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Acid Mothers Temple have had their spot on Hawkwind's vacant space-rock throne pretty much locked down for years, but it increasingly looks like they are going to have to share it with White Hills.  This double album is an explosive and oft-angry monolith of hard rockin', in-the-red psych rock excess that is alternately exhausting and exhilarating.
White Hills do one thing better than almost anyone else: bludgeoningly repetitive, volcanic guitar freak-outs.  In fact, H-p1 opens with one ("The Condition of Nothing") and it is pretty face-melting.  The problem is that the success or failure of that type of song is almost entirely dependent on how much I like the main riff and they do not always nail it.  Another serious problem is that White Hills cannot just keep churning out variations of that same song indefinitely.  They admittedly have a few other tricks up their sleeves, but not quite enough to sustain the momentum necessary to make an 80-minute album compelling from start to finish.
Naturally, the "bad-ass riff plus wild Dave W. shredding" songs like the title piece and "Upon Arrival" largely steal the show.  They are exactly what I enjoy and expect from White Hills.  I don't know if I would describe Dave as a genius or a virtuoso, but he definitely hits all the right spots as far as frenzied wah-wah-heavy guitar squalls are concerned.  He excels at what he does, but what he does is very specific.  Fortunately, there are a few very likable divergences amidst these 9 songs as well.  The biggest surprise is probably "Paradise," a killer white noise-heavy motorik work-out featuring guest drumming from Oneida's Kid Millions.  There are also a few space-y synth-based soundscapes centered around special guest Shazzula Nebula, which is definitely a step in the right direction sequencing-wise.  I enjoyed the oscillating interstellar loneliness of "A Need to Know" quite a bit, but the sheer fact that the band's crushing onslaught is now broken up a bit by oases of relative calm is far more important than the actual content of the guitarless pieces.  The new textures, contrasts, and melodic passages make a huge difference in enhancing the listenability of the album and heightening the impact of the heavy parts.
While there were a few meandering  and less-than-compelling pieces like "Monument"(basically just a drum solo with some bleeps and whooshes over it), this is generally a pretty solid batch of songs.  H-p1's main issue is that there is simply too much material to digest in one dose–this album is overwhelming.  That problem is confounded by the fact that Dave's vocals are almost always of the urgent/angry/howling variety, which can get a bit tiring.  I understand that the band's anti-corporate/consumerist message lends itself to that sort of delivery, but I definitely welcomed the more laid-back, chant-like vocals in "The Condition of Nothing" as well the songs that had no singing at all.  It is not that he is a bad vocalist, but he is a pretty one-dimensional one.  Despite those caveats, however, White Hills is very powerful musical entity; it's just that they are one that is still best appreciated in smaller doses at this point in their career.
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Barn Owl has always been very open-minded in assimilating new influences and this latest EP finds them looking to Alice Coltrane and the more meditative side of the Krautrock canon for inspiration.  While there are some subtle resemblances to Popul Vuh at times, Shadowland still sounds very much like Barn Owl, seamlessly weaving these new threads into a very majestic, haunting, and coherent work.
I did not know what to expect from Barn Owl's latest release, as their last album (Ancestral Star) was a bit of a mixed bag.  It sounded great (being their first release recorded in an actual professional studio), but was too stylistically varied for my taste and rarely allowed the band's better ideas sufficient time to naturally unfold.  It definitely seemed like Jon Porras and Evan Caminiti were at a transitional point and it was not clear whether or not I'd be eager to follow them once their true direction became more apparent.  Fortunately, my trepidation was unnecessary, as Shadowland captures the duo (sans guests this time) doing exactly what they do best: making ominous-sounding drone music.  In fact, this might be the best thing that they've released so far.
Notably, all three of these pieces sound very much like they belong together, largely due to their quasi-sacred and strangely temporally detached feel.  "Void and Devotion" begins the album with an eerie minor key bell-like motif that gradually swells in intensity as throbbing synth drones and simmering guitar noise slowly fade in and then out (equally gradually).  The key elements of that piece continue to be the template for the rest of the EP, but in a coherent and thematically linked way rather than a formulaic one: a somberly beautiful melodic figure endlessly repeats in the foreground while roiling chaos erupts (and slowly subsides) beneath it.  The title piece, for example, is built around a simple chiming, chorus-heavy guitar pattern, while the closing "Infinite Reach" unfolds a ghostly and melancholy synth progression. In all cases, Evan and Jon manage to evoke a timeless cosmic sadness and sense of mystery with only the most minimal and necessary ingredients.
It sounds very simple when it is broken down into its component parts, but it isn’t.  Porras and Caminiti keep things very minimal and ambiguously modal throughout–there is no real melodic progression and notes drone and ring without ever betraying much more than a hint of darkness (which turns out to be just enough).  All of the "narrative" and dynamic heavy lifting is done solely by the swells and rumbles in the periphery, which continually recontextualize the songs' themes to provide a convincing feeling of motion.  That's quite a neat trick if it is done right and Barn Owl pull it off quite nicely here: the various threads all interweave, wax, and wane patiently and organically.  Also, it is extremely difficult to avoid sounding "contemporary" when heavily distorted electric guitars are involved, but Jon and Evan somehow manage to do it.  Shadowland may be brief (23 minutes), but it is a deftly understated, immersive, and thoughtful work with a very definite focus.  I am thoroughly impressed.
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The title of the third full-length album for this Swiss duo is an abbreviation for either organic or organism, and both are fitting descriptors for the music contained within. Across 11 pieces, Reto Mäder (guitars and electronics) and Fabio Costa (drums and electronics) and a few friends construct a sinister creature, living and breathing, but not of this world. With a strong pairing of chaotic experimentation with some more conventionally structured song-like works, it is a captivating and diverse record from beginning to end.
The pieces that stuck with me the most throughout Orga were the ones where Mäder and Costa embraced a semblance of conventionality with both the structures and sounds within.For a piece such as "Cobalt Powder", the opening may be a bit abstract and noisy, but soon more conventional drums (courtesy of Jason Van Gulick) lead the song into a very different direction.This, complete with some clean guitar ends up taking an almost proggy character to it, in the best possible way.This is nicely offset by the weird, animalistic noises far off in the background, which maybe the credited vocal contributions from Rachel Mercedes Buhlmann, but sound anything but human.
A similar feel permeates "Let Us Begin With What We Do Not Want To Be":opening with an ever expanding electronic drone, bowed strings and big dramatic drums soon fill the mix.The sense of drama and bombast is prominent and increases throughout, but the piece ends on an odd note of stuttering instruments and odd processing, almost as if the mixing desk collapsed as the recording ended.The massive organs throughout "Hypnotic State" sit in some odd juncture between funeral service and psychedelic rock, and never really takes a side either way.Instead the sound slowly rots, becoming more and more riddled with decay, building to a peak of intensity and bleakness.
The less conventional sounding moments are just as powerful on Orga as well.Ritualistic rhythms and percussion open "After the Passing of Risk," blended with a distorted guitar squall.All of the parts come together brilliantly though, sounding like the inner workings of some monstrous creature from another world (or another time), before launching into a more traditional conclusion.Strangely delayed and echoed sounds make up the bulk of "To Deny Responsibility is to Perpetuate a Lie," with a healthy amount of reverb thrown in, making for a fascinating sound that is bafflingly ambiguous in its origin.On "We Have to Mark this Entrance," the duo work with wide-open spaces, filling them with booming drums and elongated strings.At first it has a very soundtrack-like vibe to it, but the glitch bits and transition towards an electronic focus at the end results in a very sinister sheen.
Sum of R's self-titled debut and Lights on Water were strong records in their own right, but Orga showcases the duo at an even higher peak.It does not seem as if it is intentionally a concept record, but that sense of an organic darkness clearly appears throughout, linking the stand-alone pieces by mood, if not by a specific theme.Sequenced in a way that balances out the more rhythmic moments with the looser, more improvised feeling ones, Sum of R creates a marvelous consistency from beginning to end.
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It is difficult to fathom that Robin Rimbaud’s Scanner project is nearing its 25th year, given the self-titled debut appeared in 1993. In that span of time he has become involved in a diverse array of artistic endeavors, from soundtracks to performance art, even to oblique pop music as a member of Githead, all of which stray far from his initial digital snooping and nod to the surveillance culture, which has only grown since. Conceptually, The Great Crater is a different beast entirely: a sonic examination of an odd phenomena occurring in Antarctica, and perfectly captures the wonder and potential dread of the event.
The titular crater is one that was first observed in 2014 and was assumed to be the result of a meteor impact.Closer inspections in subsequent years revealed it to be not a crater, but an expanding hole in the ice sheet, caused by pockets of water (from ice that had melted) underneath.The concern is that these pockets will expand, causing the ice sheet itself to disintegrate, with the potential of catastrophic side effects for the rest of the world.Given the nature of this incident, its physical appearance, the possible cause by humanity’s impact on the ecosystem, and its potential for wider reaching damages, it makes a unique theme for a widely varying electronic composition.
Rimbaud does an amazing job creating sounds that approximate these physical events.Rather than just utilizing field recordings of similar phenomena, it seems as if he was able to capture these sounds and images just with processing and modular synthesis.Opening "Cast to the Bottom" demonstrates this from its opening moments:massive rumbles like far off ice cracking is peppered with wet synth pulsations, creating a slushy introduction that he then casts layers of frigid, shimmering electronic space."Underwater Lake" sees him conjuring some quiet, light passages of synthesizer, withoccasional rumbles low in the mix.The tasteful amount of processing done gives the whole piece a distinctly aquatic sound, somewhat submerged but clear enough to be fully appreciated.
Later on, "Katabatic Wind" drifts in slowly via shimmery passages of peaceful sound.Even though there is an airy quality to the mix, Rimbaud blends in some echoing, sonar like notes that cluster together in the form of rudimentary, yet beautiful melodies."Lakes Under Lakes" is another slow moving piece, largely centered around a blend of string-like tones that are tinged with just the right amount of dissonance.A composition such as "Forming Circuits" stands out as captures him playing around with a more distinct sense rhythm.Built upon an insistent pulse that could almost be extrapolated from a 1990s house record, he adds some static crunch to take things in a different direction.
The lengthy "The Scar" is one of the moments on The Great Crater in which Rimbaud takes a more clearly composed approach to the sound.Big, droning low end is blended with eerie passages.With the addition of some big, far off crashes and a slowly expanding dynamic, he builds the piece to a dramatic, almost orchestral like conclusion that works perfectly."Strange Circles" has a sequenced-like melody from the opening moments that he builds upon throughout.The added electronic bits that come in and out do lend an almost 1970s science documentary feel to the proceedings, but Rimbaud is careful to rein things in before they get too far into new age territory.
There is undoubtedly a bleakness that runs throughout The Great Crater, no doubt to capture the potential danger of this event, but also our hand in creating it.The sound itself, however, is far more gorgeous than simple darkness though.Rimbaud’s ability to capture such non-musical events and themes via electronics is impeccable, and it is through that beauty that he injects a bit of hope into what otherwise seems like a grim situation.Regardless of the ecological impact or implications, however, The Great Crater is unquestionably a compelling and fascinating record that further cements Rimbaud’s legacy as a multi-talented and peerless, diverse composer.
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Seven years and three albums into the project, Gnawed’s Grant Richardson continues to release bleak, dissonant electronic music that is exceptionally nuanced and demonstrates not only his knack for antagonistic harshness, but also a penchant for expert sound design. Pestilence Beholden may not reinvent the wheel, but it does deliver nine pieces of moody, at times oppressive industrial noise that stays dynamic and ever changing throughout, and is an expert example of the style.
Diversity is not usually a term associated with the sound of death industrial music, but Richardson works with the elements associated with the genre but places them in often different and varying contexts.The opening "A Bitter Harvest" is a sleek yet menacing passage of sustained bassy electronics, with some almost pained melodies sneaking through as Richardson piles on the layers.Crunching noise, metallic scrapes, and what sounds like bells and lost radio communications are all present by its conclusion, coming together as a lurching, sinister mass of sound.
It is hard to not feel some old school Maurizio Bianchi sensibilities on "The Hand That Feeds" via its depressive, morose synth melodies (albeit with a greater clarity than Bianchi’s work ever had), but the addition of big, dramatic percussion and heavily processed vocals sound like something much more contemporary.The sound shifts from pensive to harsh and back again but it never relents.A similar structure is at play on "Pestilence Beholden II", as Richardson’s looming, menacing electronics expand, hiding a distant, isolated voice, and eventually met with aggressive, banging metal and monstrous screaming.
However, a piece such as "Who Shall Reap?" is more of a rhythmic one, with distorted drum programming and buzzing electronics underscoring shimmering passages of noise.Heavily sputtering and processed voices appear, but the overall sound is more haunting than pummeling.Structurally, "Wheat from Chaff" follows, though the rhythms are scaled back to a sinister plod, as Richardson’s vocals are mangled to be almost entirely inhuman.Even with this, a slightly melodic passage lurks deep in the mix, keeping some sense of musical grounding at play.
The longest piece is saved for last:"Perdition (Death’s Disease)" starts not with dissonance, but a heavy, dense melodic passage that vibrates menacingly.Voices are present but extremely low in the mix, and not treated with the same level of effects as before.With the noise kept down throughout its eight minutes, I kept expecting it to explode aggressively in to a full on blast of harsh noise before its conclusion, but it never does.
Gnawed’s latest work may not be entirely innovative, but the way he manages to work with the material is extremely effective, and the full sound of the album is a varied and complex one.The mood may stay dark, but Grant Richardson does an exceptional job of creating the sonic equivalent to every shade of gray.
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The three artists that make up this trio: electronics expert Alberto Boccardi, drummer/percussionist Paolo Mongardi, and double bass player Antonio Bertoni have performed alongside renowned artists such as Bill Laswell, Eraldo Bernocchi, Mika Vaino, and many others, but Litio is the first release that brings them together. That is not at all apparent, since the band’s work on this record is that of a well oiled machine, drawing from industrial, krautrock, and the avant garde, among other elements, resulting in a gripping, dark piece of taut rhythmic music.
The trio waste no time establishing their sound on this record.Immediately, "Vento Solare" is a quiet passage of electronics, soon met with forceful, but erratic drumming and cymbal work.With its rhythm section locked in (Bertoni’s double bass playing sounds nothing like the jazz inflections I expected), Boccardi's synthesizers are weaved in.His electronic work is somewhat conventional at this point, with the more traditional styled playing fitting in well with the harsher rhythmic backing.The drama builds and the piece transitions into more sinister spaces, with the focus shifted to percussion pounding through the echoing dungeon ambience.
The following "Chimera" is structurally similar, but overall less intense in sound.Mongardi immediately leads things off with a big, galloping drum passage that is augmented by the driving double bass sound.The rhythm is taut, but varies and makes for an overall dynamic piece of music.Throughout, electronic melodies make their appearances here and there, but for the most part they are intentionally secondary to the driving rhythms, and the piece ends the first side of the record on a comparably lighter note.
On the other side, "Red Stone Floating" is another instant piece of musical intensity.While not overly bleak or dark sounding, it is immediately a blast of sustained electronics and metallic rhythms that is quite forceful.Electronic melodies are snuck in, underscored by abrasive crackling noises, as the whole mix becomes richer and heavier as the piece keeps going.By the end it is just a wonderfully heavy rumble as the melody slowly melts away.
The closer, "Reconfigure. Matter_Energy_Space_Time" at first has more of a free improv feel, with the double bass strings first creating some unconventional rhythmic start as the more conventional drumming is blended in as an accompaniment.The structure is free flowing and diverse, but the whole time generating a strong sense of tension that just builds and builds until it eventually relents a bit in the closing moments.
On the whole, Litio is a heavily percussive album that really showcases the rhythm section of Paolo Mongardi and Antonio Bertoni.It is within these strong, occasionally oppressive rhythms that the more subtle work of Alberto Boccardi really shines:his electronics range from suitably dissonant noise treatments to strong, warm melodic passages that offset the driving beats extremely well.Bleak without being dull, and intense without being overwhelming, the album comes together as greater than the sum of its parts, staying fresh and captivating from beginning to end.
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The "subscription series" concept of releasing music always reminds me of the Vinyl on Demand label, which has been following this model for a while now, with apparently great success. Szczepanik's series of 3" discs, however, is a very different approach. Here it’s a series of handmade relics that further add to his intimate works that feel far more personal than other "series" releases.
With each piece being a stand-alone work, there’s obviously a lot of room for variation and experimentation, but even with that, there is a certain sonic unity to be heard between pieces.For example, the first volume, "Not Knowing (for Eliane Radigue)" is, overall, the sparsest piece here.Slowly rising and falling low register sounds slowly evolve and develop, eventually being met with shrill high frequency passages.With all its subtlety and hushed nature, it pays respectful homage to Radigue's work, even when the denser, more pronounced bits appear later on.
"An Underside" uses a similar tact of minimalism, mixing low end drones and patterns that retains the slow drift of "Not Knowing", but with a thicker sound overall, and all within a slightly raw, noisy expanse.There’s also just a bit more darkness to it as well, for me it conjured images of being alone, floating in the ocean…not necessarily scary, but the sense of the unknown that comes along with isolation.
This is contrasted by "Candor of Night," which uses what sounds like fragments of old symphonic 78s to create these meditative passages that are dripping with analog warmth.The piece is more inviting and beautiful, with a constantly shifting dynamic that is sometimes boisterous and dramatic, other times restrained and pensive.
The fourth installment, "Amaranthine," feels like the fitting counterpart to the previous one, using a similar sonic palate of rich sounds, but more heavily layered and more consistent dynamics throughout, rather than the quiet and loud moments of "Candor of Night," where there is a more sustained intensity from beginning to end.
Hearing these four works (the first third of the series) back to back, I was able to appreciate the nuances that set them apart from one another, but they all clearly had the touch of Szczepanik's hand, an approach that surpasses just "drone" and embraces space and repetition, but in a unique way. The pieces have this intimate quality to them sonically, which is only increased by the painstakingly made personal touch of the artwork and packaging.With the strength of the first four of these releases, I’m excited to hear what the future installments will bring.
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As a member of Minamo, Keiichi Sugimoto is no stranger to weaving tapestries of hushed sounds that are as familiar as they are alien. On this album he expands his approach to include more use of accidental rhythms and erratic jittering sounds, focusing not just on tones, but rhythms and textures as well.
While Sugimoto definitely utilizes a fair share of digital processing and treatments, it is mostly used so sparsely and carefully that it transforms the sound of the guitar, but never in a stereotypical way.For example, "Skating Azure" is based largely on a structure of traditional guitar sounds, but reshaped and molded in such a way that the result is almost a pop song, but one from an entirely different dimension.The lush textures and acoustic guitar fragments of "Frosted Mint" are the polar opposite of a stereotypically clinical sounding composition:the sound is unabashedly pleasant and has a summery warmth.
"Carmine Fall" and "Snow Petal" are texturally similar, but on a different emotional plane.The former errs a little more into the digital realm, never overly so, but coveys a greater sense of melancholy in its bassier tones."Snow Petal" has a denser mix, a complex array of sounds with subtle plinking notes and the same sense of sadness.
"Bleach Black" is also a showcase for the greater focus on rhythm that Sugimoto emphasizes on this album.Under the rolling textures there's a slew of digital sounds that don’t resemble rhythm in the most traditional sense, but serve the same purpose.In addition, errant buzzes appear that could almost be accidental interference, but work too well in the overall composition.The aforementioned "Snow Petal" uses a similar strategy, mixing clicks, pops and other forms of noise within the more structured sounds in a wonderful juxtaposition.
The two "Quiet Gray" tracks, which open and close the album are even more dramatic examples of this jerky rhythmic approach.Both feature heavy uses of erratic stop and start structures, seemingly at random, but the underlying analog soul is undeniable."Quiet Gray 1" mixes the vocals of Sanae Yamasaki (Moskitoo) as an additional instrument, cut apart into wordless clouds of sound with shimmering guitar notes."Quiet Gray 2" is more demanding, using heavier and less obvious sounds, but in the same kind of framework.
Although the sounds of guitar are sometimes unmistakable, Sugimoto often manipulates them into becoming an entirely different sound, but one that still manages to retain the soul of the instrument, even at times where it can’t be easily discerned.There's just something about the warmth and variety of the textures here that is undeniable, making it a memorable and inviting disc.
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With an instrument lineup that includes Courtis on pizza tins and Menche on rocks and snow, I was expecting an odd album, and that’s exactly what I got. Odd, but under the careful processing and direction of Menche, a strong album that sounds a bit different than either of the artists’ usual works, in a good way.
"El Relincho" starts out with staticy loops layered over rapid pizza pan metal percussion, initially high pitched pings that eventually are met by deeper, almost gong-like resonances, coming together like some sort of extremely primitive gamelan.There's a constantly flowing rhythm under the noisier elements.
It's an ever so subtle transition, but as the piece goes on, it's like the distortion knob is slowly cranked up, going from barely perceptible at the beginning of the side, to somewhat noticeable in the middle, and finally drowning out almost everything else towards the end, the metallic dings are echoed, reverberated, and stretched out into an abrasive squall.
On the flip side, "Runa-Uturunco" initially layers clattering rocks and deep, bassy guitar tones that crawl in a slow motion menace.The time-stretched guitar muck nicely balances out the rocky clatters to give a geological vibe to the song, which isn't a statement I'd ever have expected to write about music, ever.
Again, as the piece burns on, Menche once again slowly, but steadily amps up the processing, here focusing more on manipulating the guitar, which becomes fuzzier and more formless as it goes on.It reaches a climax of full on mid-range guitar noise that manages to be blaring, but not overly oppressive or abrasive, before returning back to the clatter.
Compared to a lot of Menche's recent output, his work here is less harsh and drone focused than it has been, making it stand out a bit more unique within his discography.The addition of Courtis' odd percussion and guitar contributions adds a lot as well, making it an album that’s not quite noise, but not quite improv, but really has some of the best qualities of both.
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This is a case in which I went into listening to the album with some trepidation. While I’m no stranger to extremely conceptual works, knowing that this was based upon heavily programmed graphic piano scores, and that also that it included a link to a downloadable "listener's guide," I was concerned it was going to be a matter of concept over enjoyment. Thankfully, that wasn't an issue at all.
After quickly glimpsing at the 20 page guide and finding out this partially represents Horvitz' Masters thesis in Electronic Music and Recording Media, I made the conscious decision to listen to the album at first without any sort of supplementary knowledge, to judge it purely as a musical piece first, and then to focus on the esoteric details later.
The entire work is a concert performance using a Yamaha grand piano, sequenced via MIDI into tight, inhumanly precise patterns and melodies, all of which utilize different conceptual structures.The result is an odd amalgamation of the organic, natural sounding piano notes in a concert hall setting, but being driven an overly precise mechanical construct that completely changes the presentation and nature of the compositions.
For example, the mostly mid-register notes of "Study No. 13:Echoes"plays with the ideas of echoes:while the notes are allowed to echo on their own in natural space, the programming also forces echoing, repetitive notes that descend in dynamic, repeating the previous note at a lighter volume again and again.The extremely tight clusters of sounds on "Study No. 29:Tentacles" bounce around in some manner of structured chaos.At times it sounds as if a human could play along, but then the short and clipped groupings make that an impossibility.
"Study No. 1:Octaves, Systematically Filled and Folded" is perhaps my favorite piece on here, and it also stands out as the most unique sounding.While it features drastically shifting tempos and a "constructed binary form," I'll say it reminds me of something far more pedantic.It's a dead ringer for the sound effects on the old Galaga arcade game, which I have always loved.Regardless of its complex underlying structure, the fact that this grand piano is manipulated to sound like early digital computer sounds alone makes it a unique and compelling work.
The long closer, "Study No. 99:Strumming Machine," obviously references Charlemagne Palestine's work, but takes the same idea into a very different realm.While Palestine's work was heavily dependant upon, but limited to, the human performer, Horvitz is able to surpass that limitation via cold electronic precision.While the pacing is different, the overlapping tones and reverberations that defined Palestine's composition can still be heard, though of a distinctly different color, making it a different, but no less fascinating, variation on the same theme.
Admittedly, while I find this kind of intellectual work fascinating, I have such a limited repertoire when it comes to music theory and the like that a lot of the descriptions included with these pieces went right over my head.But, that's why this is a great album:I didn't need to be able to deconstruct the complexities of the work to enjoy it, I could do so simply at face value.
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- Study No. 13: Echoes
- Study No. 1: Octaves, Systematically Filled and Folded
- Study No. 99: Strumming Machine
 
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These two albums mark the beginning of Analog Africa's new "Limited Dance Edition" series, veering away from compilations into reissues of long-deleted full albums by artists that played an integral role in shaping founder Samy Ben Redjeb's aesthetic. The endeavor is off to an excellent start, adding some strong rarities to the available oeuvre of one of the milieu's best-known bands and unearthing an absolutely killer effort from the amazing but seldom heard Rob.
I first heard Rob on 2002's Ghana Soundz compilation and his "Make It Fast, Make It Slow" has been in fairly heavy rotation around my apartment ever since (though I still can't decide if his orgasmic moaning is just uncomfortable or so uncomfortable that it is actually awesome).  Since then, only two other songs of his have popped up (and he was only a mere bonus track on Analog Africa's own Afro-beat Airways compilation).  Consequently, I knew practically nothing about him other than the fact that he is "enigmatic" and that he got arrested for tax evasion before Redjeb could interview him for the Airways liner notes (googling "Rob" didn't seem like it would be very helpful).  Fortunately, this album answers most of my questions and deepens my respect for Robert "Roy" Raindorf's artistry.  Also, aside from one puzzling misstep, the album is absolutely stellar.
Rob's career was largely built upon a foundation of good taste and sheer force of will, as he fell in love with American soul, quickly learned to play the piano, and set out to find the best possible band to back him (and they needed to have a horn section, which was not at all common in Ghana). He eventually found the perfect match in an army band called Mag-2 and they began making some very funky and heavily Americanized music together.  The partnership was a near-perfect confluence of forces, as Mag-2 was an extremely tight and talented band and their army connection ensured that they had better gear than everyone else.  Also, their founder, Amponsah Rockson, was a very talented and savvy arranger.  He essentially took over the musical reigns, which was a good move, as composition was not Raindorf's strongest attribute. That is not to say that Rob was extraneous in his own band though– far from it. Rob's contribution was that he got them into playing sexed-up American funk and soul and that he was freed up to just be an extremely cool and charismatic frontman (which he excelled at).
Funky Rob Way differs from a lot of other '70s African funk albums in many ways.  The most obvious one is that Rob sings in English, but the music is also extremely punchy, laid-back, and stripped-down.  There is no unnecessary clutter or meandering here and the production is appropriate clear and bass-heavy.  Aside from the weirdly psychedelic ballad "Your Kiss Stole Me Away," Funky Rob Way is an unwaveringly infectious cocktail of slinky grooves, sultry wah-wah guitar, catchy horn hooks, and awesome percussion.  Even without Rob, this would be great, but his sheer character and presence elevates this album to "classic" status.  Which is high praise from me, as I am not normally amenable to be being repeatedly assured that an artist is funky nor do i like being exhorted to boogie.  Lyrics are important to me.  Rob is a different story though– he delivers his James Brown-isms with a conviction that is impossible to resist.  Nothing is silly or trite if it is delivered with enough style and urgency.  Rob and Mag-2 got pretty much everything exactly right here.  This is a major event in the world of African music reissues.
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The first Orchestre Poly-Rythmo album dates from 1973 and was originally released on Albarika Store, which was the band's primary label.  Notably, Analog Africa has already released a compilation of OPR's Albarika Store highlights from the '70s and none of these four songs were on it.  It is not clear why that is the case, but the original album is apparently extremely rare.  Even rarer still, for obvious reasons, is the first version of the album, which the label rejected for sound quality issues.  This reissue combines takes from the two sessions, but I have no idea how they split nor do I notice a marked difference in recording quality.  Regardless, everything here is likely to be completely new for anybody that is not a Beninese record collector.
Aesthetically, The First Album is much closer in tone to the band's guerilla recordings from the Vodoun Effect than it is to their cheerier, more commercial Albarika recordings.  Quality-wise, it gets a bit complicated.  Everything that I like about the Orchestre is present (funky bass lines, sinuous grooves, and unusual percussion), but these songs are pretty lacking in the infectious hooks or over-exuberant organ riffing that characterize their best work.  Also, the production does not play to the band’s strengths–music this rhythmic should have a visceral impact, but the low-end is pretty neutered here.  Still, these four songs are all quite solid, making this the most consistently enjoyable OPR reissue so far, despite not quite hitting the highs of some of their later work (though the closing "Egni Miton?  Nin Mi Na Wa Gbin" is quite excellent).  This is a welcome addition to the band's discography and probably a good starting point for the curious, but it is not a lost masterpiece or anything.
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