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Marco Haas, founder of Berlin's Shitkatapult label and the man behindT. Raumschmiere, has become somewhat notorious for his uniquelycrowd-pleasing, fist-pumping techno. On last year's The Great Rock n' Roll Swindle,Haas delivered a record filled with raucous, repetitive party jams thatdared to bring some sorely-needed fun into the German minimal scene.Haas' merging of gutter punk and arena rock to the comparativelyacademic world of microhouse and minimal techno was a revelation, andan idea whose time had come. Not since The KLF unleashed The White Rooma decade ago have I heard such beautifully simple, slam-dancing,stadium rave beats. T. Raumschmiere's new album certainly does notdisappoint, meeting and exceeding the bar set by his previous work. Radio Blackoutis a willfully dumb, loud and aggressive album full of rave-up anthems,like the IDM version of Andrew WK, or better yet, a Kompakt Recordstribute to Gary Glitter's "Rock N' Roll Part 2." T. Raumschmiere wantsus to rock out hard, and he's channeling the memories of all thoseNitzer Ebb and Front 242 records he listened to as a teenager, rollingout 11 big, dirty punk-electro jams. Just try not to jump up and tearthe roof off when the concussive beats and big chunky power chords of"Monstertruckdriver" hit you across the face. Miss Kittin, theEurotrash club girl whose unpleasant monotone has graced so manyelectroclash records, provides vocals for the album's first big 12"single "The Game is Not Over." It's unrelentingly awesome, weirdlyreminiscent of 70's-era glam-rock anthems like Slade's "Cum On Feel theNoize." Actually, glam rock is a very illustrative comparison, as MarcoHaas, like T. Rex and Kiss before him, prefers to concentrate onsurface concerns, rather than depth or encoded meaning. Everything youneed to experience in T. Raumschmiere's rave-rock is floating right ontop. Inside is just an empty husk, devoid of meaning other than thatinitial aesthetic thrill. Depending on the listeners sensibilities,this is either a critique or a recommendation. Ultimately, the vapiditythat makes T. Raumschmiere's brash techno so appealing also gives riseto that cold, empty feeling that sets in after a few listens. samples:
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I had a very tough time making it all the way through "Vigil." For thisalbum, Ambarchi and Martin Ng (a guitarist and a turntablist,respectively, though no instruments are listed here) let some feedbackdrift aimlessly for an hour across four tracks, each track onlyslightly more eventful than the last. The irritatingly piercing,mid-volume feedback that comprises most of the sonic conent here ispunctuated every so often by a bell-like chime, which seems to decayinto more feedback... but feedback is such a transparent anduncompelling sound that it resists pure listening. Events are obviouslynot the point here, but even non-event with substanceless sound hasbeen done more effectively already (Otomo Yoshihide and Sachiko M'sFilament live album leaps to mind, as does Sukora's "Tower") and it's apoint that doesn't demand being made more than once. I don't feelchallenged by "Vigil"s icy restraint, just bored. If there is anythingsubtle happening with the composition here (I don't believe that thereis), it went right past me as I struggled past the ambivalence of thesounds used. The only (relatively) interesting section is the fourthand final track, in which the bass swells a bit. I can't recommendthat, though, since it's such a meager reward after the hour that'spassed. I found "Vigil" to be merely tedious, a real let-down from twoguys whose other work I so look forward to hearing. There are some TinaFrank videos on this disc as well, comprised of some shapes and linesmoving around... also, not terribly compelling.samples:
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The liner notes make a convincing argument that this record is notautobiographical or escapist or even existential; it is "politicalwithout the pulpit." I'm not entirely sure what that means but what Ido know is that in the twenty-eight or so minutes that this record runsI am completely held in its hands and give away all my thought to it.It's simple in a haunting way. Alexander McGregor plays nearly everyinstrument so that they don't just produce notes and melodies: theybecome an extension of his voice and his lyrics whether they be muddledor quite clear. There is a sense of awe and wonder in each song that isestablished by way of contrasting melodies, basic production, and thecombination of Latin sounds with more familiar rock n' roll feelings.It's a hard aura to pin down. It's surreal and at the same timesomething that isn't so alien that it becomes void or nullified by itsstrangeness. But enough of that: the music is fun, too. The openingsounds of "Calibrate" are formless and unidentifiable but somehow serveas the perfect introduction to the wavering, watery, and druggy "NoNine." Drinking a very fine wine and watching a troupe of dancers seemsan entirely appropriate activity to accompany this song and at the sametime it has an incredibly romantic horn solo that brings to mindthoughts of making love. "Nothing Wrong" is a simple acoustic guitarpiece that somehow captures an ideal of innocence through its lyricsand sighing vocals. The center lyrics, "I don't know about you lil'girl / But there's nothing wrong / Nothing wrong with me," are of akind that manage to be uplifting, resentful, and hurt at the same time;it's a truly human song that I've become more and more fond of as I'velistened to it. The closer, "Making Movies," combines all of theelements of the previous songs and adds overdubs on the vocals, flute,and what I think is a cello to the mix. It's a dramatic and lilting endand serves as the perfect way to end a night. Part of the beauty ofthis album is that it can be played anywhere and at anytime and becompletely entrancing.samples:
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The Ebb and Flow sound like the setup to a great joke: an Iranian, aRussian, and a New Yorker start a band, drawing on their individualinfluences to make a new sound. The joke's on anyone who takes thatdescription at face value and expects to hear a trainwreck, though.This San Francisco band employs a clever mix of styles, rhythms, andinstruments, forming an interesting melange that never quits or getssloppy. The Ebb and Flow use guitar, drums, and a variety ofsynthesizers and organs as a base coat, then use whatever methodsnecessary to take the song to the next level. As it stands, theirs is aunique jazzed up prog synth pop sound, with two vocalists that bringout different strengths as the songs progress; and Murmursis a solid piece of work from a band destined for excellence. Guestmusicians provide everything from touches of flavor to necessarycomponents: the band is billed as a trio, with guest bassist DmitryIshenko, but I think they should just invite him to join, as I can'timagine these songs without his confident low end. "4 Track Mind -Dusty Crickets" starts with arpeggio guitar and solid rhythm, then addstrumpet and keys, building towards release. Then, it all dissolves inelectronic chirps, only to be reborn as a power pop shuffle. SaraCassetti and Roshy Kheshti have smooth voices like icing on this cake,and they play their instruments with just as much passion and heart."Me and My Twins" features guitarist Sam Tsitrin's turn on vocals, anda more indie rock sound to boot, just as easy to swallow as the firsttrack. It threatens to fade out, but then comes right back in again forone last taste. "Routes and Roots" and "Throop" are the high energyrocking out double shot, with "Throop" approaching boogie territory asthe trumpets blare. Then "Contra Verse" puts all the pieces togetherwith male/female vocals and a blend of all sounds previous. Too shortbut solid, Murmurs shows a band in their prime that deserves a real shot at the prize. Hopefully they won't have to wait too long. samples:
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For his latest release for the Chocolate Industries label, 24-year oldChicago hip hopper/multi-instrumentalist Caural (aka Zachary Mastoon)presents Blurred July, an EP of three new, original tracks plus a remix track from his full length Stars on My Ceilingdisc, courtesy of Savath + Savalas (aka Scott Herren). The EP unfurlswith the gradually headnodding "Goodbye May Kasahara" - a mixture ofsubtle vibraphone flourishes, brushed snare rolls with sloshy hi-hatswells, keyboard and tight beats (complete with handclaps) that pulseto rhythmic bass end, conveying a positive mood. The soulful sounds ofthe Fender Rhodes spin their way through "Blacktops and Plains,"featuring lines and rhymes from label mate and fellow city dweller, MCDiverse, over crunchy, distorted beats. The evocative patter ofrainstick opening "Visuals" falls into a soundscape of subtleelectronic waves and cymbal swells which bring in compressed beats,peppered with live drums and keyboard progressions which are heavy onthe reverb. A relaxed track of shimmering keyboard and upright basslines, Scott Herren subtly adds his signatory syncopation on the laidback groove of "Sipping Snake Blood Wine (Savath + Savalas remix)."With summer now left behind, the Blurred July EP is a great selection of compositional beats and instrumental sounds to conjure up the warmth of those fleeting days. samples:
- Goodbye May Kasahara
- Blacktops and Plains (featuring Diverse)
- Sipping Snake Blood Wine (Savath + Savalas remix)
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What's missing in modern country is true grit. In all of the glossed-upbeauty makeover tractor hunk nonsense they've missed the true point, ascountry started as the music for poor man's plight and economic blight.There's no dirt in New Country's teeth, no black under its nails, andno liquor in its veins. Just a vacant, vapid three part harmony andsome political nonsense that can't come close to the real issues athand. So leave it to country-obsessed former Geraldine Fibbers/EthylMeatplow vocalist Carla Bozulich to bring it back by covering WillieNelson's landmark concept album in its entirety. Sure, it's notoriginal grit, but it's authentic nonetheless, so much that Williehimself guests on guitar and vocals for several songs. Bozulich has theright voice for the material, raising hairs left and right with thetale of a preacher who killed his wife and her new beau. Nels Cline,Devin Hoff, and Scott Amendola also get points for their bare butchilling instrumentation that sets the perfect backdrop for thesesongs. There was a conscious decision to make this all sound authentic,I feel, from the nylon string guitars to the minimalist production andthe sparse nature of the music. It doesn't take much to bring acrossthis raw and rusty tale, and no lavish production could have made itsound better. "Time of the Preacher" is just as gorgeous as when Williehimself sang it, and "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" is better than theoriginal, with Leah Bozulich providing harmony vocal. The best, though,is the impact of "Medley," where autoharp and radio buzz are joined byelectric guitar and drum shockwaves. It shook me to the bone, theperfection of it all, and I felt like I wasn't going to make it outalive. Country needs to sound like this again, to take chances and tryfor a complex thought. It says it all that a singer went backtwenty-five years to find the right music for her soul. If othersfollowed suit maybe we could be spared. samples:
- Time of the Preacher
- Medley: Time of the Preacher/Blue Rock Mountain/Red Headed Stranger
- Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain
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It borders on impossible to reccomend a CD that pretends to be metalbut can't get past the whole "loud" aspect of the music. Sure, thewhole thing is intense and the guitars sort of wail and screech alongwith pounding and sometimes sloppy drumming, but nothing of theattention paid to particulars and subtleties by the best metalheads isto be found on this disc. The guitars don't grind and annihilate somuch as they just vomit and expend themselves in drones and whines offeedback. The drums are always quick and heavy, but they never changeand simply keep the beat flat and simplistic. There's little to novariation in the all of song's structures and the vocalist seems tohave an affinity for straining his voice in a way that is more dramaticthan it is threatening or truly violent. Speaking of the vocalist, muchof the lyrical content stays to the "nobody understands me and I'mgoing to rebel against them" theme. However, on songs like "FlophouseNightmares" and "Angel In Disguise" the lyrics seem to be nearmeaningless practices in rhyme and rhythm: their topics seemnonsensical or they are just plain boring. I know, lyrics have neverbeen the creativefocus of metal but at least the simplicity of some of the bettermaterial conveyed interesting ideas or controversial topics worththinking about. There's simply nothing like that on Halldór Laxnessand so it pounds and moans on into what seems like infinity withoutsurprising, shocking, convincing, or provoking. The puerile lyrics onlyserve to attenuate the sound of the album. It wants to be powerful andexciting, but it can't be without some kind of focus and discipline. Itdoesn't need to be calculated but to be truly angry it needs to soundmore distinct than it does.samples:
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Generally speaking, when I listen to music that I don't like, I putsome effort into understanding why that is. It can become a kind ofSherlock Homes mystery, albeit without the humor. Sometimes it's just agenre thing and at others it's a semiotics thing. Sometimes its theemotion or attitude that's being projected that I revile—f-ing hippies,for example. But not infrequently it turns out that I just don't getit; I don't understand the language the artist is speaking in. Andthose cases can be the most interesting. It's clearly stupidity to say"this poetry sucks" if it just because it's in Finnish and soundsmeaningless to ones ears. The language must be learned before anaesthetic opinion can be formed. And so it is with Old Testament—thelanguage is deliberately obscure and the emotion, semiotics etc. aretherefore opaque. The digital sounding noise on this CD mostly hasrather little immediately pleasing quality. Track 1 is long slowlymoving low frequency noise and doesn't go anywhere at all. Track 2 ismore interesting and even fun in parts but what's appealing about itstrajectory of electronic skitter, principally its rhythm and sonority,is not found elsewhere. The remainder is just plain painful withouteither the cathartic pleasures of, say, Merzbow or the humanity of DueProcess. So I work on the language; give it many a listen; see if I canget it. And when I do, an all too common outcome to the detective workis that there isn't anything there but technical experimentation thatshouldn't have left the studio. (In this case that's not entirely fair;a reduced version of Track 2 deserves to get on a comp.) Apart fromthat, the obscurantism of the language is all there is. The underlyingproblem (and it crops all the time) is that weirdness in music is usedas a cover for lack of musical talent. There's noting inherently wrongwith the experimental approach, tinkering with equipment untilsomething of value is achieved, but novelty, weirdness, or extremeout-there-ness is not good enough. Ilios may be proud of making a verystrange sounding disk but strange isn't intrinsically good. Theeffectiveness of experimentalism as a substitute for talent derivesfrom that lingering fear one has, that possibility that one may nothave grasped the language and therefore should reserve judgment orconfer the benefit of the doubt. But give it enough time and effort andwhat you hear on Old Testament is nothing other than theprocess of tinkering with equipment and certainly not the artisticobject that should have been the process's output.samples:
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There tends to be a fine line drawn when dealing with concept albums that separates the obvious and self-indulgent from the conveying of a general theme throughout an overall good and fair recording. With Beauty Party, the second installment in NYC poet/MC Mike Ladd's hip hop trilogy of the Infesticons/Majesticons, the line tends to be purposely blurred by the ongoing battle of style vs. substance.Ninja Tune
Tongue-in-cheek themes are exposed early on by each of the fifteen tracks titles, all of which contain the word "party" yet the tunes themselves are steady and strong with great performances. Musically, more of a mainstream hip hop/R n' B feel based around vintage synths, drum machine sounds and samples, Ladd brings aboard a plethora of male and female vocalists and MCs for some memorable tracks.
The laid back R n' B feel and rhymes of "Brains Party" revolve around a clever play on the Pet Shop Boys chorus from their "Opportunities." The steady beats of "Platinum Blaque Party" move through distant synth swells and syncopated bass lines, providing the breathy male vocal chorus that includes witty lines such as "I got so much access to excess/Words can not describe my success." A continual, arpeggiated synth line propels "Suburb Party" along to funky bass and drums, featuring Def Jux family members El-P and Vast Aire of Cannibal Ox for one of the disc's strongest tracks. Monstrous bass drum and cross-stick beats and buried bass progressions kick "Parlor Party" along with bright-sounding keyboards and female vocalists/MCs trading opposing views on the values of beauty that could be summed up with the line "Love yourself 'cuz the truth is attractive." Enjoying a concept album would include, though not necessary, an understanding of the overall theme and direction. Overstating it tends to detract from its full effect. Although a good disc of individual tracks, Beauty Party's obvious concept makes it feel like there's no room for interpretation as a listener. That and the fact the promo copy I had for gleaning purposes was interrupted with an annoying, sped up voice quoting the project name and the sound of a cash register ringing off every thirty seconds. Having to tune that shit out made it all the less enjoyable as a whole.
samples:
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Mitek
It's a good thing that Sophie Rimheden is involved in several other projects at the moment because this unlistenable solo album is even more disposable than the pop music it pretends to be. The opening minute of the first song honestly sounds like the effort of a teenager in 1990 trying to recreate Depeche Mode with a casio keyboard and a drum loop on cassette. It doesn't get much better from there, as the second track is a faux-mash up (are we already to that?!) of "Cruel Summer" and the worst elements of 80's electro pop. The fact that the track derails and skips with the glitch aesthetic of an obvious 2003 production is no salvation for the utterly redundant music being fucked with. Rimheden's vocal style borders on a passable — if uninspiring — Samantha Fox impression, but even that is marred with effects that don't know when to quit and the worst misuse of a vocoder since Cher. I would guess that this album falls squarely into the realm of electro-clash/80's retro-cool, and it should be the number one example looked to when people want to know what's wrong with this forced genre. Every note of this album seems completely plastic, regrettably recalling a decade of music that was made with much more heart and integrity than this. While there is more noise and production trickery here than your typical 80's electro-diva suite, even the experimental aspects of the recording are not unique, novel, or even interesting in juxtaposition with the tired beats and Casiotone synths. Everything sounds thin and forgettable, and there's not a track on this record that I didn't skip through while trying to listen a second time. If Rimheden is trying to make 'happy music,' she's not hit on it here. V/VM bends and warps this kind of stuff into a scathing commentary on pop culture, and some of the electroclash scensters can at least turn a decent tune and recall the excess and vapid fashion of 1983 with some charm, but Hi-Fi is presented as an object of pop culture itself, with nothing to say and no where to go. It's an impressively complete failure.
It's a good thing that Sophie Rimheden is involved in several other projects at the moment because this unlistenable solo album is even more disposable than the pop music it pretends to be. The opening minute of the first song honestly sounds like the effort of a teenager in 1990 trying to recreate Depeche Mode with a casio keyboard and a drum loop on cassette. It doesn't get much better from there, as the second track is a faux-mash up (are we already to that?!) of "Cruel Summer" and the worst elements of 80's electro pop. The fact that the track derails and skips with the glitch aesthetic of an obvious 2003 production is no salvation for the utterly redundant music being fucked with. Rimheden's vocal style borders on a passable — if uninspiring — Samantha Fox impression, but even that is marred with effects that don't know when to quit and the worst misuse of a vocoder since Cher. I would guess that this album falls squarely into the realm of electro-clash/80's retro-cool, and it should be the number one example looked to when people want to know what's wrong with this forced genre. Every note of this album seems completely plastic, regrettably recalling a decade of music that was made with much more heart and integrity than this. While there is more noise and production trickery here than your typical 80's electro-diva suite, even the experimental aspects of the recording are not unique, novel, or even interesting in juxtaposition with the tired beats and Casiotone synths. Everything sounds thin and forgettable, and there's not a track on this record that I didn't skip through while trying to listen a second time. If Rimheden is trying to make 'happy music,' she's not hit on it here. V/VM bends and warps this kind of stuff into a scathing commentary on pop culture, and some of the electroclash scensters can at least turn a decent tune and recall the excess and vapid fashion of 1983 with some charm, but Hi-Fi is presented as an object of pop culture itself, with nothing to say and no where to go. It's an impressively complete failure.samples:
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Zuma
No longer can any man look me in the eye and call himself a rock fanuntil he has heard this masterpiece of magical changes. This is no mererock performance, but a curse upon the Bush clan and their corporatecronies, a fiery invocation to hasten the inevitable fall of the USEmpire. For the opening attack the hardcases gather around the tableand the game is big picture. "The Death and Resurrection Show" sets thescene with an irresistably thunderous tribal dance beat from hardcoreskinbeating primitive Dave Grohl, a simply devastating give upultimatum to false metal guitarists from Geordie and some of the mostimportant imagery to ever be transmitted via the rock medium from themuch maligned and misunderstood genius Jaz Coleman. Next, a hesitantwoman of liberty asks how we can go up against the government anddecides we must all rise at once. Jaz is up for trying to inspire us todo so, and "Total Invasion" lays it on the line for the liars whoblaspheme our names in the infinitely cancerous pursuit of profit.Fireblast riffs and collapsing skyscraper drums lumber asunder as Jazstrangles lizards from his throat to exorcise the Bush-pig demons andlay them in the dirt to perish of thirst as revenge for the third ofthe world they are slowly, meanly, inhumanly killing to keep the coldblood gurgling through their hardened arteries with seconds to go.Next, Jaz assumes the form of an "Asteroid" which crashes into theocean, flooding and laying waste to the proliferating homogenoustechnocracy. It recalls "Whiteout" amped up a zillion volts. Redefiningcyber-punk, "Implant" questions the morality of techno-genetic hybridsand mourns the inevitable loss of diversity that is plunging the racetowards eternal DOOM. Like "Asteroid," the entire song grinds to a haltseveral times for Jaz to scream his rage at the cold science fools andtheir deathsucking paymasters — "You just want to FUCKING CONTROL!"Then the headlong rush of "Blood On Your Hands" orders them to atonefor their crimes and paints a picture of a world laid waste by theiridiotic short sighted greed. It would really be a swell single, and notjust for the blessed inspiration of hearing the lyric, "Poison thewater so only your GM crops grow," infiltrating wishy washy MTV land.This is far beyond mere MALICIOUS DAMAGE. This is the most preciselydirected and accurately targeted distillation of molten rage I haveever experienced. And I've heard a lot of so called hardcore over theyears. The second half briefly drops a rung into more personal headspace. The arm waving wasteland zombie bop "Loose Cannon" recallsimagery from the dreams that inspired their seminal debut album and thecircle is completed. Both this rather odd choice for a single and thenext track reclaim and embellish the "Eighties" chug that poor CursedCobain filched in admiration. This is the only band on the planet whocould get away with a lighters in the air ballad like "You'll Never GetTo Me" probably because they have torches. Shame they didn't replace itwith the rabid "Inferno" which closes UK copies, but has been left offin other regions for obvious reasons. The next single is out this weekand is rock perfected to sum up the personal anger and despair atfalsely mediated visions of a world gone mad. Your mission is to buy"Seeing Red" from a chart return shop NOW and shake up the fakemoney-love kiddypops charts with something of substance, a song upthere with such classics as "The Wait" and "Pssyche." What feeling,loving, angry human could resist the joy of hearing a tune open withthe line, "They're dropping bombs again, and they're doing it in yourname," and continue with the ultimate condemnation of limited smalltown England tedium and ignorance. Grohl's drums shine, reverting moreto Scream patterns than Nirvana. Geordie rips the burning sky to shredswith the greatest one note guitar spears and the bass line is a massivedescending roll of thunder. The most harrowing trip is the eerie anddesolate "Dark Forces" in which Jaz trawls the mind of a desecratingcorporate ogre and survives to report the megalomaniac creep churnings.I wouldn't like to spend an hour locked inside those heads but Jaz is asterner being than I. The final report the megalomaniac creepchurnings. I wouldn't like to spend an hour locked inside those headsbut Jaz is a sterner being than I. The final battle sees the fall of"The House That Pain Built" as Zeppelin's "Kashmir" is ripped apart andrendered a mere grunt. After pain we WILL have JOY. This is one band toempower the will like no other. Our Rubicon approaches. Lets all go tothe Fire Dances once again. So be it! - samples:
