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This second studio album from the wonderful union of Chris Carter, Cosey Fanni Tutti, and Nik Void is a bittersweet affair, as the trio have announced that it will be their final release. I dearly wish that was not the case, as this beloved project never quite reached its full potential. That said, Triumvirate does display some significant evolution since 2015's f(x) though, as Chris Carter's grooves have never been more vibrant or dynamically inventive. Characteristically, however, the trio's songwriting efforts essentially begin and end with that achievement, so almost none of these six pieces ever fully transcend the feeling of a jam (though they are certainly tightly edited jams). That incredibly constrained aesthetic continues to frustrate me, as Triumvirate's narrow focus on repeating that formula with slight variations unavoidably yields diminishing returns regardless of how delightfully explosive and kinetic that formula can be. As such, Triumvirate essentially offers a welcome and somewhat more dancefloor-focused repeat of the project's previous pleasures, yet misses the chance to go out with something a bit more memorable and extraordinary.
For better or worse, it cannot be said that Carter Tutti Void are inconsistent, as the project's fundamental template has not wavered much at all over the course of their eight-year existence.Much like the live Transverse and the studio-recorded f(x) before it, Triumvirate is another series of Chris Carter grooves embellished by the pedal-stomping, dual-guitar sorcery of Cosey and Void.The tone of the project, however, is not nearly as static: in hindsight, f(x) now feels like a transitional release in which the clanking and gnarled Gristle grooves of Transverse began to morph into more pulsing and driving fare à la Chris & Cosey/Carter Tutti.With Triumvirate, that transformation is arguably complete, as these six pieces feel like a stripped-down Carter Tutti album swirling with echoing and hallucinatory scrapes and moans.Unfortunately, that transition from shambling industrial soundscapes to taut, sensuous synthpop did not come with a corresponding increase in melodic or harmonic content.As such, Triumvirate feels like a great Carter Tutti album with a very important element conspicuously absent: there are no chord changes (or even chords) and even the most melodic bass lines remain locked in largely unchanging loops.This feels like pop music, but without any verses, choruses, transitions, or sense of ever building towards anything more–each piece is just a single theme that unfolds for six or seven minutes, then stops. The closest thing to an exception is "T 3.5," which features enough of a structured vocal motif to at least feel like a deconstructed dub-version of something that was once a fully formed song.For the most part, however, Carter Tutti Void feel like a trio who brought all their best ideas to a session, yet discovered that an imaginary fourth member (in charge of bringing all of the crucial melodic framework) had to cancel.
For his part, Chris Carter seems impressively hellbent on overcoming that obstacle almost single-handedly and it is his dexterous beat-juggling that makes Triumvirate a compelling listen despite its flaws.In a few cases, his efforts miraculously prove to be enough, as the rhythms in "T 3.2" and "T 3.3" have enough relentless forward momentum and constant dynamic transformation to make me forget that there is not much else happening. The latter is my favorite piece on the album, as Carter deftly adds, subtracts, and alters percussive elements as his throbbing, burbling rhythm barrels relentlessly forward through a maelstrom of groaning metallic and sci-fi-damaged sounds from Tutti and Void.Carter's rhythmic ingenuity goes beyond seamlessly altering cymbal patterns or changing textures though, as the tempo and intensity of the piece organically transform as well, imbuing it with a wonderfully visceral and satisfying arc.The opening "3.2" is a bit less rhythmically nuanced, but it compensates by featuring a burbling sequencer pattern that disappears and reappears throughout its duration.Beyond that, it is also quite a delightfully improbable marriage of stomping, clapping dancefloor thump and spaced-out guitar psychedelia. I am also quite fond of the aforementioned "T 3.5," as it gradually builds from a lurching quasi-industrial crawl to an infectiously fluid and pulsing groove.Moreover, it features some of Void and Tutti's most varied and compelling onslaughts, as the pair unleash a host of strangled bleeps, burned-out riff fragments, shuddering strings, and phantasmal reverberations.I am definitely impressed with the depth and breadth of the sounds those two are able to wrest from their gleefully misused guitars.Not many guitarists could make it through an entire album without running out of interesting scrapes, rattles, and snarls if that was (nearly) the full extent of the palette they allowed themselves.
I should note here that I do genuinely like this album, in case that is not clear from my earlier grumbling.I am always more critical when it comes to artists that I love and watching such artists come maddeningly close to producing a masterpiece is always rough.And I would definitely count Triumvirate as an instance of a missed masterpiece, as there were countless times over the course of the album where I was nagged by the thought that a song could be so much better if there was even something as simple as a chord change.Every single performance on this album is great, but all of that effort would have been so much better spent in service of songs with some hooks or any kind of melodic framework at all.Obviously, time was likely a major issue, as all three artists were working on solo projects (among other things), but it just seems like such a missed opportunity for the swansong of this great project for this to be yet another set of jams rather than something more substantial.On the bright side, at least they are damn good jams–while the broad strokes definitely feel like variations on a very familiar theme, the trio's attention to detail and small-scale textural and dynamic shifts makes for compelling deep listening.Still, I sincerely hope that this is not actually the last time that this trio surfaces, as this project has produced some of the most vital and inspired work from Chris and Cosey in years.Barring a reunion, I will grudgingly settle for Chris Carter bringing this same level of rhythmic intensity to whatever he does next.In any case, this project is going out with a flawless three-album hot streak of strong releases, even if this one exasperatingly brims with the promise of something even greater.
Samples:
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One thing that I have learned time and time again over my years as a Legendary Pink Dots fan is that Edward Ka-Spel's muse is an eternally unpredictable one: wonderful songs can appear anywhere, anytime, and in any shape and high-profile releases are not necessarily always going to be the strongest ones. Nevertheless, The Legendary Pink Dots' recent run of albums on Metropolis has reliably featured some of the band's tightest and most hook-driven songs, which certainly appeals to those fans hoping for a reprise of the band's late '80s/early '90s heyday. I am not sure that I would include myself in that category, as I am quite fond of the band's more hallucinatory and abstract fare, but I do believe that Ka-Spel can be a legitimate pop genius when he is properly inspired and able to rein in his more indulgent tendencies. Happily, this latest release (two years in the making) finds him in especially fine form, offering up an especially concise and focused array of great would-be singles along with some more outré forays into skewed psych-pop experimentation. While I very much enjoyed the more playfully warped side of 2016's Pages of Aquarius, I feel quite confident in stating that Angel in the Detail is the strongest album yet to emerge from the band's Metropolis era.
One of the elements that has always fascinated me about The Legendary Pink Dots is that their albums often feel like dispatches from a world significantly more poetic, magical, and mysterious than the one that the rest of us live in.I have a legitimately difficult time picturing Edward Ka-Spel ever doing something as mundane as standing in line at a post office or buying groceries, as his lyrics seem to come from a twilight realm of permanent sardonic whimsy.Occasionally, however, the outside world becomes insistent enough to bleed into his vision and Angel in the Detail is one such release, though it would be a stretch to view it as political in any conventional sense.Instead, veiled references to current events pass through the prism of Ka-Spel's artistry to emerge as something that feels reassuringly wise and hopeful (even though there is plenty of wryly scathing commentary on falling empires, ugly futures, and the dissolution of genuine human connections).Moreover, Angel in the Detail is often quite a perversely fun album, teeming with propulsive grooves, catchy melodies, and playfully adventurous psych flourishes.In some ways, it feels like The Legendary Pink Dots are throwing a party as the world burns around them, but it would be more apt to state that they are merely maintaining their sense of wonder and joie de vivre as this phase of human history draws to a close and another begins (or does not).
My initial impression was that the album is frontloaded with all of its best songs, but that sense has become increasingly muddled as I listen to it more and more.Still, the first few songs are definitely the ones that feel like the strongest singles.The opener "Happy Birthday Mr. President" is probably the would-be hit of the album, as it is built upon a wonderfully insistent beat and strikes a perfect balance between melody and lysergic production wizardry.Nevertheless, it is the following "Double Double" that feels like the album's liltingly gorgeous centerpiece, approximating a languorously sensual and subtly hallucinatory kindred spirit to Spandau Ballet's "True."Obviously, Ka-Spel and his lyrics are the heart of the piece, but I would be remiss if I did not mention that it would not be nearly as great without Erik Drost's fluid and inspired guitar playing.The band had no shortage of other imaginative and unexpected pop twists saved up for this album though.The most notable example is inarguably the following "Junkyard," which combines a remarkably muscular bass line with a drum machine beat that sounds almost like slowed-down New Jack Swing.Elsewhere, "Neon Calculator" rides a thumping kick drum, jangling guitars, and a burbling synth motif into an impressively tight and danceable maelstrom of deranged noise and sax squall.As much as the album's many ambitious twists delight me, however, the achingly lovely ballad "Itchycoo Shark" comes very close to stealing the album with little more than Ka-Spel's voice and some simple synth arpeggios (and a truly killer chorus).Curiously, it prematurely burns out in a roiling guitar crescendo, then kaleidoscopically segues into a completely different piece ("Isle of Sighs") rather than following through on its initial promise.Nevertheless, it may very well contain the most beautiful and perfect four-minute stretch of the band's career, though I remain perplexed by the decision to mash it together with another piece.
Notably, a similar trajectory occurs with the album as a whole, as the impressive cavalcade of tightly structured, hook-filled songs starts to go off the rails with the sixth song ("My Land/Parallels") and veers into much more eclectic and experimental territory.While I am very much not a fan of the sing-song sixties psych-pop pastiche of "Maid to Measure," the remaining four pieces are quite an interesting mixed bag.The weirder, more extended pieces tend to be the best of the lot, particularly the blooping, seething "My Land" and its hushed, eschatological second act.The closing "Red Flag" is another ambitious delight, unfolding as a wonderfully slow-burning and moody pop song that takes some surreal detours over the course of its eleven minutes (including an especially lovely choral interlude).It makes for an impressively strong and focused finish for an album that seemed like it had started to wander off its path and lose its way.Moreover, it adds one more great song to the pile already amassed earlier.As far as I am concerned, Angel already clears the bar for a classic album by the end of the fifth song, so the occasional flashes of inspiration on the second half are icing on the cake.The Legendary Pink Dots are far too playfully weird, restless, and experimentally minded for me to ever expect an album that fits neatly in my personal vision of a flawless whole, but they offer something better instead: they still manage to surprise and move me after four decades of releasing albums.When Ka-Spel and The Silverman are at their best on Angel in the Detail, the results are as stellar as anything from their purported golden age and that is extremely heartening to hear.With this album, The Legendary Pink Dots feel like a wonderfully reinvigorated band at the peak of their powers.
Samples can be found here.
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For someone who loves drone as much as I do, I have always had a curiously fragile and shifting relationship with Adam Wiltzie's work and it has only become more so since Stars of the Lid stopped releasing albums. Consequently, Wiltzie's first soundtrack album (2016's Solero) slipped by me unheard, though my longstanding apathy towards film scores as albums may have been an even more significant contributing factor. That is unfortunate, as it turns out that composing for film arguably brings out Wiltzie's best: if the understated radiant drones of late-period Stars of the Lid and the deep melancholia of Winged Victory for the Sullen represent the two poles of his artistry, the score for American Woman lies somewhere in the middle and I quite like it there. Amusingly, that makes this album kind of an exasperating release, as the high points sound like the Stars of the Lid album that I have always wanted: bittersweetly lovely, melodic, and simmering with quiet emotional depth. The catch, of course, is that the soundtrack nature of this album means that it is more of a series of brief vignettes rather than a fresh batch of fully formed compositions to get enveloped in. I suspect that is why Wiltzie is only releasing this album digitally, but there are many appealing glimpses of something more substantial and satisfying flickering within this ostensibly minor release.
For the last couple decades, I have been both a passionate cinephile and an obsessive music fan, yet those two worlds perplexingly almost never overlap.Every now and then, however, there is a wonderful exception in which a brilliant composer like Jóhann Jóhannsson, Mica Levi, or Michael Gordon connects with a cinematic auteur equal to their talents and iconic greatness ensues like Under The Skin or Decasia.The majority of experimental/ambient composers who work in film are not nearly that lucky though and tend to wind up either working on obscure shorts and art films or compromising their vision to work on more lucrative projects.With American Woman, Adam Wiltzie does not make the leap into that first pantheon, but he at least achieves the next best thing: getting a high-profile scoring gig in which he gets to sound almost exactly like himself.Given the film's rather tense premise (a teenage girl goes missing and her mom struggles to raise her grandson alone), Wiltzie is not an intuitively obvious choice for the project and there is little about the film's dramatic trailer that suggests it will contain a surfeit of sublime or meditative scenes.Nevertheless, trailers can give very deceptive impressions and Wiltzie's score is a largely a tender, quietly lush, and languorously billowing one.Moreover, the varying tones of the film's scenes draw Wiltzie into a wider emotional palette than I normally expect from his work.Obviously, Wiltzie is no dilettante at conveying the many shades of sadness and longing or conjuring up sun-dappled, beatific drones, but he unexpectedly proves himself to be equally adept at evoking yearning romanticism or bittersweet hopefulness, as well as elegantly amassing darkness and tension.
Unsurprisingly, getting tapped to do soundtrack work for a studio definitely has its perks and provides opportunities that are far outside the reach of most drone/experimental artists.In the case of American Woman, for example, Wiltzie was able to work with an orchestra and a conductor.While I know Wiltzie has done that before, it always seems amusingly excessive to me given how quiet, slow-moving, and understated his work tends to be.It definitely matters in the details though, as there is richness, depth, and nuance to the swelling strings of these pieces that Wiltzie never could have gotten recording at home with a few friends.The most lovely example of that enhanced richness is the almost rapturously gorgeous "Bridget’s Theme," as the warm, slow-moving chords almost feel like sensuous exhalations.Lamentably, it is a very brief piece, but it is still my favorite of the album.There are a handful of other highlights that are a bit more clouded by darkness though.The crescendo of "Search Party," for example, achieves a similarly wonderful cloud-like/exhalation effect, but feels much more haunted and achingly melancholy.Elsewhere, Wiltzie does fine work embellishing his drone-like, slow-motion swells with splashes of color in the form of groaning and churning strings ("The Passage of Time"), roiling noise ("Pre Crash-Post Crash"), and delicately chiming arpeggios ("Night Smoke").I am especially fond of Wiltzie's textural flourishes like that brief eruption of noise in "Crash," as it distances these compositions a bit from standard soundtrack fare, yet the only other significant foray is a quavering, washed-out-sounding interlude in "Scenes From A Daughter's Disappearance."For the most part, American Woman's charm is mostly that it seamlessly approximates the traditional modern soundtrack aesthetic, but subtly slows it down to hint at a dreamlike sense of unreality.
While it undoubtedly bodes well for his career, being able to seamlessly slide into conventional soundtrack territory is not necessarily a winning recipe for crafting a memorable album.If I had seen American Woman, I would not have immediately recognized the music as Wiltzie's nor would I have been sufficiently struck by its subtle differences to linger around to see the composer credit at the end.The other caveat is similarly unavoidable and inherent with nearly all soundtrack albums: it was composed to be a part of someone else's larger work rather than something meant to stand alone, which can be a bit frustrating if I am an Adam Wiltzie fan excited to hear Adam Wiltzie rather than someone who just wants to see a solid movie with an effectively evocative score.While there are a lot of wonderful and promising passages strewn throughout this release, they are teasingly brief, as Wiltzie's task was to concisely set a series of moods rather than flesh out all of his best ideas until they achieve an absorbing and satisfying arc.At its best, American Woman sounds like a good SotL or Winged Victory album that has been smashed into fragments.That certainly has its appeal, but it is not quite as appealing as a good SotL or Winged Victory album that has NOT been smashed into fragments.As such, it is a likable yet modest release that is mostly just for Wiltzie's more devoted fans, though it will likely open some doors for more ambitious future projects down the line.
Samples can be found here.
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Purveyors of contemporary ambient and electronic inspired music, A Winged Victory for the Sullen make a bold return on new album “The Undivided Five”. The pair, made up of Dustin O’Halloran and Adam Wiltzie, have created iconic film scores and forward-thinking ambient groups, releasing a series of game-changing records for Erased Tapes and Kranky. On The Undivided Five they rekindle their unique partnership for only their second piece of original music outside of film, TV and stage commissions, creating an album that channels ritual, higher powers and unspoken creative energies. Their fifth release (following their debut album, two scores and an EP), they embraced the serendipitous role of the number five, inspired by artist Hilma af Klint and the recurrence of the perfect fifth chord.
This album sees them create bold new work built on their foundations in ambient and neoclassical. Since their 2011 self-titled debut, the duo have emerged as part of a much-lauded scene alongside peers like Max Richter, Hildur Guðnadóttir, Tim Hecker and Fennesz.
This album sees them pay greater heed to the small details in their sound than previously, something they say has been encouraged by the move to a new label. It’s been their first opportunity since their debut to create something that’s solely guided by their ideas, and it represented an opportunity to call back to that first outing while also building on the various ways in which they’ve grown. "We understand that times have changed," they say. "We have evolved, but we also didn't want to forget the beginning."
They channel influences such as Debussy, nodded to in the opening track, whose big chords and complicated arrangements inform a lot of their approach – parts that sound simple but require great skill to execute. Likewise, the artist Hilma af Klint – one of the first abstract Western artists – informed their ideas about drawing on spiritual influences to shape their work. "It's like an invisible hand guiding things," they say.
The start of recording sessions for the album were marred by the death of one of their closest friends. Within weeks after the funeral O'Halloran found out that he would be expecting his first child, and it was soon after that a visit to see the art of af Klint brought home a profound realization of life, death, the afterlife, and the spaces in between. She belonged to a group called "The Five," a circle of five women with a shared belief in the importance of trying to make contact with spirits, often by way of séances. This chimed with the duo's unspoken approach to collaboration, and nudged them to return to their writing process centered around the harmonic perfect fifth; the five senses, the divine interval – The Undivided Five.
The album was also shaped by the breadth of locations in which it was created, helping to shape its nuanced sonics. In addition to O'Halloran and Wiltzie's respective Berlin and Brussels studios, the record took shape across six different sites. They recorded orchestral samples in Budapest's Magyar Rádió Studio 22, re-recorded album parts in Brussels' Eglise Du Beguinage's unique, reverb-heavy surrounds (where Wiltzie has performed with Stars of the Lid and, in 2018, organized a tribute concert for Jóhann Jóhannsson), experimented with overdubs in Ben Frost's Reykjavik studio, and recorded grand piano parts in a remote woodland studio in northern Italy. The duo pay close attention to the micro-level of sound, and each of these places was chosen for the qualities which could enrich the finished product. And its in Francesco Donadello's studio in Berlin, where all of the previous AWVFTS material has been mixed, that the album was run through the studio's analog board, binding the record's different parts together.
It was their connection to Jóhannsson which partly shaped the direction of their new album. They were asked to create a remix for him, which he heard before his death in 2018, where they unlocked a new process in terms of how they work. They recomposed the strings, using modular synthesis, old synths and string and piano arrangements, a method they applied to album opener "Our Lord Debussy." "It's about going into the DNA of music and taking different strands," they say.
The album is their debut for Ninja Tune, and comes as change is underway for O'Halloran, moving from Berlin – hence the title of "Keep It Dark, Deutschland" – after a decade in the German capital. He's headed to Iceland, the country where the pair shot their latest press photos and which is an important locale for both of them. The wide-spanning connections which have shaped the record are testament to their deep roots as artists. This album's powerful energy is driven by the deep-rooted bond between them.
More information can be found here.
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Recorded a bit before the last Big Blood slab we released — Operate Spaceship Earth Properly (FTR 385) — The Daughter's Union represents the true introduction of Caleb and Colleen's daughter, Quinnisa as a full member of Big Blood. The Maine-based duo had been using Quinnisa as their secret hard rock weapon for quite a while, so it is gratifying as heck to see her finally get her due!
In their new fully-fledged trio guise, Big Blood puff themselves up like a most splendid glam rock peacock, fairly bursting with readymade-riffs and inspirational high-kicking energy bursts. Initially, this can seem a bit odd, given Big Blood's historical appreciation of bizarre folk-derived textural-psych. But heard in the context of their musical evolution, this move appears as just another roost along a trail that involves a whole lot of mountains and woods, with the occasional meadow-based rock festival stirred into the mix.
By covering tunes by The Troggs and Silver Apples, Big Blood make it abundantly clear their interests are as far from catholic as their influences. Although it also seems that they are able to successfully transmute even the most thumpy-ass high-heel pumping into a move that is draped in moss and mystery.
I can hardly wait to hear their track-by-track cover of Led Zeppelin II. I always thought those songs would sound better sung by an actual woman. Know what I mean? – Byron Coley, 2019
More information can be found here and here.
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Occulting Disk is an anti-fascist ritual. Recorded in Oslo, Reykjavik, Cologne, Berlin and Los Angeles between 2012 and 2019. It is the first Deathprod album to be released since the 2004 album Morals and Dogma. Liner notes by Will Oldham. LP cut by Rashad Becker at D&M, Berlin. Artwork by Kim Hiorthøy and Helge Sten.
"I remember driving over a mountain with my mother, she was in the passenger seat and we were being mauled and cuddled and battered and fried by sound; together. We were together experiencing something previously unimaginable, and we were facing the same direction, and we were moving through space and time knowing that a geographic destination some way ahead would bring an end. And the sound surrounded us, and for once our mutual silence was loaded with good. Because we were in the presence of each other, and we knew so much about how we had failed each other (it wasn’t a mystery any more), and we knew how we had maimed others when we worried too much about ourselves, how we had contributed to the faults of others simply by focusing in instead of out. Our mutual silences were laden with what that could only be called love. I used to hear love in music until I learned to hear love in sound." (Will Oldham)
More information can be found here.
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ZONAL, the brainchild of Justin Broadrick (Godflesh/Jesu/JK Flesh) and Kevin Martin (The Bug/King Midas Sound) present their monumental Relapse Records debut, Wrecked. ZONAL continues where their previous collaboration Techno Animal left off, and combines a brutal ongoing obsession with beats, bass, dub, drone, noise and riff.
Under their new guise, the enigmatic duo push the parameters and atmospheres that have earned them critical acclaim further and deeper; ZONAL's sound has become ever more corrupted, corroded, slower and lower; with the theme of exploring inner/outer space acts as the gelling agent for this shockingly monolithic sound. Anyone who witnessed their sonic destruction and lyrical detonation c/o MOOR MOTHER at both ROADBURN and UNSOUND festivals will not be disappointed by the slo-mo meltdown.
Releases October 25, 2019 on Relapse.
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Boduf Songs' seventh album and first on Orindal Records marks the Ohio-via-Southampton home recording project's most detailed production yet, voyaging into deeper recesses than ever before. Abyss Versions will see the light of day on October 4, 2019.
Mat Sweet, the solitary figure behind Boduf Songs, has spent the better part of fifteen years cultivating an idiosyncratic strain of quiet menace, augmenting library-hushed vocals and brooding guitars with psychedelic flourishes from processed loops, field recordings, and distant, subliminal atmospheres.
Subtly acknowledging Boduf Songs' beginnings, Abyss Versions echoes motifs from the first Boduf Songs album (2005's Boduf Songs on Kranky Records), forming its own secret, circular path, encapsulating the journey from there to here. Sweet's background in doom metal still seeps into the quiet, pensive world of Boduf Songs via mood and tone, balanced by shades of the fingerpicking mysticism of his first four albums. As always, the music of Boduf Songs is steeped in a palpable sense of darkness and dread, offset by a gorgeous and discreet sonic beauty. There is much prettiness here, albeit within an inescapably unsettling frame.
Throughout the album, sonorous melodies mix with the grind of drum machines, esoteric bleeps and bloops, and reversed tape experiments, all in counterpoint to the morphine-addled guitar and grimdark velvet vocals. There are haunting, dreamlike elements, the aching time/no-time uncanny sad-charms of some far off Gene Vincent/Chet Baker number never recorded from an alternate Lynchian universe. Sounds emerge into the light then fade back into the darkness as repetition and hypnotic drone play against the movement. Forward and upward, we move without moving.
Abyss Versions is full of love, and the expanse of things outside of us, the slow, elegiac stir of echoes, the mixed blessing of memory, the sensation of rot and longing. A letting go. A refusal to let go. The static that carries you off, the swell of feeling that is delicately tuned away, the whisper of consciousness, snuffed gently out. An opium dream, curling smoke spiraling into the blackness of a dimmed room's ceiling, meditations on mortality and the void for those who travel by night.
Releases October 4, 2019 on Orindal Records.
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Clarice Jensen is a composer and cellist based in Brooklyn, NYC. As a versatile collaborator, Jensen has recorded and performed with Jóhann Jóhannsson, Stars of the Lid, Owen Pallett, Max Richter and numerous others. As the artistic director of ACME (the American Contemporary Music Ensemble), brought to life some of the most cherished works of modern classical music, including pieces by Philip Glass, Steve Reich, Terry Riley, Gavin Bryars, Dustin O’Halloran, and more.
Jensen now follows her debut album For This From That Will Be Filled with Drone Studies, highlighting Jensen’s improvisational prowess, venturing even deeper into the meditative mire but with more organic, naturally expressive air.
"The Organ that Made You Bleed" presents a succinctly striking suite that opens in medias res, awakening in a howling chorus of disembodied tones. This tragic ocean of estranged sound ebbs and flows, almost unnoticeable growing in a swell of hymnal hysteria. The calmly chaotic frenzy soon gives way into a layered composite of deep drones and tidal textures. Hopeful harmonies clash with eerie dissonance, suggesting the deeply human balance between darkness and lightness. It’s a magnum opus told in a sequence sketches, and each new turn is a cavern of radiant resonance.
"One Bee" perfectly foils the A-side with an insomniatic interplay of pure tones and richly repetitive cello phrases. The piece begins as a blank canvas, simultaneously empty and brimming with potential. One by one, solitary tones reveal themselves in the foreground until forming a small choir of complementary combinations. This beautifully odd ritual plays out in slow motion as Jensen’s cello performs a tight loop of emotionally expressive notes.
Taken as a whole, Drone Studies a harrowing set of deep listening that uncovers new gifts with each repeated listen.
More information can be found here.
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While not much time has elapsed since his last full length album, Matt Weston has created another masterwork of unconventional electronics, bizarre found sounds, and some of his idiosyncratic drum work. Compared to last year's This is Your Rosemont Horizon, this feels a bit darker and bleaker, amidst the fragmented electronics and snatches of melody. Regardless of the downer mood, it is another brilliantly unique piece of music that sounds like no one else but Matt Weston.
The title, A New Form of Crime is probably an acknowledgment of Weston's unconventional means of recording source material for this album.Recordings collected over a 16 year period were collected in a variety of locations chosen for their acoustics, many of which being sports arenas and concert buildings.Considering access to these may not have been fully approved by the right people, there is a certain deviant edge added to the creation of the four songs here.
The manifestation of this not necessarily legal behavior on Weston's part is an excellent sense of space and depth to these compositions.Although these recordings are treated and processed quite heavily, the environments do shine through, such as the massive echo and open space used on "Samidoun" and harrowing expansive passages of the appropriately titled "We Want You to Panic."There are some almost normal sounding guitar and drum passages on the all-too-brief "Stopping is Believing," but the spaciousness of the recordings gives a whole additional layer.
For another conceptual piece, the aforementioned "We Want You to Panic" features an orchestra of cars driving over a rural New York bridge, "conducted" by Weston via headlights.The passing of cars gives a nicerhythmic counterpoint to the scattershot electronics.Within that he brings in dense walls of processed conversations, cut up and bent tones, and the occasionally jarring outburst of electronics.Even within this dizzying, fragmented chaos there are some almost pleasant bells snuck into the mix, giving some inviting moments in an otherwise imposing work.
Weston does this a few other times throughout A New Form of Crime, such as the deeply submerged string melodies of "Samidoun" that later lurks amidst the insect-like electronic bursts and cut up mayhem he creates.The guitar segments of "Stopping is Believing" also have a traditionally musical structure to them as well.Album closer "Under the Rifle Sights of Snipers" features him going for the more chaotic elements of his arsenal.Echoed outbursts and metallic rhythms skitter about, with unexpected harsh outbursts here and there.With some jazzy horn-like outbursts and weird voices, it is certainly unpleasant at times, but in the best of ways.
With the overall sinister vibe, carrying over to the more monochromatic cover art (when compared to his previous releases), and the song titles, there is a sinister, angry feel to A New Form of Crime.Surely a reflection of the world around him, Matt Weston channels this darkness into captured spaces, unconventional electronics, and his omnipresent idiosyncratic drumming.It is a frenzied, noisy bit of unusual, but amazing work that continues Weston’s tradition of experimental work.
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After a few recent, highly conceptual and very long-form works, Francisco López has gone back to basics with his latest release. Consisting of a single 60 minute piece, packaged in a plain sleeve with the most limited of artwork, he is at his traditional, reductive best. With little information given as to the source material or the strategies used in creating the piece, it emphasizes the sound above all else, and it is another diverse, brilliantly composed piece of art from the legendary composer.
Besides the approach as far as duration and packaging, the audio López is working with sound as if he is drawing from the most basic elements of the planet.Empty spaces and textural crackles that could be fire, water, or soil appear throughout.Frigid sheets of sound and insect like processed noises can be heard as well, giving the full scope of nature filtered through López’s mixer.
Untitled #370 may be a single piece but the overall structure sounds far more song and album-like than I expected, with different elements appearing for a brief duration and then changing up again.Machinery humming, rhythmic loops, and an occasional foghorn like effect all crop-up from time to time, almost resembling recurring instruments throughout.Towards the end of the first segment the way in which Lopez layers the sound begins to reflect a traditionally structured song, with loops interlocked and sequenced with one another.
The first section may be mostly textural, organic, and sound heavily rooted in nature, but the second is more phantasmagoric.Shrill, icy sheets of aural textures and subsonic low frequencies set a sinister stage.Lopez then brings in a series of metallic scraping and grinding noises, along with a multitude of haunted house creaks and groans.As if this were not enough, there is an added passage of what could be either a human voice or an animal growl.With the processing added, the line between person, animal, or something supernatural is further blurred into something that is in league with the most unsettling work I have ever heard Lopez do.
The final section draws on elements from both, from clicking, microscopic textures, subsonic bass, and what almost resembles heavy breathing at times.This, with another section of wet, organic and indistinct noises keeps the mood unsettling and uncomfortable, if maybe somewhat less overt.López then adds on multiple loops, building in density and tension before relenting, leaving a black mass of sonic muck to end the piece on.
Unlike López's more recent work, there is a lot of intentional vagueness throughout Untitled #370.From its minimalist artwork and lack of conceptual details, it would seem that he is recalling his early days in which the music and its ambiguous sourcing was the most important part.I certainly have enjoyed his recent, multi-hour works, but there is something refreshing about a singular focus and mindset, letting the sound be the integral part of his art.
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