- Jonathan Dean
- Albums and Singles
- Jonathan Dean
- Albums and Singles
Wabana
The recordings that comprise this album could only bedescribed as dodgy, often sounding not much better than a fan-recordedbootleg made on a wobbly old cassette deck. As per usual, AMT pushtheir noisy space-rock contortions into the red zone, which togetherwith the low-fidelity, high-distortion recording quality, makes for analbum that will be unappealing to all but the most committed listenersof blistering, atonal noise rock. Personally, I prefer other AMT livedocuments to this one, most especially the superlative Live in Japanreleased in 2002. Because of its relative brevity, this album must cutshort certain songs, which in the case of epic, monolithic tracks like"La Novia" and "Pink Lady Lemonade" is truly unfortunate. "Pink LadyLemonade" is to AMT what "Dark Star" was to the Dead: they perform itat nearly every gig, and there are as many variations and permutationson the song as there are times they've performed it. The relativelybrief variation included here only hints at the full power of the song,excerpting an eight-minute maelstrom of churning guitar noise andsquealing synthesizer from what was most likely a much longerperformance (it's not at all rare for performances of the song to last45 minutes to an hour). AMT's longform adaptation of the Occitainianfolk song "La Novia" is also included, with Kawabata Makoto pullingsome particularly fierce, ephochal solos from his much-abused electricguitar. However, without the enraptured vocal harmonies that normallybegin the song, this version feels stunted and incomplete. The Japanesepsych-rockers' insane rendition of "Acid Tokion 2000" is probably theonly track that recommends this album over past live documents, aheavy, acid-drenched wall of chirping, twittering electronics matchedwith Kawabata's senseless, masturbatory improvisations, falling overhimself as he races towards the song's orgasmic conclusion. Even withthis inclusion of this killer cut, I'd say it's a safer bet to seek outLive in Japan. That is, of course, unless you are a completist, in which case you should consider getting a life.
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- Jonathan Dean
- Albums and Singles
Wabana
As a way of expressingtheir violent distaste with he-who-shall-not-remain-nameless, Wolf Eyeslaunch into a lengthy, aggressive, speaker-cone obliterating storm ofelectronic noise and senseless junkyard scrap metal percussion.High-pitched squeals and grating, piercing shrieks and monstrousscreams echo through a maelstrom of cheap junk electronics that haveturned against their masters, shooting out showers of sparks andshrapnel that embeds itself into your cranium, sizzling your scalp likehot battery acid. The sweet, putrid smell of protein burns, decayingflesh and cross-wired electrical smoke fuse together, burning nasalpassageways faster than a gram of dirty bathtub crank. A demented,jerry-rigged post-consumer junkyard cyborg lumbers through a dystopianfuture cityscape that resembles what Escape From Detroit mighthave looked like if John Carpenter had ever made such a film. Far inthe distance, contract builders hired by the occupational governmentdrill giant holes in the ground in order to erect a giant rustywatchtower that transmits a 24-hour tinfoil-hate-penetrating brainscramble frequency to keep the street gangs in line. The cold, bitingwind howls and the moon is blotted out by smog that chokes the lifefrom every living thing not equipped with industrial-strength breathingfilters. Sure, this is well-worn territory, and it could be argued thatWolf Eyes don't stray too far from the imperatives first set in motionby Throbbing Gristle and their ilk more than 25 years ago. However,Wolf Eyes are very good at negotiating this territory. Their noiseassaults are narrative in their scope, building fascinating dramas fromjunk electronics, air raid sirens, homemade distortion boxes and otherassorted stuff. Though there is, obviously, a dark streak of nihilismrunning through the sounds on Fuck Pete Larsen, there is alsoan atmosphere of a few guys having a lot of fun making a big, scaryracket. It's this punk-rock attitude and playfulness that has earnedthem a place in the Sub Pop roster (not to mention their morestructured, rhythmic work on Burned Mind). I'd be lying if Iclaimed there was anything particularly unique about this album overmany of the other limited LPs, cassettes and CD-Rs by this veryprolific band, but it does the job nicely, and sometimes that's all youcan ask for.
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- Chris Roberts
- Albums and Singles
Lexicon
Most of the compositions on his first two records,though nothing like the jams he used to spin, had recognizablebreakbeats and vaguely similar song structures to the very music Broderwanted to abandon. On his third effort and first on Lexicon, he makes aclean break, coming very close to making a pop record. 10th Avenue Freakoutstill displays Broder's talent as a sound collagist—the album'sthirteen tracks are simply brimming with patchworks of differentnoises: horns, woodwinds, blips, beeps and even the stray turntable.The arrangements are alternately sparse and low key and cacophonouslybusy, providing the perfect backdrop for Broder's pleasantly thin,reedy voice that takes the stage when it needs to, but sometimes fadesinto the sea of noises and becomes just another pleasurable sound. Therecord starts off strong. "Can You Believe It?" subtly layers organsand strings over a distorted broken drum and ends with hornsflourishing. Broder's songwriting is strongest on "We're Winning," anapocalyptic warning that is nearly lost in the staccato backbeat.Unfortunately, nowhere on the record do Broder's lyrics and music workbetter together. While 10th Avenue Freakout is more accessible andeasier to hum than anything Broder has done before, the end resultfeels like two distinct entities vying for attention at the expense ofthe other. In the end, the music wins, and 10th Avenue Freakout is the better for it. Broder is capable of beautiful harmonizing, and 10th Avenue Freakoutis full of bizarrely wonderful duets. He is probably the only person onearth who can make a song out of a telephone call, white noise and acar-wreck and actually do it well. And his lyrics aren't worthless—he'swonderfully charming to listen to, especially when his soft tenor emitscouplets like "and as for today/ I've had sneezes with much more tosay/ with tiny little novels in every fleck of snot." 10th Avenue Freakoutwill never be mistook for The Postal Service, but that doesn't detractfrom Broder's accomplishment: a uniquely charming and sonicallychallenging record.
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- Lucas Schleicher
- Albums and Singles
Mute
A quick glance at the tracklisting will reveal the obvious; there have been plenty of singles, 7"records, compilation recordings, and soundtrack appearances from NickCave and the Bad Seeds since they formed in 1983. Another glance willreveal that there's more to this release than just those b-sides orone-off recordings. The inclusion of radio session tracks, unreleasedalternate takes, tribute album songs, and altogether previously unheardpieces have made the near impossible journey of finding all these songsfar easier than it would've been previously. Though I love Nick Caveand the Bad Seeds, I own very few singles by them and have been lesscompelled to go looking for the odd appearances that pop up here andthere (a Neil Young tribute album, the X-Files soundtrack, etc.) and sothis release makes complete and total sense. The first two discs areespecially captivating because they contain roughly 35 tracks ofmaterial I've never had the chance to hear before. Not included aresolo Cave pieces nor Cave guest appearances with other bands (with theexception of "Time Jesum Transeuntum Et Non Riverentum," which wasrecorded with The Dirty Three and "hidden" on the X-Files soundtrack),but that only makes sense seeing how this is billed as a Bad Seedsrelated release. B-Sides from each era of the band's history isrepresented on all three discs, up to and including material recordedduring the Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheussessions. There are raw, maniacal, and completely unhinged songssituated next to some of Cave's signature slow and brooding ballads,but the roughly chronological order of the tunes never sounds toouneven or haphazard. Many of the songs sound as though they belong toone another; "Blue Bird" and a cover of Neil Young's "Helpless" sitbeautifully beside each other before the rough and rumbling "God'sHotel" annihilates the peace and calm of those performances and theentire "What a Wonderful World" single rolls out gently enough, but isthen torn to shreds by an excellent acoustic version of "Jack theRipper." There is a version of "Where the Wild Roses Grow" with BlixaBargeld singing Kylie Minogue's part, a version of "What Can I GiveYou?" with new lyrics, a surprisingly excellent version of "Red RightHand" with Barry Adamson, new orchestral arrangements, and new lyrics,and many other stand-outs all over each disc. The third CD is dividedbetween outtakes and b-sides from The Boatman's Call, No More Shall We Part, and Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus.While this material is less interesting to me than the music on thefirst and second CDs, it is nice having all the songs from the singlesthat were released during that time, as well as a couple extras thatinclude the song "I Feel So Good," which was used for Martin Scorsese'sdocumentary about the blues. There is a wealth of material on thistriple disc set that will be valuable to all but the most obsessive ofcollectors. Even those collectors will find plenty to be happy about.For people like me, this is an outstanding collection of songs that Imay never have had the chance to hear otherwise.
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Followers of Michael Gira's storied career might have anticipated his latest work with The Angels of Light as a natural reduction of his emotional approach to songwriting to its most basic form.
- Jonathan Dean
- Albums and Singles
After the great digital reissues of Judee Sill's legendary pair of 1970s albums on Rhino Handmade last year, and the superb vinyl facsimile editions on 4 Men With Beards, the Water label puts the icing on the cake with this outstanding double-disc set containing, among other things, Judee's never-before-released third album Dreams Come True.
Low-fidelity versions of these songs—studio recordings that would have comprised Judee's follow-up to 1973's Heart Food—have been floating around for years on bootleg cassettes and file-sharing services. Water went the extra mile, however, recruiting indie superstar and self-professed Judee Sill fanatic Jim O'Rourke to complete the mix on these eight tracks and make them into a proper album. O'Rourke could not have been a better choice for this task, not only because of his obvious love for Sill's music but also because of his production acumen, and that crisp, high-fidelity 1970s rock sheen that characterizes his production work for Sonic Youth, Wilco and others, which perfectly imitates the Laurel Canyon sound of Judee's first two LPs. Comparing these newly mixed versions with the bootlegs, it is clear that O'Rourke has done an excellent job delineating each instrumental track, deftly underscoring Judee's vocals and the soaring church choir backup. Other than bolstering the fidelity of the songs, O'Rourke seems to have pretty much stayed out of sight, showing the proper respect to his idol's work. These eight songs were composed when Sill was convalescing after a series of drastic back operations, and while they are not nearly as strong as the material on her pair of classic LPs, they are still quite impressive. Mystical Christianity is still her main lyrical obsession, and these songs deal with her physical and spiritual pain through uplifting, hopeful lyrics about transcendence, transfiguration and resurrection. A clear emphasis on eschatological themes—songs like "Apocalypse Express" and "The Good Ship Omega"—make this brief, final album very haunting, especially in light of Judee's tragic and untimely death by accidental or intentional heroin overdose. Despite these dark undercurrents, all the indicators on these songs point to hope and spiritual vivacity, especially the opener "That's the Spirit," a rollicking number on piano in which Judee is joined by churchly voices in a resounding hymn to the ascendancy of the soul. "Til Dreams Come True" is another winning song, this time a slower ballad with cryptically beautiful religious symbolism throughout the lyrics: "Assembling a dream/And in each one a manger is seen/Where the dark by the spark is redeemed/While milk through the firmament streams/Over all we do/'Til dreams come true." In addition to demo versions of a few of the songs on the album, this generous package also contains a second disc which collects rare demos, outtakes and home recordings, including a marvelous solo piano performance by Sill ("Oh Boy the Magician"), combining her love for Bach and Mahler with the light jazz and pop idiom that informed the majority of her songwriting. Also included is a 15-minute Quicktime video of Judee performing a live set of her best songs outdoors at a California university in 1973. It's a real treat to have this rare material collected in one place, even despite the understandable technical limitations of much of it. The packaging is also exemplary, containing a massive 68-page booklet filled with insights and interviews with those closest to Judee, as well as extensive biographical information and rare photographs. Dreams Come True is a lovingly rendered tribute to a marginal but extraordinary artist, and it's the one to beat for makers of deluxe reissues and box sets. -
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- Andrew Culler
- Albums and Singles
This is the second collaboration between these two iconoclasts, the first being last year's too-short Tinnitus Vu: the duo's hiss-laden meditation on hearing loss and the dynamics of sound after sound stops.Tocsin works within a similar sound palette, becoming a longer group of compositions that are also more minimal. Tinnitusfeatured conceptually efficient sonic pile-ups: alienating meshes ofcrisp percussive noodling and phantom piano, reorganized digitally byZ'ev to the level of sonic negation, the music itself slipping behind aveneer of white noise emptiness. Tocsin again finds Jackmanbehind the piano and Z'ev operating some resonant steel instrument, butthe playing, even after the individual artist mixes (Z'ev for the firstseven tracks, "-6" through "0," and Jackman for the final "1" and "2"),feels like more of a trade-off: a see-saw between two more distinctvoices. An unhurried atmosphere prevails; the musicians content tomeander through what feels more like an impromptu jam session thananything else: Z'ev winding out steely, gong-like drones as Jackmanlets his chords fall in a determined and mournful slowness. Both thelength of these sessions and their haphazard result strike me as veryatypical of Organum, but it is admittedly pleasing to hear Jackman inan environment where not every second counts. The recording itself alsofeels immediately more intimate than the prior collaboration orJackman's work as a whole. It has been consciously edited with bits ofthe duo chatting amidst a prevailing amount of tape hiss that sounds atfirst like the by-product of poor equipment but which evolves intoprecise and manufactured intervals. Z'ev's tracks especially utilizethe tape sound to flesh out an ironic foreign quality in theinstrumental dialogue, freeing it from a real time perception. Hestretches Jackman's piano into echoed calls and distant moans,entwining along a cascade of scraped, rubbed drones and hollow chorusesof soothing feedback. This is the least abrasive music I've heard fromZ'ev, lacking any percussive punch or even the textural maneuverabilityof Tinnitus. Organum's two private mixes are much less complex,the first almost 15 minutes of barren piano sketches with perfectlydistant gong-like decays matching the piano's desperate march forward.Jackman's second and final track is almost identical, untreated pianoup-front with untreated metal washes this time in slow and gentlecrescendo until both drift into silence. If anything here comes closestto replicating the original performances it is Jackman's section,beautifully recorded and a real pleasure despite its one-dimensionalityand its relative inconsistency with the artist's successes to date.While not a benchmark in the history of either artist, Tocsinallows a view of both moving in slightly different currents than theyare accustomed, and the disc is important despite the lack of a moreconcise collaborative product. It's nice also to see that Die Stadt iscontinuing to press reasonably priced Organum CDs; hopefully this willcontinue. samples:
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- Jim Siegel
- Albums and Singles
This concept mini-CD accurately represents its subject, massiveplane/boat hybrids known as ekranoplanes, in sound. Dmitri Della Faille(Szkieve)'s passion for his material is evident on this 22 minutehomage to, and study of, these anomalies of Russian scientifictechnology. The opening "Le Songe de R.E.A." evokes an ominous mood,conjuring up images of the metal beast preparing for take off. Sharp,shrill electronic tones and analog synthesizer miasma cut through thesounds of slowly chiming bells. "Le S.M. 2P" focuses on whirring andchugging sounds that recall those made by an engine working to keep thelarge entity afloat or aflight. The cycling rhythmic patterns andsteady moaning tones of "Le K.M." mimic the steady flight of thevehicle soaring through the air as a plane. "L'Orlyonok" gathers thevarious strands presented in the shorter tracks into a piece that seemsto be a musical response to the other tracks. This is the only trackthat features beats and a melodic theme running through it. "Le Lun"perfectly captures the feeling of a plane that was once steadily flyingat a fixed altitude suddenly dropping as it prepares for landing. Forthe first three of its four and a half minutes the persistent sound ofthe vessel sailing through the sky is realized by the sound of oneloud, all-encompassing drone. As the sound fades out gradually duringthe last minute it reveals layers of engine hum and the pitter patterof various working parts. In creating such a vivid aural description ofhis subject, Della Faille presents a full experience in a short amountof time. Although this is a 3" CD, the tracks don't feel incomplete.Instead, Ekranoplanesis the musical equivalent of a short film, and is successful on severallevels. As a tribute, it forms enough of a picture to be directlyconnected to the subject, yet it allows the listener enough space toplace the story in any setting the imagination can invent.samples:
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- Jonathan Dean
- Albums and Singles
Wabana
I'm not exactly sure why Wabana decided to forgo reproducing theoriginal sleeve artwork and liner notes, but I suppose it's the musicthat matters most, and all three of these discs reissue highly soughtafter titles, so it's hard to complain. This untitled live album bySunburned is only one out of a veritable storm of limited CDs, LPs,CD-Rs, DVD-Rs and other ephemora released by the ensemble, all ofwhich, if I'm not mistaken, are recorded live. I confess that I'm noteven close to having heard everything, but I can say withoutreservation that this is one of the best out of the handful that I haveheard. It's far better and more focused than meandering, shambolicaffairs like Headdress and Magnetic Drugs, more on a par with the fiery intensity of my favorite SBHOTM album Jaybird.Because all Sunburned music is the product of improvisation andspontaneity—a free jazz ensemble that plays on the collective memory ofwhite jam-band psychedelia rather than black blues—their performancesand albums are hit or miss. It is precisely this air of risk andunpredictability that I suspect has won the band such a devoted cultfollowing, and made them the darlings of The Wire's criticalintelligentsia. Indeed, it can be satisfying to hear a mess thisunstructured, aimless and chaotic gradually coalesce into coherence, asthe ensemble locates a hypnotic groove and chases it to its naturalconclusion. As usual, this recording is not a crystalline example ofcrispness and fidelity, and there is a lot of the reverb, distortionand room sound that have become de rigeur for Sunburned recordings.This seems to be an intentional part of the Sunburned aesthetic,however, and it adds another level of interest to the music itself,which might not have the same subterranean atmosphere of vague menacewithout it. The first of the four untitled tracks on the album takes aqueue from Agartha-era Miles Davis, with an overdrivenKraut-funk bassline forming the backbone for searing horn bleats anddusty clouds of fuzz guitar. The second track is an extended meditationon war, in the general tradition of Sun Ra's "Nuclear War," with thelead vocalist repeatedly shouting the key three-letter word as the restof the ensemble form a complex web of echoplexed tribal drumming,flutes and weaving saxophone. The fourth and final track contains over18 minutes of some of SBHOTM's oddest music yet, a series of twitchy,nervously sexual conversations between voice and brass, drums anddrone. Sunburned seem to hint at the kind of high magickal ritualachieved by Can's "Aumgn," but there is a seething undercurrent ofapocalyptic dread that keeps things from getting too blissed out, justin case you might have been lulled into the mistaken notion thatSunburned Hand of the Man are peaceful hippies, instead of the hardcorethugs they really are.
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- Administrator
- Albums and Singles
Followers of Michael Gira's storied career might have anticipated his latest work with The Angels of Light as a natural reduction of his emotional approach to songwriting to its most basic form.
Gone are the instrumental passages and long, orchestrated songs that build and explode and then fade only to build again and pummel the listener. Gone (or at least greatly reduced) are the images of death and blood and fire and the stark, unflinching colors with which Gira has chosen to paint over the years. Instead, this record, which may sound from the title like it should be an album full of cover tunes, is a quiet, acoustic homage to "other people" as disparate as Michael Jackson, Saddam Huessein, and Gira's band mates. The sonic reductionism gives The Angels of Light a chance to strip down to bare banjos and guitars, strings, and a chorus of voices courtesy of the Akron/Family, and lets the words stand at the center of a dark stage under an uncomfortable spotlight. Of course the danger with Gira stripping away the layers of instrumentation and accompaniment is that we are pushed ever closer to the man himself, and towards his dark, creaky voice and all of the terrors it feels compelled to spill. After years of seeing Gira live, listening to his records and reading his books, I'm not sure I want to be this close and that's what makes the record so hard to take. Though this is a very different Angels of Light record, Gira's dark lyrical wit and emotional directness are as in tact as ever. He shifts in and out of different characters, but his voice remains clear and focused with little variation other than extremes of spooky-quiet and spookier-loud. In this new and more intimate setting backed by out-of-tune pianos and folksy vocal chants, Gira's limited vocal range actually becomes a distraction, causing the songs to blend together in a creepy half-sung, half-spoken haze. He channels his best Lou Reed during "The Kid is Already Breaking," and erupts into a rage (well, as raging as the Angels of Light ever get) on "Michael's White Hands," and by the third or fourth time through, the record leaves me feeling claustrophobic and anxious. After a while, it becomes impossible to tell when he's paying homage and when he's vilifying, though perhaps that ambiguity is the result of reading too much into these songs that are as simplified as can be. At this point in his career, Michael Gira is no longer building a fan-base or making friends with his music, and with this album it's clear that he's not simply handing out easy retreads to those who have followed him through the years. Fortunately for him, he's still doing creative work in distilling the essence of his sound and life into a kind of concentrated musical bullion. Unfortunately for me, the result is a little overwhelming making the record one for which I have little taste.
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