After two weekends away, the backlog has become immense, so we present a whopping FOUR new episodes for the spooky season!
Episode 717 features Medicine, Fennesz, Papa M, Earthen Sea, Nero, memotone, Karate, ØKSE, Otis Gayle, more eaze, Jon Mueller, and Lauren Auder + Wendy & Lisa.
Episode 718 has The Legendary Pink Dots, Throbbing Gristle, Von Spar / Eiko Ishibashi / Joe Talia / Tatsuhisa Yamamoto, Ladytron, Cate Brooks, Bill Callahan, Jill Fraser, Angelo Harmsworth, Laibach, and Mike Cooper.
Episode 719 music by Angel Bat Dawid, Philip Jeck, A.M. Blue, KMRU, Songs: Ohia, Craven Faults, tashi dorji, Black Rain, The Ghostwriters, Windy & Carl.
Episode 720 brings you tunes from Lewis Spybey, Jules Reidy, Mogwai, Surya Botofasina, Patrick Cowley, Anthony Moore, Innocence Mission, Matt Elliott, Rodan, and Sorrow.
Photo of a Halloween scene in Ogunquit by DJ Jon.
Get involved: subscribe, review, rate, share with your friends, send images!
Using unrecognizably tweaked field recordings of cats, crows, bees, wasps, boat ramps, and dead trees, the ever-reliable BJ Nilsen has crafted yet another complex and desolately beautiful suite of droning ambiance that subtly crackles and buzzes with life. The Invisible City might be the first great headphone album of 2010.
Sweden's BJ Nilsen has a surprisingly recognizable aesthetic for such an inherently faceless genre. Superficially, of course, all the central elements of contemporary electronic drone are here: a sustained and hypnotically shifting backbone, subterranean throbs, and a fluttering array of non-musical sounds dancing around it all. However, BJ is in a league by himself in regards to meticulousness, exactitude, and discipline. There is no clutter or bloat here, no laziness, and no attempt to use density to create an illusion of power and depth. Instead, Nilsen very starkly and crisply conveys exactly what he needs to and no more.
In lesser hands, that degree of calculation and artifice would probably result in a bloodless and clinical-sounding album. Actually, I suppose it is not completely unreasonable to describe this album as “clinical,” but it would be totally missing the point. The Invisible City is a deliberately cold, lonely, and futuristic-sounding album. Rather than an invisible city, it much more aptly evokes a haunting and Lynchian tableau of an utterly empty city at night, traffic lights endlessly flickering purposelessly and swaying in the gentle wind. Given the organic and nature-themed roots of much of the album’s source material, that is a pretty perverse place to wind up.
The liner notes provide a very interesting inventory of the sounds used for each individual track, which makes for an engrossing listening experience. Given that most of the field recordings are digitized into oblivion, I found it fascinating to try to figure out when exactly I was hearing an “amplified chair dragged across floor” or “dead trees leaning up against each other.” On the rare occasions when the source material is clearly recognizable, it is usually employed to disquieting effect (particularly the snowy footsteps in “Virtual Resistance”). The unnerving barrenness and alienation of the album creates a kind of vacuum that heightens the impact when anything recognizably human intrudes (and renders it vaguely sinister). Also, while there is generally not much overtly musical happening aside from occasional shimmering organ chords, vintage analog synthesizer fetishists will be thrilled to learn that Nilsen uses a subharchord for several tracks.
Those already familiar with BJ Nilsen’s work will not be surprised by much here, but they certainly will not be disappointed either. Nilsen has a very distinct and specific vision and he is steadily progressing and evolving within those narrow confines, but his trajectory is not likely to be obvious to casual listeners. The important thing is that BJ excels at what he does: the compositions themselves may be overtly minimal in nature, but the production transforms the base materials into something much deeper and more mesmerizing. This is layering at its most deft, as the glacially unfolding framework of the pieces houses a panning and warping hive of small-scale chaos. The Invisible City is a subtly mind-bending album of crystalline clarity and cold beauty.
The Grey Emperor takes full advantage of the Jurassic Park style of terror. Just like the foreboding and gently vibrating cup of water that announced the arrival of the Tyrannosaurus Rex, this piece begins slowly with an ominous pulse which sets the mood for the hour it lasts. Unlike Steven Spielberg, Wraiths do not immediately give out into an adrenaline-releasing rollercoaster ride. Instead they keep the listener on edge for a long time, picking slowly at their sanity.
The Grey Emperor is not an exercise in how deafening noise can be. Lo-fi noise fills in the gaps like background radiation but the volume kept firmly down in the process. Wraiths introduce various unidentifiable sounds into the piece, letting the whole thing simmer like an unholy concoction straight out of Macbeth. Eventually the witches’ brew comes to a boil and what feels like an arctic wind comes through the speakers (the effect helped by the current freezing whether here on the western fringes of Europe). The arctic wind becomes an icy breath, fearful and cruel.
Rusty noises that could either be percussion, heavily distorted and malignant guitar, bass or even vocals again give the impression that something is coming, something large and threatening. The ambiguity of the sounds adds to the panic in a way that pure feedback or sounds identifiable as human cannot hope to achieve. Towards the end of the piece, Wraiths do pick up the intensity without ever reaching “in the red” levels of volume. However, that does not mean that this is not uncomfortable listening (I get the feeling that my fiancée never wants to hear this again) and by the time it ends, it feels like I have had a near miss with Cthulu (the music I mean, not my fiancée!). So many pure noise acts try and get to this level of unease but few ever get it as right as Wraiths have.
My final remark about this album is reserved for how it looks. The demonic engraving on the back of the sleeve combined with the wax seal on the front give The Grey Emperor a formal look like a pamphlet for a Lutherian- style religious reformation but one plotted out by devil worshippers. Breaking open the seal with an audible crack, it is impossible not to feel a little thrill of the unknown when loading the album into the CD player for the first time. While there was no infernal racket, Wraiths have married visual and sonic aesthetics perfectly. This is as unsettling as an album can get.
Released back in 2008, Bad Light represents a lull in both Coleclough and Potter's discography. The duo showcases a number of musical conventions new to their repertoire, but the result is a suprisingly dull and somewhat derivative record.
The first time I put Bad Light on I was sure it would end up being Coleclough and Potter's best record. From the second it begins, it is clear that the duo intends to explore new territory. Instead of processed noise or ambient drones, the album begins with a guitar being tuned up and down, plain as day. Jonathan has utilized acoustic sources to produce phenomenal ambience in the past (i.e., Sumac, with Andrew Chalk), but I can't recall Colin or Jonathan ever using them as much as they do on this album. With the focus set squarely on echo-rich percussion, detuned guitar, and field recordings, both musicians apparently forgot how to pace or arrange their noise. Bad Light sounds like someone practicing on new equipment or ironing out loops before taking them on the road. In fact, it's so minimal that it sounds like a demo instead of a finished product.
"Good Shepherd" opens with the above mentioned guitar, but goes almost nowhere from there. A drone slowly fades in after a few minutes and, by the time the song is over, it sounds a little bit like a car engine at the point of breaking down. Imagine driving an old truck down the highway at 18 miles-per-hour in second gear and then tossing a bandsaw into its bed: that's how the song sounds in its closing moments. Over the course of 14 minutes very little happens in "Good Sherpherd": the guitar fades away and a roar of sound takes its place. The noise is intense and a little disturbing, but I have heard that same effect generated in more interesting ways. In fact, both Jonathan and Colin are very good at generating tension, so why they took such an easy (and colorless) route on "Good Shepherd" is a little bit of a mystery.
The second song, "Mumps," suffers from a similar problem. For nearly a half hour it buzzes and moans away to the tune of metal percussion, gongs, and wooden blocks. At first I thought the extra instrumentation would give Bad Light some much needed diversity, but the song goes on for far too long and wears out its welcome quickly. Records like Sumac and Period were rich and mysterious enough to warrant prolonged running times, but after 10 minutes "Mumps" offers up everything its going to offer. Frustratingly, it isn't even half way over by that point. I had to force myself not to skip the song just in case something cool did happen. Obviously, it takes a lot more than softly struck bells and blocks to make a weak drone strong.
And that brings me to the album's greatest flaw: its focus on everything but the drone. Too much of Bad Light's time is dedicated to acoustic sounds and field recordings instead of solid walls of sound. "Bad Light," the album's closing piece, illustrates this perfectly. It's also a half-hour in length, but the first sound it makes is an awkward, belching kind of noise. The song moves slowly, but introduces new elements quickly, each of which are vibrant and vivid and contribute to the single massive wave of sound that ends up dominating the piece. Perhaps most importantly, Coleclough and Potter's drones take center stage for the entirety of the song, which is precisely how it should be. Keeping all the miscellaneous found-sound stuff in the background ends up making all the difference in the world.
The constantly evolving texture and undulating development of "Bad Light" make for a far more involved listen than the sounds of randomly struck percussive things and poorly played guitars. Its various drones breathe and move naturally and the song just sounds more complex in general. Without extraneous samples getting in the way, "Bad Light" has the chance to become immersive, which means it has the chance to put all of its 30 minutes to good use. The same just can't be said for the rest of the album. The final song is the longest and strongest of the three yet it isn't strong enough to save the album from its own mediocrity.
Unearthing brilliant music from Ghana seems to be a consuming obsession with Soundway label boss Miles Claret, as he has already compiled two previous albums (Ghana Soundz) prior to this massive collection. It is easy to see why he is so fascinated, as there was clearly something very unique and eccentric happening during Ghana's musical prime. A lot of great songs are included on Ghana Special but it stands out from other African music compilations much more for sheer anarchic exuberance and unpredictability.
Claret clearly set out to cover a wide variety of styles with this collection, but there is a very prominent focus on percussion here that transcends any genre divisions. While some songs are ostensibly Afrobeat, Highlife, or Ghanaian Blues, their differences seem quite small when compared to their similarities. With few exceptions, virtually all of the 33 songs on this double-album sound as like they originated from a great beat and then organically evolved from there. Consequently, the success or failure of a song is intimately intertwined with the strength of its backbone groove. None of the percussionists on Ghana Special sound like they are phoning it in, but many sound like they get a bit carried away- the best songs are often the most laidback and uncluttered (like K. Frimpong's "Kyenkyen Bi Adi M'Awu"). That said, "great" does not always mean "danceable for Western feet". I don't think that there is a single track that utilizes just one drummer—many of these bands sound like they may have three or four different percussionists cohering into one dense and complicated polyrhythmic groove. Odd time signatures, wild fills, and weird accents abound.
Given the almost single-minded devotion to rhythm shown by many of these artists, it is no surprise that pop song structures are usually discarded in favor of an unrelenting, sinuous groove. The most adept at this seems to be Christy Azuma & Uppers International, whose "Din Ya Sugri" combines a funky off-time beat with a tight bass line and a stuttering chord progression to devastating effect. Vis á Vis attain a similar triumph with "Obi Agye Me Dofo," though they twist the formula a bit with some cool psych-inspired organ work and catchy horn hooks. Both tracks feature yet another ubiquitous element on Ghana Special: lots of sizzling and inspired solos (particularly saxophone ones). Ghana seems to have had a disproportionate number of amazing musicians during its heyday and they all seemed quite willing to take chances and push themselves. Embarrassingly, the less-than-amazing musicians apparently also felt the same way, but their over-the-top exuberance is both endearing and far from dull.
Aside from awesome infectious grooves and saxophone flame throwing, it is pretty difficult to predict exactly what each song will contain. The breadth and depth of influences that these bands have assimilated is stunning, as is the degree to which many of them have succeeded in avoiding clumsiness or overt slavishness. Obviously, the influence of other African bands looms large, but there are also clear nods to practically everything else that was happening musically on earth: Latin percussion and fiery trumpets, ska-influenced horn hooks, jazz shredding, psych organs, funk bass and wah-wahed guitars, blues and classic rock guitar soloing, and on and on. The unpredictability sometimes extends to other bizarre extremes as well, as there is no shortage of feral gibbering, enthusiastic animal impressions, and odd boinging noises on this album. I suspect that there must have been a thriving drug culture in Ghana in the '70s, or at least some sort of psychotropic contamination in the water supply.
This is a thoroughly wild and memorable compilation, though I would probably only classify a handful of songs as "essential," as even the songs that don't quite hit the mark are raucous, crazy, fun, and inventive to a rarely seen degree. With very few exceptions, these guys came to tear the roof off the place—the world wasn't listening, so pretty much anything was acceptable. Miles Cleret has done an amazing job with this one, both as a curator and a producer—eveything sounds great. Ghana Special is one of the best things that Soundway has released to date and that is no small praise. (Both the CD version and the 5LP (!) boxed set come with a 44-page booklet containing rare photos and a history of Ghanaian music).
If the opening lyrics to this Fridge member's latest solo album aren't provocative enough, then the music will seduce anyone that listens to it immediately. Adem has crafted an elegant, feathery-soft record full of soaring melodies and intricate arrangements. It all sounds so natural that it's hard to believe he didn't just breathe this record into existence.
"Warning Call" opens Love and Other Planets with the softest of bangs; it's a song that got my attention by building a subtle, gentle intensity. The lyrics are compelling, setting an interstellar backdrop that dominates the rest of the record and reveals itself in the eye-catching and clever artwork. "If they found a tube in outer space / And no-one knew who put it there. / If they looked inside and / Found out they'd lived lonely lives / Followed by a lonesome death / They sent it hoping we'd learn / They blew it here with their final breath / They made a list of their mistakes- / It looked a lot like ours. / If it happened, do you think we'd learn?" The whole of the song is an open question that ends in a plea: let's not screw up any more than we have. In brings the whole of the human condition sharply into focus; the rest of the album proceeds to build hope and weave joy out of strands of sound.
The songs are acoustic, dominated by guitars, ringing bells, and perfectly played percussion that drifts ever so suitably with the easy strumming and resonant melodies. Strings vibrate warmly in the mix and ease their way through Adem's voice, other instruments taking their turn playing off each other's textures and rhythms. A song like "You and Moon" might seem simple on the surface, but repeated listens reveal a whole world of tiny interactions that dance about in just the right way, working together to form a whole that's just as interesting as the parts. Despite all this flowery talk, these songs aren't merely indirect, gentle musings on topics like love, loss, and the seeming insignificance of human history in the face of the universe. The album features hushed sound collages full of reversed guitars, rumbling effects, pulsing drum machines, and bells as well as pieces with more upbeat performances that rock more than they float.
Every song on this album deserves mention, but I think it's more important that I make it clear this album feels like a complete collection of songs meant to be together. Between the songs, the album art, and the lyrical focus Adem has chosen, Love and Other Planets exerts itself as work complete unto itself, without need for anything extra or for any edits. On top of that, it's an introspective record that will be familiar to everyone that hears it. Adem can only write from his perspective, but what he has to say is something everyone will identify with and appreciate. It's appropriate, in some ways, that a personal record like this one is equally universal, not just because Adem's chosen astronomical metaphors, but also because he took the time and had the patience to craft his songs in such a way that they reflect the light of the universe and the light some people believe they have in themselves. It sounds cheesy, I know, but listeners will understand once the record starts playing.
Akron/Family’s second album for Young God is a more rounded affair compared to their first. A wider range of songwriting is on offer along with a better production. It isn’t as instantly loveable as their debut but even with its short running time there is a lot to work with as a listener. There is a little more energy here than before which spices up the mix nicely.
My first time hearing Akron/Family was at one of their concerts which meant that when I got around to hearing their debut album I found that they had held back a lot on that record (due to them having to record those songs in their apartment leading to volume restrictions). Meek Warrior shows a little more of the Akron/Family that captured my attention live.
The opening song, “Blessing Force,” starts with an infectious drum beat being belted out with gusto. The band chop and change style and direction all over the place with the volume well and truly turned up. “The Rider (Dolphin Song)” is another up tempo and noisy jam that is probably the best thing Akron/Family have put out on CD so far. It sounds a little cheesy at times but I think that adds to its charm.
A good chunk of the album consists of the gentle country influenced songwriting that their debut showcased. However, I found the softer songs on Meek Warrior slightly less inviting than expected. They’re far from bad songs but after the excitement of the first track they seem a little safe. However a couple of them stand out as being treasures like the title track which sounds like it was recorded on a sunny beach along the Mediterranean, the clapping and joyous rhythm brings a smile to my face each time I hear the song. The closing song “Love and Space” is also worth mentioning which is a perfect way to end an album. The primarily vocal-led song again captures a lot of warmth and shiny feelings but doesn’t become a schmaltzy campfire sing- along.
The album is definitely a slow burner but thanks to it being quite short, giving it multiple listens doesn’t take too long. At 35 minutes it ends almost before it begins, it seems especially short due to two of the tracks taking up nearly half the running time. Apart from its brevity, Meek Warrior is another delightful album from Akron/Family. It is a natural progression for them but hopefully their next release will be both louder and longer.
The second album from South London’s Archie Bronson Outfit finds the trio firing on all cylinders, incorporating the influence of American blues and roots alongside their angular guitars and propulsive rhythms for a collection of rousing stomps.
It’s no surprise that the material was recorded in Nashville, not because the album contains any recording signatures from the area, but rather because the songwriting evidences a genuine respect for Americana. Even as they ramp up the rhythm on a disco-heavy track like "Dead Funny," a deep blues still informs the backbone of the song. The guitars are loud and distorted all over this album, but the group wields them with deft control to build excitement and drama as effectively as possible.
For the most part, their efforts pay off. There’s a nice flow to the album that engages as it proceeds, and the transitions are pretty seamless. Sam Windett infuses his vocals with a world-weariness that sticks out from others who sing in that style because of the strength of the somewhat surrealistic lyrics that are actually written by drummer Arp Cleveland. One of the nice extra touches are the horns brought in on a few of the songs: something I wouldn’t mind hearing more of in the future because of the chaotic element they bring to these tightly-wound compositions. The only real misstep I found was the closing "Harp for My Sweetheart," which is basically an acoustic version of the far superior "Dart for My Sweetheart" found earlier on the album. It’s not bad in and of itself, but would have worked better as a B-side since it sticks out so much here. The rest of the album is a fun, spirited romp deserving many repeated listens.
This is one of the most uninspiring albums I’ve ever heard. Heidi Mortenson’s debut is self indulgent, boring and forced. It makes me feel envious of the congenitally deaf. Although it does make the rest of my records sound better now.
From the first few bars of “I Just Know,” I just knew that this was going to be a tough album to listen to. Starting from a positive point I must admit the synthesizers are warm and full and the retro melodies are nice. Apart from that, this song is a mess. The squeaky rhythm which sounds like it’s made from Mortenson’s voice is terribly annoying. Her singing leaves a lot to be desired. She obviously likes the sound of her own voice because she has layered her singing into every nook and cranny. Her lyrics are tired and clichéd pass the point of resuscitation. The depressing point is that this is just the start of it, the album gets much worse. The song that follows makes “I Just Know” sound like a masterpiece.
“Workin On It” is a travesty, Mortenson should be on trial in The Hague for crimes against music. Apart from the fact that every note and beat has been played to death before, the vocals on this song (and I use the word “song” loosely) are a nightmare to listen to. A combination of her accent, timing and intonation make my stomach turn. I can’t put my finger on it but it is a dreadful and upsetting sound.
Mortenson takes influences from all over the place with hints of electro, R’n’B and rock. Unfortunately she ruins it all by adding nothing but drivel to the mix. It’s like someone went into the studio and did their best to make the most stereotypical European sounding electronic record they could. As if that wasn’t bad enough, on “U’re not with Me” Mortenson takes PJ Harvey’s “Rid of Me” and removes parts of the lyrics for own misuse. This is a mistake for two reasons. Firstly, she gets the lyrics wrong. Whether she changes the lyrics intentionally or not I don’t know but it sounds awful. Secondly, she hasn’t a fraction of the talent of Ms. Harvey. Instead of sounding powerful, feminine and sensual, Mortenson reduces the words to a meaningless warble.
There is one thing that stands out about this album and that is how contrived it all feels. From the pictures in the sleeve notes of Mortenson posing in “eccentric” clothing to the way that the music tries so hard to be weird but in a safe pop way; it all seems like Mortenson is doing her best to be kooky. This makes all the music sound vastly two-dimensional. If an artist wants to pretend to be something they’re not, become an actor and not a musician.
I would have thought that a well-travelled, cosmopolitan and technically talented person (she builds her own microphones and seems to have a good knowledge of the mechanics of electronic music) could have come up with something far less derivative and aurally insulting as Wired Things. I’m not surprised that Mortenson had to release this on her own label; there is a very limited audience for this music made up of herself and possibly her friends. By the end of the album I feel like taking the disc out and smashing it, to rid the world of this evil.
His third installment in Hotflush's numbered series, Paul Rose's SCUBA003 proves that he is one of the most innovative producers in the constantly mutating dubstep genre.
The A side, "Harpoon," twinkles with echo drenched twinkles and a heavy head nodding riddim before its mandatory wobbly bassline kicks in. All about atmosphere, it progresses smoothly with sparsely applied melodic elements and well placed effects that deliver a slow release euphoric narcotic to the system. On the flip, "Dream" revisits the reverie that Boards Of Canada used to inspire, its droning pad numbing the listener into a drowned submission, all the while maintaining a steady, almost bare bones beat. While neither of these mental cuts will storm a dancefloor, both have the potential to flow warm through the veins and throughout the bloodstreams of those who remember a time when chillout wasn't some marketing buzzword.
Creative Sources Recordings CD cs166 http://www.creativesourcesrec.com
Olivia Block // prepared piano Jason Kahn // percussion, analog synthesizer, graphical score Ulrich Krieger // alto saxophone, sopranino saxophone, live-electronics Mark Trayle // laptop, guitar
Recorded April 25, 2008 in Los Angeles at the Cal Arts Center for Experiments in Art, Information and Technology Festival
Duration: 60.00 Recorded by Clay Chaplin Mixed and mastered by Jason Kahn
http://jasonkahn.net
Timelines Los Angeles came about quite by accident. I had initially contacted Mark Trayle in connection with a planned visit of mine to Los Angeles about coming to Cal Arts to give a performance or lecture. Much to my surprise and great pleasure, he suggested instead that I compose a piece for the 2008 Cal Arts Center for Experiments in Art, Information and Technology Festival with a group of my own choosing.
As it so happened, Ulrich Krieger, an old friend from my early days in Berlin, had just started a professorship at Cal Arts. He was one of the first people I met when I arrived in Berlin in 1990 and we eventually even performed together before Ulrich moved away soon thereafter to New York. Since then he has produced an extensive body of work, both as an instumentalist and composer. It was great having the chance to play together again after so many years.
Olivia Block was my next choice. Known primarily for her compositional work, this performance features Olivia on prepared piano. Judging by her fantastic playing on this recording, I can only hope that more people will invite her to perform as a pianist in the future.
Mark Trayle completed the group. As a composer and member of the network music ensemble The Hub, Mark's work has been at the forefront of computer music since the 1980's. On this recording he performed with guitar and his own self-programmed SuperCollider applications.
It should be stressed that Timelines Los Angeles was composed with this group of musicians in mind. These graphical works of mine are therefore not interchangeable: they are conceived within the context of the particular instrumentation and, even more importantly, for the participating musicians. In this sense, I see these works as more than just groupings of instruments but social situations, bringing together a particular group dynamic within the parameters of a graphical score and a space in time.
Listening back to the piece it somehow sounds to me like Los Angeles, the city I spent most of my life in. There is a darkness and weight to the music but also, towards the end, an airiness and sense of lifting and release, much as I used to feel at the end of the many long, hot Los Angeles days when the sun had finally begun its descent and the city's heat drifted on desert winds slowly out to sea.
Jason Kahn
Jason Kahn's work includes sound installation, performance and composition. He was born in New York in 1960, grew up in Los Angeles and relocated to Europe in 1990. He currently lives in Zürich.
He has given concerts and exhibited sound installations throughout Europe, North and South America, Japan, Mexico, Korea, Israel, Turkey, Russia, Lebanon, Egypt, Hong Kong, New Zealand, Australia and South Africa.
Kahn performs both solo and in collaboration, using percussion, analog synthesizer or computer in different combinations.
He composes for electronics and acoustic instruments. For larger groups of directed improvisation he has devised a system of graphical scores.
Kahn creates his sound installations for specific spaces. The focus of these primarily non-visual works lies in the perception of space through sound.
Olivia Block
Olivia Block is a contemporary composer and sound artist who combines field recordings, scored segments for acoustic instruments, and electronically generated sound. Her recorded work seeks to introduce and ultimately reconcile nature with artifice in the realms of music and sound. In the process, "organic" sound becomes subtly process, digitized, and abstracted; "inorganic" sound becomes self-replicating and animate; and "musical" elements such as chamber instruments are defamiliarized from their traditional associations, freeing them to participate in the larger aesthetic possibilities of sound. Block works with recorded media, chamber ensembles, video, and site specific sound installations.
She has performed throughout Europe, America, and Japan in tours and festivals including Dissonanze, Archipel, Angelica, Outer Ear, and many others. She has completed residencies at Mills College of Music and The Berklee College of Music and has taught master classes at several additional universities.
Block has created sound installations for public sites and exhibition spaces including the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago, the library at Wesleyan University in Connecticut, the Lincoln Conservatory Fern Room in Chicago, and at the "Echoes Through the Mountains" exhibit at the 2006 Winter Olympics in Turin, Italy.
Block has published recordings through Sedimental, and/Oar, and Cut.
In the September 2008 she joined the sound department faculty at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.
Ulrich Krieger
Ulrich Kriegeris well known as a saxophone player in contemporary composed and free improvised music as well as a composer of chamber music and electronic music.
His recent focus lies in the experimental fields and fringes of contemporary Pop culture: somewhere in the limbo between Noise and Heavy Metal, Ambient and Silence.
His original compositions go back and forth between Just Intonation, Silent Music, Noise, Instrumental Electronic, often asking for elaborate amplification, and works in the limbo of Rock culture – not accepting stylistic boundaries.
Krieger developed his own, often amplified style of saxophone playing, he calls 'acoustic electronics'. He uses refined acoustic, quasi-electronic sounds, which then get processed, the saxophone often becoming more an 'analogue sampler' rather than a traditional finger-virtuoso instrument. By amplifying his instrument in various ways, he gets down to the 'grains of the sounds', changing their identity and structure from within.
Krieger is associate professor for the composition faculty at the California Institute of the Arts in Los Angeles.
Mark Trayle
Mark Trayle works in a variety of media including live electronic music, installations, improvisation and compositions for wireless chamber ensembles. He uses re-engineered consumer products and cultural artifacts as interfaces for electronic music performances and networked media installations. In recent pieces for chamber ensembles he places performers in an interactive network where composers, performers and technology cooperate to form the music.
Trayle has collaborated with Wadada Leo Smith, Vinny Golia, Nels Cline, Jeff Gauthier, KammerEnsemble Neue Musik Berlin, David Behrman, as a member of The Hub, and with Alvin Curran and the Rova Saxophone Quartet.
He was a featured performer at New Music America '89, New Music Across America '92, Ars Electronica '94, WRO Media Festival '95 (Wroclaw, Poland), SoundArt '95 (Hanover, Germany), ISEA '95 (Sixth International Symposium on Electronic Art), DEAF '95 (Dutch Electronic Arts Festival, Rotterdam), the Sonambiente Festival (Berlin, 1996), Le Festival de la Vallée des Terres Blanches at the CICV Pierre Schaeffer (Hérimoncourt, France, 1997), Resistance Fluctuations (Los Angeles, 1998 and 2000), the net_condition festival (ZKM Karlsruhe, 1999), Pro Musica Nova (Bremen, 2000) and Format5 (Berlin, 2001).
Trayle is professor for Experimental Sound Practices and Composition at the California Institute of the Arts in Los Angeles.
It’s been about 22 years since I grooved to my first AfrikaBambaataa record, and it makes me almost giddy that I can pick up a newrecord today and bounce to it in the same way. Ellen Allien may come tothe party by way of minimalist German techno and dub, but I can’t helpbut think she’d be welcome in the Zulu Nation any time.
Ellen Allien’s latest is a darkly playful slab of good, old-fashionedelectro, and that’s a good thing. Early electro was some of the firstmusic I fell in love with as a kid. I had no cultural reference pointfor it, and I knew nothing at the time of the bizarre trans-Atlanticintercourse between German techno pioneers and New York funk producers,but somehow the music just worked for me. Everything that was inventedor came to prominence in the early 1980’s is enjoying a comeback now,but I’m happy to say that Ellen Allien’s newest, Thrills is more homage than rehash. There’s no irony in the mechanical rhythms and icy electronic atmospheres on Thrills.The record isn’t a tongue-in-cheek throwback to bad hair and pants withmore than one zipper. Instead, it’s the latest in a long line ofproductions from underground dance producers who never let the electrovibe fade.
Somewhere along the way electro melted into faster, less funky techno,but Ellen Allien is doing her part to bring back the funk, albeit inthat stiff, Kraftwerkian way. The few tracks with vocals on Thrillscould have given the record more depth, but might have also steered itoff course. Luckily the vocals are repetitive and mostly monotone andjust work like a sample might instead of taking control of tracks thatare otherwise pumping along just fine without a voice. “Down” featureslots of breathy “ahhs” laid over the album’s most rollerskate-appropriate jam, while “Ghost Trian” spits out a beautiful,sputtering melody over some low end drones and a simple disco loop.“Cloudy City,” which is only one letter away from being a great StarWars reference, shows off Ellen Allien’s knack for catchy, rubbery basslines. All of this music is motorik and repetition is the key to makingthis sort of stuff work, but dance music can easily wear out itswelcome outside of a club setting. Thrills keeps this in mind by never letting any of the tracks go on much past the six minute mark. That’s what remixes are for!