niche for themselves and that seems to be the closest recognizable signpost.  Saxophones and trumpets are certainly rampant and the pervasive mood is undeniably "noir," but I suspect an actual jazz musician would balk at Land's rhythm section.  On pieces like the slinky Sylvian-sung "Nothing is Happening Everywhere," drummer Paul Cook fits the bill, but other pieces lock into grooves that could be better described as motorik ("Cold Desire") or even quasi-industrial ("Stillman").  More often still, the rhythm section sounds like they are playing at a strip club in a David Lynch movie (which is probably a compliment).  All, of course, nicely evoke the "urban neon dislocation" mood that Lea and Water are after (though the motorik beat is definitely pushing it).
For a debut album, this ensemble nails pretty much every single goddamn detail.  It is almost uncanny: every deep guitar twang and soulful sax lick sounds like it is exactly where it belongs and there is no clutter, bloat, or noodling.  Even the instruments on the periphery (woodwinds, bowed cymbals, etc.) are employed with unwavering good judgment, subtly coloring the proceedings with equal parts menace, melancholy, and sensuousness.  Equally importantly, it all sounds fantastic–the grooves are heavy and visceral and the music perfectly balances between clarity and haziness.  I suspect that is mostly the result of Ben Frost's mixing and "sculpting," but it is such an integral part to the band's sound that it seems likely that Daniel Lea (credited with "sound design")  had some very clear ideas about how Night Within needed to sound beforehand.
Naturally, the big hook for this album is David Sylvian's involvement, but that does Land a disservice.  Sylvian's "Nothing is Happening Everywhere" certainly stands out as one of the album's most memorable pieces, but that is more because it is an actual song than because David's presence elevated the band.  He does fit nicely into the band's aesthetic though.  Still, I suspect Lea and Waters could have similar success with a number of other vocalists...which brings me to Night Within's sole flaw: while these seven pieces are distinctive, beautifully constructed, and amazing sounding, they are all essentially vamps.  This is still a very good album due to its vision and impressive execution, but it essentially feels like a soundtrack without a movie.  As a result, this album falls short of greatness–there is a definite void that is simply not being filled.  Then again, this is only Land's debut, so it seems premature and unfair to criticize them for only being extremely stylish and evocative.
 
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I have seen this album described elsewhere as "virtually a new Monos record" due to the participants, but Tate's latest effort is a bit more modest than that.  Originally recorded as a guitar and synth solo album, Darren handed his work over to the very capable Colin Potter for a thorough "re-imagining."  I can only guess at what No Longer Here sounded like before Potter's involvement (the droniest drone ever?), but the end result is 45 minutes of beautifully immersive and darkly hallucinatory bliss.
By drone standards, this is a pretty unusual release.  That was not immediately apparent to me, as it is mixed rather quietly, but I was quickly mesmerized once I cranked it up loud enough to hear its nuances.  The sole piece is essentially built upon a low quavering bed that remains melodically static (I think) for its entire duration.  Despite the lack of any kind of obvious chord change or melodic evolution, Tate's unrelenting river of drone remains quite vibrant by constantly shifting in texture, density, and coloration.
It happens very slowly, of course, but the transformation from its early hollow throb to the lush yet ghostly thrum of its climax is thoroughly absorbing.  In fact, Tate's sublime, glacially shifting drones could have probably carried the album on their own, but the surreal and subtly nightmarish sounds that unfold over the top of them are what elevate this effort into something more substantial and noteworthy.  I suspect that this is where Potter's influence is most apparent, though Darren has certainly unleashed some unsettling sounds on his own in the past.
As painful as it is for me to belabor a water metaphor, I am afraid that it is too apt to avoid here: Tate's "river of drone" is not a clear, cheerfully burbling one; it is a slow, murky, and deep one and disturbing sounds endlessly billow up from the depths like bodies.  I suspect most of the sounds may have once originated from Tate's guitar, but in Potter's hands they seem unrecognizably strangled, drowned, and stretched.  Equally importantly, they blend so deftly into the underlying rumble as to seem like an organic part of it.  Also, Tate and Potter demonstrate an impressive knack for weaving their moans and swells into slow, hypnotic pulses and for transitioning seamlessly from a mood of cosmic horror to slightly uneasy warmth within the same piece.  There is a very real sense of flow and purpose here.
In general, it is pretty hard to go wrong with anything that either Tate or Potter is involved with, but they work especially well together and this is something of a unique release within their oeuvres.  While it is not exactly a "difficult" album, No Longer Here certainly required some attention and focus on my part to fully reap its rewards (it practically begs for headphones).  The effort was very much worth it, as drone is rarely this deep and satisfying (or aberrant)  This is drone music for connoisseurs.
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Equal doses of Hell’s Angels, bad drugs, and Russ Meyer; Clayton Burgess' downer biker metal hits the spot like a tire iron across the jaw. More The Born Losers than Sons of Anarchy, Satan's Satyrs deserve the term badass as much as any b-movie anti-hero. This is music that has come to town, decided it wants your girl and she has decided she prefers them to you.
The lo-fi rumble heralds Burgess’ coming like the roar of Harleys coming down the empty highways. It sounds like trouble, the kind of trouble I want to be a part of. The scuzzy music of Satan’s Satyrs has the same violent and crazy vibe of early Electric Wizard but cut with speed instead of weed. On "Carnival of Souls," Burgess lets rip with some face-melting fuzz guitar and reveling in his outsider status: "Alien I’ve always been/Recoil from helping hand." (I envision him playing his guitar with a switchblade rather than a pic.)
While never reaching the out and out camp of The Wild Bunch, Burgess sometimes swerves dangerously close to parody. However, much like the aforementioned Wizard, the reverence for ‘70s exploitation imagery and 1%-er biker attitude seems too genuine to be mistaken for a joke (otherwise I am sure they would be Satan’s Satires). "Strange Robes" blows out the speakers like an over-revved engine; the music cloaking the room in thick black exhaust smoke.
The album peaks with the fantastic "Bellydancer’s Delight" which coils around the room like a snake before going straight for the throat with a phenomenal instrumental coda. Suddenly it bursts into the album’s closer, "Satan’s Satyrs." The killer riff is backed with simple but brilliant organ. The result is a terrific, adrenaline-pumping finish to a grimy, greasy album of filth. As the last notes echo away, it is hard not to imagine the back of a leather-clad motorcyclist heading into the horizon, middle finger raised back at you.
 
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Having recently put out a double disc package with Anthony Pasquarosa, and another collaboration with Noise Nomads, the Albany, New York area noise master Mike Griffin has managed to compile yet another set of spacey, at times aggressive, but always fascinating abstract electronics. The first is a full vinyl LP of solo work, courtesy of the always amazing Sedimental label, and the second a collaborative release with meme slinger John Olson. Griffin’s style is consistent between the two work, but the differing contexts give each a unique and distinct feel, differing from one another.
Sedimental/Skell, Radical Documents
The Oort Cloud referenced in the album’s title is a theoretical cloud that is wrapped around our solar system, collecting and shaping what detritus of our cosmos may be passing through.It is a fitting title, given that there is a celestial, yet fragmented feel throughout the album.Griffin's work has never easily been categorized, since it often draws from the chaotic lands of harsh noise, but at the same time also gentle passages of ambient, and the blips and beeps of early electronic music.On "The Vanishing Coast" this is quickly established via shimmering feedback and idling engines, accented with a heavy bass pulse throughout.From this he begins to add in even more elements:falling, twinkling stars and jazzy simulations of small animal chirps all appear.As a whole the piece brilliantly juxtaposes sputtering, erratic bits and sustained drone elements, with the occasional wide open space for remains of sound to drift through.
"Broadcast Failures" has a colder vibe, with sputtering duck calls and swells of static setting the stage.There is more of 1960s science fiction feel here, with squeaking computer glitches and electronic beeping throughout.Again, Griffin nicely blends these cleaner, tonal sounds with some good heavy crunch as well.Things lean a bit psychedelic as he reverses the layers, and with the combination of sparse mixing, spacey movement and bleak falling tones, it makes for a frigid, cosmic journey.
On the flip side, Griffin scales back the entropy and focuses more on sustained sounds and tones."Tape from Oort Cloud" may lead with a heavy low end rumble, but for the most part Griffin keeps the electronics restrained, having an overall muted feel with some outbursts of sound to be had.Some lighter passages appear throughout, but overall the sense is more grounded and depressive.After a series of raygun-like pulses, he introduces a melodic sequence that propels the piece to a gentle conclusion."Depths of Babylon" may begin with a cascading bass crunch and metallic buzz, but Griffin’s use of loops and melodic passages result in the record ending with an almost new age hue.
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It is no surprise that for the 7" with John Olson (in his Spykes guise), Griffin's work ends up a bit harsher in nature.The A side has his usual cosmic electronics, but there is more of a dingy basement production here, so the reverberation of his electronics, with Olson's pained horns, makes for a creeping, menacing type feel to the proceedings.On the other side, the duo goes a bit more into free jazz realms.Olson’s loose and improvised horn lines bounce off Griffin’s waxy electronics perfectly.
Braille License Plates for Sullen Nights is certainly a fun excursion, but like any single released near a full-length record, Tape from Oort Cloud is where Parashi goes all out.I have been into all of Mike Griffin's collaborations in recent years, but the solo album format allows him to truly reach out and do what he does best.Complex, nuanced, and thematically strong while drawing from all varieties of electronic music and sound art, it is easily his strongest work to date.
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Having recently put out a double disc package with Anthony Pasquarosa, and another collaboration with Noise Nomads, the Albany, New York area noise master Mike Griffin has managed to compile yet another set of spacey, at times aggressive, but always fascinating abstract electronics. The first is a full vinyl LP of solo work, courtesy of the always amazing Sedimental label, and the second a collaborative release with meme slinger John Olson. Griffin's style is consistent between the two work, but the differing contexts give each a unique and distinct feel, differing from one another.
