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The most recent evidence of the enduring peculiarity of the humancondition comes in the form of this collection of on-air sermons by theself-proclaimed "Reverend" Lester Knox of Tifton, Georgia. Lester Knoxis a radio personality of questionable religious pedigree, but withenough hootin' n' hollerin' holy-ghost ferocity to more than compensatefor his lack of Biblical acumen. Knox was something of an eccentric whofelt his message was important enough to buy airtime, out of pocket,every week for more than 18 years to broadcast his demented God-typemessage to Southern Georgia, despite his rather noticeable speechimpediment. Recorded straight off the airwaves between the years of1982 and 1992 by cult rocker Tom Smith (of To Live and Shave in LA), Put Your Face in Gwodoffers 71 minutes of the more unhinged moments of Knox's broadcasts.The recording quality varies from endearingly low-fi to annoyinglyshitty, but Lester Knox still comes through loud and clear, deliveringhis hellfire-and-brimstone message of sweaty-toothed allegiance to thespirit in the sky. Knox is frequently joined in the studio by arevolving cast of blithering hayseeds, powhitetrash and hill people,many of whom are invited to warble a gospel number or two, and theirperformances give new meaning to the term neo-primitive. Astutelisteners of The Incredible String Band will recognize "The World IsNot My Home" as the coda to "Ducks on a Pond." Many of these gospeltunes are in the classic repertoire of devotional folk hymns, asdocumented in Harry Smith's Anthology of Folk Music, but you'renever heard them like this. Unorthodox guitar tunings and hilariouslyoff-key vocals contribute to the real-people/outsider feel of thismaterial. But Knox himself is the main attraction, whooping wildly andfeverishly whipping up religious fervor: "Amen, I FEEL the power ofGOD! Somebody is in this radio station besides us! Do you HEAR me outthere in radioland?" A chorus of measured amens from the in-studioflock can be heard throughout the disc. Despite this apparent support,at times, Knox seems to be suffering from severe bipolar mood swings;howling and speaking in tongues one minute, quietly crying andbemoaning his own frustrated existence the next. One particularlyfragile segment has Knox desperately yelling vain threats of divineretribution to whatever imp is making the lights go on and off in thestudio during his broadcast: "Somebody in here is a-messin' with thislight, goin' off and on...You mess with a man of God, and God'll knockyou down! Do you hear me, women and men?" Put Your Face in Gwodis everything I could possibly want from an outsider document;simultaneously funny and sad, bizarre and charming, completely unhingedyet utterly human.
- "This World Is Not My Home" (Mar 83; exact date unknown)
- someone in the station - moses - heeeeee! (4 Oct 92)
- messin' with this light - tongues (24 Feb 91)
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Signed to Mogwai's Rock Action Records overseas, this unique projectfrom Chris Mack finally sees the shelves of the US, where listeners maynot be guite prepared for this brand of Scottish nigh-bluegrass.Nevertheless, Mack has crafted an easy to listen to thirteen tracks,about half instrumental, that approach a burgeoning awakening, and anew style along with it. Itwould be absolutely gorgeous if more Scottish bands latched on to thisstyle and went for it, starting a new craze. So far Scotland has onlyhad very limited genres to offer to the rest of the world: bagpipes,bland pop music, blistering instrumental rock, or the twee-ness ofBelle and Sebastian. There have been others, but these are the onlyones I can think of that actually went anywhere. Personally, I thinkindie Scottish twang could take off rather quickly with James OrrComplex as a leader. Here is their platform: Chris Mack is an amazingguitar player, like Django Reinhardt good, and people would gather frommiles around just to see his pickin' and grinnin' (reports of himactually grinnin' could not be confirmed at press time — it is Scotlandafter all). Second, the songs are fairly minimalist in their approach,and extremely catchy. "Mouthpiece" is a brilliant song, about drinkingand needing someone else to talk for you, and it makes anyone want totap their toes. Lastly, the songs contain lyrics that would go downwith any bluegrass or country fan: the pursuits of the downtrodden.There is some positivity, but for the most part the songs outline ageneral force out to get the little man, with titles like "HappyAdversary" and "Fade Grey to Fade Blue." In the event that it doesn'ttake off, no matter. Just leave it to the James Orr Complex and let itride, because these guys have got it all. -
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It's rather hard to believe that a Tony-winning actor can record an album of indie rock this affecting and heartfelt, but that's exactly what Michael Cerveris manages. A featured actor in several successful musicals, including Hedwig and the Angry Inch and Assassins, for which he got the Tony, Cerveris is probably more known for that vocation, and less known as the lead singer of the band Retriever. Along the way in his career, he has also performed with Pete Townshend and Bob Mould on albums and tours. All of these experiences inform his debut solo album, a global-jaunt recording project with all the musician friends he's made over the years. And where his vocal stylings onstage are more presentational, on these songs he sings from the heart more than from the lungs and diaphragm.Low Heat
It's almost typical troubadour stylings at first: let the music and the imagery do the talking, but understate the vocals. Surprising, given Cerveris' other job, and the soaring notes he presents there. Then, "SPCA" hits, and everything changes. There's bombast, there's agression, and there's projection of a pure emotional state. The song is a moment that defines the record, even though there's nothing else like it to be found. While some might call this a "break-up" record, and "SPCA" certainly supports it — as do other songs — the vinettes here have a more general view on love, as well as feelings on other subjects. Sometimes it's outside looking in, sometimes it's after the fact looking back, sometimes it's before the first kiss; and sometimes the imagery is too heavy-handed, too saccharine to handle. When Cerveris hits on all levels, though, it might be necessary to stand back. One part that confuses me: there are actually twelve tracks on the CD, and they are all listed in the liner notes, though the back of the CD only lists ten. These are not "hidden tracks" in the typical sense, then, and the music in both don't actually seem to fit with the rest of the record, though "Eleven" is one of the best tracks on it. Why Cerveris wanted to keep these somewhat a mystery is part of the puzzle, I guess, and the next piece could be the one that brings it all into focus.
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On this second album from the former D Generation frontman he provesthat his debut was not a fluke, and even betters it wherever possible.Maybe it's the fact that he produced it himself, or maybe because hedistanced himself from Ryan Adams on this release more, but Malin'ssongs have more power, more flavor, and definitely more presence thanbefore. This may also be attributed to the stellar guests thatcontribute, from Eli Janney of Girls Against Boys to formerReplacements and Guns N' Roses bassist Tommy Stinson. Where his lastrecord concentrated on self-destruction, this record seems to centermore on self-healing through sympathy. Malin reaches out to himself andto others on this record with equal strength, much in a way ofidentification, but also as a cry for help so that he doesn't go downalone. Anchoring it all is a sometimes plaintive, sometimes gale windforce of country-fed rock, with Malin's unique voice front and center.He's always been adept at telling stories, and this record is nodifferent, with tales of beauties and delinquents alike, successful ornot. There are concerns about the way our country is going intermingledwith the story of the girl who left a mark, and there's never a jarringmoment. Malin does rely a bit too much on couplets in his songs, and itdoes annoy after a while, but the quick rhymes are all part of hisappeal. Where Springsteen was all about songs for and chronicling theworking man, Malin's are for and about the freaks and castaways, thelate night lounge lizards and the men who dress up in their mother'sclothes. The beautiful thing is that there is no judgment in his words:he simply presents things as they are, and with a quasi-endearmentwhich embraces while it informs. Already more successful solo than heever was in a band, Malin is proving to be one of the new rock and rollpoets, whether he likes it or not. The Heat is on, all the time, and the streets are ripe with more to tell. -
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The intentions could also have been to pursue the art of songcraft as intensely as their craft of building instruments themselves. While it opens with the powerful "Die Interimsliebenden" and closes with the cacophonous 15 minute "Headcleaner," nearly everything contained between is a demonstration of a group using an amazing amount of restraint unwitnessed before. "Blume" is a gorgeous lullaby, rich with powerful imagery and the gentleness of a feather. On the original Mute release it's in English with vocals by Anita Lane, but on this reissue, the French version appears with vocals by Diana Orloff. Despite the swap, the mood isn't different, but it is a weird thing to hear after being used to the other version being there for so long. Blixa's voice is tame here and elsewhere on the creeping buzzing "12304 (te Nacht)," and moderately paced "Sie," and quietly whispered on the gorgeous orchestral "W?te." After years of mastering the amplification and recording of springs, taps, and other quiet noises, it seems appropriate to utilize some of these techniques on an almost inaudibly quiet voice. While it ushered in new movements to Neubauten's music, the vigor wasn't completely left behind, as the album ends on the four movement mini symphony of noise, "Headcleaner," opening like a horror movie, evil and foreboding, and eventually giving in to the relentless bashing and pounding of metallic and electronic percussion under the now signature screeches from Blixa. The bonus disc opens with a shortened English version of "Die Interimsliebenden," condensed with more harmonic guitars and synth layers, perhaps created with the goals of a hit single in mind, but it simply doesn't feel right in English, and with the additional instruments, the gripping pulse is somewhat reduced. "Salamandrina," which has become a popular live track, is a wonderful singalong, and has always confused me why it didn't appear on the album in the first place. "3 Thoughts" is an English reconstruction of "Sie," and the English and Japanese versions of "Blume" appear, while the disc ends with the fast-paced (but somewhat forgettable) upbeat singalong "Ubique Media Daemon." The important meat remains the first disc and listening now, 11 years after its original release, it has stood every test of time, sounding completely undated and equally as challenging as it was on its release.
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It's because of this rapid growth spurt that the music is that of a band trying to find their sound. From the beginning, however, it's clear that compromise isn't something the band wanted to do: they weren't going to make music within rigid pop structures nor were they going to make their songs more commercially accessible outside of Germany by singing in English. For the first few tracks from 1980, Neubauten actually sounded like a punk group completely disillusioned with the empty promises of punk: traditional rock instruments like drums, guitar and bass were used to make the noises, but these weren't songs written with the pop template as most 1970s punk actually did. Rhythms pound as Blixa shouts over wailing guitar effects and a pulsing bass on "Fuer den Untergang" and its B-side, "Tan-Ze-Dub," unfortunately mastered from a record. Electronic drills and other unconventional toys and electronics trickle into the mix with each track but at the time—this early in EN's developmental stage—sound effects are still being used more for decoration than composition. This is, of course, until FM Einheit joins in 1981. In 1981, with the addition of Hacke on guitar, it's almost as if the band became both more of a rock band AND were able to use their signature metal, drills, and everything else and the kitchen sink as an integral piece of the rhythm backbone. The aggression drives much of the music until the arguable climax of this disc, the epic 9+ minute track with Lydia Lunch, "Thirsty Animal," with a patiently drawn out rhythmless opening of their groundbreaking homebuilt pipe machine. Everything drops out after more than two minutes in for a restrained beat backing Lydia's forceful vocals, mixed low enough to force any listener paying attention to raise the levels, pushing that hypnotic drum pattern to unavoidable levels. Gritty guitars are matched with screeching sound effects, backwards noises, and a brief vocal appearance from Blixa. Unfortunately "Thirsty Animal" and its B-side "Durstiges Tier" are mastered from records but it doesn't make the music any less intense. While this compilation is undoubtedly essential to all EN fans, I would honestly recommend newbies to get some of the more monumental albums first, because I can guarantee Kalte Sterne will eventually make it into the collection.
samples:
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Kranky
I always like knowing that Mark Nelson is involved in a new album. Whether he's involved in Labradford, in a collaboration with another musician, or is writing music as Pan?American, Nelson's compositions always come as welcome, quiet, and warm embraces. Quiet City, his fourth Pan?American album, is a much different recording than 2003's The River Made No Sound
, but it maintains the calm and pacifying sound that has permeated all of Nelson's projects from the beginning. Alongside rainy pulses and misty keyboard flourishes are the seductive sounds of an upright bass, guitar, trumpet, and flugelhorn. Their presence in Nelson's writing only adds to the spaciousness of the songs; they never make the electronic peace too busy nor do they take away from rattle and wash of the near sub-conscious percussion. The entire record moves together like a creeping cloud, but there are standouts that can't go without mention. The 9-minute engagement that is "Wing" plays like a waterfall easing in slow motion towards an unending abyss. Its harmonious ring of low and subtle keyboards, tribal dub-rhythms, and erratic scratches and pops was intoxicating enough to keep me pressing the back button a few times before I was willing to move to the song. The folk-like "Inside Elevation" bares a fragile guitar that slow-steps in and out of a near-accordian complement and blends into the suprising and pleasing "Skylight." The opening is remiscient of deserts and folk-music to me, but the heart of the song is band-centered and has a certain nobility to its organization and melody. When I say band-centered I mean that there is a definite drummer, guitar, voice, and bass arrangement, but it is accompanied by what sounds like a full brass orchestra and Nelson's consistently supple electronics. Song after song is a relaxing and simple relief from the any and everything that is busy. While I expected this much from Nelson, what caught me off guard was how well-written every one of these songs are. The songs on here aren't just epic forays into estranged sound, they're pieces of melodic silk that breathe and twitch with a human likeness. A casual listen to a song like "Het Volk" will reveal exactly what I'm talking about. The poppy and child-like keyboard sounds grace along like a classical composition while the the flugelhorn plays like some slow jazz on a lamp-lit street corner. The combination is irresistable. This is the way that the electronic and acoustic combination should be done. After a while I wasn't even conscious of the fact that there were different elements being used. The product of their masterful fusing is greater than the parts being fused.
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Matt Waldron's music as Irr. App. (Ext.) covers a spectrum from hallucinatory and intricate strings of sound that are broadcast from the universe of the wacky to found-sound recordings that share spaces with crunching glass, odd-ball vocal samples, and gorgeous guitar. Ozeanische Gef?le, however, comes as a complete surprise. Rooted in the experiments, philosophy, and beliefs of Wilhelm Reich, the term "ozeanische gef?le" translates, roughly, as "oceanic feelings." This term is wonderfully appropriate for the music Waldron has assembled on this recording. The self-titled and 42 minute opener is a consistently hypnotizing blend of bells, wooden drums (I think?), organs, submerged choirs, obscured hums, brushes, crickets, and solar flares. These references and images may seem fanciful, but one listen to the record will reveal that Waldron has somehow recorded life and placed it on a compact disc. Waldron's most exciting and captivating technique is his blending of completely opposite sounds into a whole. No matter how disparate Waldron's sound sources may be (horses trotting on brick roads, a poorly tuned ukulele, wooden boards crashing, rain drops and thunder, there are a ton of sounds I'm sure I'm missing), they sound entirely perfect together. The result is a strangely fascinating organism of living tissue, meterological events, and cosmic birth and death. The music isn't just fascinating though, it isn't just some exercise in academic sound collage. The sounds course and wind into eachother and make a heavenly soft bed out of the air. The combination of bells, buzzes, sonic burps, and resounding echoes is radiant and graceful and never fails to soothe or entertain. The second track, "The Demiurge's Presumption," carries over from the sonic dust of the first 40+ minutes and blows it up to the tune of expanding straws, static electricty, broken springs, and divine presence. There is a constant ring through the track that attempts to obscure the work of a stream of sounds that pulses steadily beneath it. On the whole, the final track is a much more dense affair than "Ozeanische Gef?le," but it is a fitting end to the quiet sanctuary that much of this album is. It fades away into silence as a stringed instrument is plucked randomly and softly out of existence. This silence lasts only a few moments before a strange collage of bird sounds, bubble-like distortion, and phased noises lap over and into themselves. As the music flows throughout this album, as it moves away from its center and produces newer sounds and more diversity, it becomes more and more addicting. Waldron is demonstrating another side of his musical personality that had been hidden from view for too long and the resulting musical tide is mind-blowing.
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How the mighty have fallen. Not that Andre Afram Asmar might really be considered mighty, but his last record for Mush was a beautiful mashup of hip-hop and middle eastern instrumentals that worked on any number of levels and preserved a sense of genuine respect for all of the sounds it culled. Enter Circus, the MC who manages to take AAA's production and run it into the ground with half-witted rhymes and a deadpan vocal delivery that recalls a suburban, middle-aged businessperson reciting a 'rap' in some corporate skill-building seminar. The album has a loose theme that revolves around alien abduction, conspiracy theories, and the Bush administration's war-waging in the middle east. Unfortunately, the serious themes and stupid themes are given just about equal billing, but its all played in a straight-faced way to render none of it funny or effective. The beats and samples that Circus drowns out might be worthwhile on their own, but it's impossible to separate the voice from the songs. I'll never quite understand how people who have an ear for quality music and deft MCs can listen to something like Gawd Bless the Faceless Cowards and feel that it's adequate or even fun to listen to. Inane rhymes delivered flatly over beats and samples about UFOs might make for a fun party record amongst friends, but only really close friends who aren't too critical, or who are really drunk. Someone got in the car with me when this record was on and the first question he asked was 'is this a demo someone sent you?' No, but maybe if someone had heard the demo first, they could have steered it somewhere productive. As it is, steer clear.
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1983's Flaming Demonicscomes right at the end of James White's four-year run as the reigningKing Shit of No-Wave Fuck Mountain, and the intervening years have notbeen as kind to this album as they have been to his earlier efforts. Bythis time, White had parted company with The Contortions/Blacks, andthey are sorely missed. For Flaming Demonics, White insteadutilizes an assemblage of studio session players, who, while certainlytalented, are more orthodox in their approach, bringing much of themusic the too-polished veneer of traditional jazz playing. Coming afterthe similarly lackluster Sax Maniac, this album probablysounded a death knell for the artist, evidenced by the fact that hestopped performing and recording not long after its release. Inhindsight, however, the album is not nearly as bad as some haveclaimed, and it contains several tracks that James White converts willfind especially entertaining. The album continues White'sMephistophelian obsession with the diabolism of jazz and funk music,with plenty of lyrical allusions to the selling of his soul and thedemonic possession supposedly evidenced by his serpentine horn blasts.The album opens with "The Devil Made Me Do It," where unnaturalpolyrhythms form an uncomfortable backdrop for staccato swipes ofjangling funk guitar and an abrasively lyrical saxophone dialogue."Rantin' and Ravin'" is an extended rock-bop instrumental, soundingsurprisingly similar to James Brown's early-80's work ("Livin' InAmerica," anyone?). Your reaction to that comparison will no doubtlargely determine your opinion of this material. Things get a littlebetter with a medley of Duke Ellington classics ("Caravan" and "ItDon't Mean A Thing"), which are unceremoniously thrown into the mixwith the White original "Melt Yourself Down.". The whole mess providesnine minutes of ararchic fun, especially the incongruously chaoticelectric organ solo towards the beginning. This reissue includes threebonus tracks, which travel even further down the homogenized, early80's rock-jazz path, veering dangerously close to Huey Lewis and theNews territory. A version of one of my favorite early-60's rock n' rollsongs, Gene Pitney's "Town Without Pity," is a little tooself-consciously "cute" for White, and his head-scratching version leftme wondering about his motives in covering such a classic song. Allgood things must come to an end, alas.
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A recording of a live performance on May 13, 1980, Live Aux Bain Douches is the single best James Chance live album available, eclipsing ROIR's White Cannibal and Soul Exorcismreleases. The recording is far superior to any of the other livematerial I've heard, and the band seem to be fully engaged with thematerial, delivering an energetic set to a wildly appreciate audience.Opening with a unexpectedly searing version of Michael Jackson's "Don'tStop Till You Get Enough," Chance and the band expertly tear through aset comprised equally of raucous funk, sophisticated hard bop andadrenaline-pumped dance music. The creeping forward momentum of "IDanced With A Zombie" is an opportunity for Chance and his horn sectionto showcase their talent for blistering improv, creating interwoventhreads of smoldering brilliance. On a pair of James Brown covers — "IGot You (I Feel Good)" and "King Heroin" — Chance displays his uniqueperspective on the material; on the former, he adds a level of snarlingrockabilly attitude to the perennial Brown favorite; on the latter, heslows down and extends the song into a tortured, emotive blues thatpierces straight to the heart with gut-wrenching power. Switching backinto fast tempo for the final one-two punch of "Put Me Back In My Cage"and "Contort Yourself," Chance hoots and hollers, throwing his entirebody into the performance, as his band throws together a hyperactivearrangement that constantly threatens to upend itself. Live Aux Bain Douchesclearly manifests a confident ensemble, fully in control of theirtalent, delivering a blazing set unparalleled in the annals ofpost-punk. My only complaint is that I wasn't there to witness theperformance firsthand.
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