This week's series of episodes features images from Asheville, NC, which was devastated by Hurricane Helene this past week.
Please consider donating to the various organizations in and around the area.
Episode 714 features music by Pan•American, Maria Somerville, Patrick Cowley, The Gaslamp Killer and Jason Wool, Der Stil, Astrid Sonne, Reymour, Carlos Haayen Y Su Piano Candeloso, Harry Beckett, Tarwater, Mermaid Chunky, and Three Quarter Skies.
Episode 715 has Liquid Liquid, Kim Deal, Severed Heads, Los Agentes Secretos, mHz, Troller, Mark Templeton, Onkonomiyaki Labs, Deadly Headley, Windy and Carl, Sunroof, and claire rousay.
Episode 716 includes Actors, MJ Guider, The Advisory Circle, The Bug, Alessandro Cortini, The Legendary Pink Dots, Chihei Hatakeyama and Shun Ishiwaka, Arborra, Ceremony, Ueno Takashi, Organi, and Saagara.
Belgium’s Aguirre Records seems to have quite a talent for digging up some singularly obscure, weird, and surprising releases lately.  The latest one to knock me sideways is this one, a free-folk project that seemingly involves most of the Swedish underground. Ostensibly formed to reignite and continue the tradition of communal psych genius of heavyweights like Pärson Sound, Enhet För Fri Muzik made a rather intriguing detour along the way and wound up deep in idiosyncratic and otherworldly "outsider folk" territory instead.  Even that is a bit of an oversimplification though, as Sofie Herner's alternately fragile, distracted, ritualistic, and trance-like vocals are unpredictably accompanied with everything from saxophones to field recordings of birds and streams.  Admittedly, tight songcraft was clearly not a big priority during these sessions, but Inom Dig casts an absorbing spell of timeless unreality that transcends mere melodies and hooks.
As befits a deeply strange folk album featuring folks like Sewer Election's Dan Johansson and Release The Bats founder Matthias Andersson, Inom Dig, Inom Mig (roughly "Within You, Within Me") has some rather kaleidoscopic and unusual sequencing.  For example, the first side is composed of four sketchlike pieces of varying lengths, while the second side is consumed entirely by the epic 18-minute "Det Ordnar Sig Ska Du Se" ("That's What You'll See").  Only a few pieces feel like actual songs, which both adds to the feeling of spontaneity and generally makes me feel like I am listening to a mysterious jumble of field recordings of an arcane forest ritual (at least sometimes, anyway).  That said, the whole experience opens in comparatively contemporary and straightforward fashion with a brief introduction of trebly strummed electric guitar chords until the following "Se Dig Om" ("See You On") quickly leaves conventional music far behind.  I suppose it still technically counts as a "song" though, as Herner is clearly singing actual words and sticks to a melody, even if she sounds like she is deep in a trance and emanating from a scratchy, hissing old recording.  Despite all that, Herner's vocals are still the closest thing to normalcy in the piece, as the underlying music is a brooding miasma of crackling field recordings, tape hiss, detuned and murky drones, and reverberating string noises–essentially the least likely possible place for a quietly melodic saxophone solo to erupt.  That is exactly what happens though, as the second half of the piece is devoted to a soulful, jazz-inflected, and reasonably competent duet with some sparse nature sounds.
The following "Droppar På Din Hud" ("Drops on Your Skin") takes a similarly aberrant and surprising path, as its central motif is an insistent chord played on an out-of-tune-sounding string instrument over a bed of strange scrapes.  If I had to guess, I would say that it sounds like the source material is culled entirely from the rusting innards of a long-forgotten piano.  Unexpectedly, however, that theme segues into a simple acoustic guitar ballad.  To their credit, Enhet För Fri Muzik even manage to make a simple acoustic guitar melody seem fresh and strange, as it sounds very trebly and close-mic’d and the occasional flubbed notes and string buzz feel like a textural component every bit as important as the melody.  "Stilla Vatten" takes yet another hard detour, resembling a snippet of a mildly distressed old recording of an improv-prone church organist.
As strange and enjoyable as it is, however, the first side of the album is merely a series of appetizers leading up to the main course of "Det Ordnar Sig Ska Du Se."  Structurally, it could not possibly be simpler, as it is essentially just Herner singing a bittersweet melody over an insistently repeating and somewhat broken/out-of-tune sounding arpeggio.  That arpeggio weaves quite an evocative hypnotic spell though, as do the underlying field recordings of what sounds like a windswept field.  Eventually, the arpeggio abruptly stops and the player seems to fumble with a few dissonant chords as the wind swirls around him or her.  Once it starts up again, the field recordings (featuring some birds and mysterious footsteps now) have crept a bit further into the foreground, as has the occasional disruptive wash of static.  While the music itself is weirdly beautiful, the real magic lies in its unreal sense of time and place, as it feels like the band managed to channel the spirit of an ancient Druidic priestess through a secret pagan ceremony in a moonlit grotto.
White Hills has always been kind of a frustrating band for me, but Dave W's single-minded devotion to psych-rock excess occasionally hits some flashes of sustained greatness, so I keep coming back anyway. If anything, he can be relied upon to consistently deliver one or two prime doses of unhinged psych-guitar squall every album...until now, that is.  In a somewhat startling turn of events, Dave and bassist Ego Sensation have returned from their brief hiatus with quite a radical reinvention of their sound.  I am not sure if White Hills' new aesthetic is categorically better than the old one, as Dave’s messy and indulgent guitar heroics have a definite appeal, but this latest batch of songs is definitely tighter, catchier, and more focused than their past work.  Equally significant: this album abandons all traces of the duo’s Hawkwind fixation in favor of a trip into my nostalgic comfort zone of ‘90s Wax Trax!-style industrial.  To their credit, White Hills make some welcome improvements to that formula, embellishing the expected drum machines and cut-up samples with some wonderfully fluid and muscular bass lines and a more simmering, understated touch to their lingering psychedelic side.
The album's opening salvo "Overlord" is quite an amazing statement of intent, embodying absolutely everything that is great about Stop Mute Defeat: a slow and heavy drum machine groove, a strong bass line, understated guitars, and a cool car alarm-esque hook of looping modular synth bloops.  Also, it manages to stretch out for over seven minutes while still feeling concise and punchy.  Unfortunately, it falls a bit short on the lyrical front, as Dave W's snarled anti-authoritarian vocals seem like something Al Jourgenson might come up with if someone shook him awake and shoved a microphone in his face ("subliminal seduction…A SERENADE WITH A GRENADE").  There is also a breakdown that sounds like a poor man’s version of Ministry's "Thieves," as Dave W repeatedly howls "DEFY THE LAW" in a call-and-response duet with revolutionary-sounding newsclip samples.  I would like to think that the sledgehammer politics, unsophisticated lyrics, and retro-style approach to sample use (triggering laughter after he sings the phrase "laugh at your expense") is a deliberate homage to folks like KMFDM, but the Wax Trax! milieu is conspicuously absent from the many influences name-checked in the press release ('80s Mudd Club scene, Burroughs, Gristle, Cab Voltaire).  Thankfully, the music is cool enough to transcend the lyrical missteps, but "Overlord" still feels like a song with a targeted imaginary audience of angst-filled early ‘90s teens rather than, say, a middle-aged music critic in 2017.  It is still quite an enjoyable piece, but it veers into guilty nostalgic fun when it could have easily been the best song on the entire album if the intensity had been dialed down just a little bit.  That said, any contemporary rock band attempting to make a career of catering to my demographic would be in for a rough ride indeed.
Remarkably, however, White Hills get most of their awkward moments out of the way early and the rest of the album is consistently strong with no further caveats.  In fact, it is absolutely riddled with great ideas, which makes me think that this direction is the one White Hills should have been going all along.  Aside from the great drum machine programming and sinuous bass lines, Stop Mute Defeat is simply a much more streamlined, hooky, and playful album than I would have ever expected from the duo.  The finest moment is probably the minimalist single "Importance 101," which is essentially just a very cool shifting bass line; a repeating and largely incomprehensible vocal snippet from Ego; and some clattering, garbage can lid-style drum fills.  For the most part, Dave and Ego seem to consistently be at their best when they are working with the most pared down materials, as they truly just need a strong groove and some peripheral hallucinatory chaos to be compelling.  The rolling and propulsive "Sugar Hill" is similarly excellent, seamlessly adding a bit more songcraft into the equation by keeping the vocals chant-like and low in the mix.  In fact, I have no issues with Dave W's singing at all when he stays laid-back and avoids shouting about the government.  Or when he simply refrains from being an angry rock guy altogether, as he does on the manic electro-pop of the title track or when he is digitized into robotic unrecognizability in the heavy industrial throb of "If…1…2."  Admittedly, Dave returns to his "messianic ‘90s industrial revolutionary" mode once more with the metal-damaged "Attack Mode," but I like the weird tribal tom-tom drumbeat enough to forgive him.
Minor grievances aside, Stop Mute Defeat is easily the most consistently strong White Hills album that I have yet encountered, as every one of these eight songs could easily be a single.  I suppose it is bizarre that the best White Hills album is the one that sounds the least like White Hills, but Dave and Ego's aesthetic has always been an unrepentant pastiche of recognizable influences rather than an entirely original vision, so the incorporation of some fresh inspirations is completely in character.  In fact, I would say it was even a bit overdue, as White Hills had already taken extended hard/psych rock firestorms as far as they could go long ago and their most compelling moments were always those that veered away from that template.  It is also worth noting that the variety here is quite welcome, as is the strong emphasis on rhythm, melody, and tighter songcraft.  Part of the credit for that transformation probably goes to the increased role of returning producer Martin Bisi, but Stop Mute Defeat is essentially just a more focused and stripped-down distillation of elements that were present all along.  Naturally, some longtime fans will be dismayed that there are no wild space rock freak-outs to be found here, but White Hills have already recorded plenty of those and those recordings have not disappeared, so I suspect most will share my delight in hearing such a well-executed leap into new terrain.
Bill Orcutt–his first solo electric studio LP—shocks with its space and sensitivity. On this eponymous record, Orcutt mines the expansiveness and sustain possible on the electric guitar, letting notes spin out and decay at the edge of feedback. His pachinko-parlor pacing, marked by unraveling clockspring accelerandos crashing into unexpectedly suspended tones, is still in evidence. But here, his developing melodicism maps a near-contemplative mental realm, orbiting St. Joan-era Loren Connors more than the cascading treble clatter of his duo LPs with Chris Corsano and others. From the first notes of Ornette Coleman’s "Lonely Woman," there's a lucidity and slow-burning lyricism that make Orcutt's plunges into barbed-wire fingerpicking all the more striking. While no one’s about to mistake Orcutt for Jim Hall, you could probably play this for your jazzbo friends (should you be unlucky enough to have them) without raising any eyebrows.
Orcutt's track selection mirrors his obsession with American popular song in its most banal manifestations, as radically reimagined via acoustic guitar on a variety of releases, including 2013's exhaustive Twenty Five Songs 7" box set, and the Mego LP A History of Every One. Many of the songs from those two releases are here–but stretched into new arrangements that explore the upper regions of the guitar neck (hitherto unexplorable on his shakily-intonated acoustic Kay), and lighting up new corners of each arrangement with a sensitivity born from years of reinterpretation. The result is a languid, freeform drift through Orcutt's internal cosmos into galaxies unknown to their original interpreters–and occasionally, Orcutt himself. Most striking is "White Christmas," its careening low-register melodies crashing into complex chords that transcend Orcutt's primitive four-string fretboard.
Orcutt's original compositions are equally striking. One of them—"The World Without Me"—is unique to this LP, and notable for its trebly flurry of Clapton-esque 12th-fret drizzle. "O Platitudes!" by contrast, spins ever-faster in the cadence of a hand-cranked music box, before grinding to a near halt, its higher-key electricity standing in for the moaning vocalizations on Orcutt's acoustic rendition as heard on his 2014 VDSQ LP.
With its deep-space beauty, harmonic complexity, and dark dissonance, Bill Orcutt is a stunning landmark in Orcutt’s form-destroying trajectory.
As the duo Golden Retriever, Matt Carlson and Jonathan Sielaff have explored an ocean’s worth of sound. Primarily working with the intersection of modular synthesis and amplified/effected bass clarinet, the duo has done eight releases for labels like Thrill Jockey, Root Strata, and NNA Tapes. Their music combines an intense emotional immediacy and meditative focus with strong melodicism and an organic, naturalistic approach to experimental electronic sound. Rotations features the duo expanding their sonic palette to incorporate a full chamber ensemble. The results of this stunning collaboration are meditative, lush, and emotionally arresting.
Rotations began when Golden Retriever received a grant from Portland’s Regional Arts & Culture Council to organize and perform new works. The public performances took place in October of 2015 at Portland’s historic The Old Church. For the performances, Golden Retriever created a series of pieces for an expanded ensemble that included piano, strings, wind instruments, percussion, synthesizer, and pipe organ, which became the foundation on which Rotations was built. While their duo recordings and performances are typically developed from studio improvisations that evolve into specific musical structures, in this case Golden Retriever began with simple acoustic compositions, improvisations and fragmented ideas between bass clarinet and piano and used them to develop melodic and harmonic themes. After transcribing the various parts into notation and adding layers of additional instruments, the result of their collage process creates the effect that Golden Retriever are playing the ensemble as their instrument, and through careful arrangements, have integrated improvisation and composition.
Through the course of the creative process of choosing, editing and arranging the pieces, the duo saw a clear theme: a meditation on the cyclical nature of life and on going through something difficult but emerging on the other side of it with hope. Pieces such as "Pelagic Tremor" tell the story of a tumultuous seascape, stormy and churning. "Tessellation" weaves a tapestry of overlapping patterns that are impenetrable and sifting. In contrast, the sounds of "A Kind of Leaving" (whose title is a reference to a Bei Dao poem) evokes quiet and contemplative imagery, and "Thread of Light" is perhaps Golden Retriever's most minimal piece to date, finding beauty in simplicity. Within each piece, the instruments cycle together rhythmically, harmonically, and texturally. And the album itself forms a cycle made up by the ebb and flow of each piece that is both dynamic and engaging.
Locrian is still an active band, but vocalist/keyboardist Terence Hannum has added another side project to his roster: The Holy Circle. Featuring his wife Erica Burgner-Hannum on vocals and Nathan Jurgenson (Screen Vinyl Image) on drums, the project could not be more different than his other recent one, the anti-fascist Axebreaker (recently reviewed). With The Holy Circle the mood is much more peaceful and elegant, with an emphasis on melody and songwriting, but maintaining that experimental edge Hannum is known for.
First, it cannot be ignored that The Holy Circle sounds extremely inspired by The Cure circa 1981 (and a bit of 1982, sans that trio's violence).This is immediately apparent on the opening "Paris":galloping, tom-heavy drumming and lush, yet slightly dissonant string synthesizer arrangements bear a distinct resemblance to the sound of Faith.However, Burgner-Hannum's vocals are significantly different than anything Robert Smith warbled out, so the final product is a different beast entirely, with a heavy sense of melody and just the right amount of edge.
The drumming/synth sound is a consistent thread throughout the album, but it never results in something akin to a tribute act.On "Early Morning," Hannum's synth sits in just the right amount of murk, with Jurgenson's drumming expanding from a metronomic opening into a more complex arrangement, it makes for an excellent balance of pop and experimentation.Similarly diverse is the initially stripped-down "Shut Out," which begins with little more than a pulsating slow synth sequence.Before long the mix is fully fleshed out with drums and vocals, coming together as one of the lushest moments on an album full of them.
At other points on the album, the needle leans more in the pop direction.The more upbeat, multi-tracked vocals of "Hearts Called" give a bit more light to the album.Driven by a more piano-type lead, there are contrasts with a bit of noisy synth, but the strong, snappy snare that kicks in keeps it buoyant."The Refugee" may be a slow paced song, but the shimmering layers of synthesizers that build up, giving a nice variation to the sound, mixed with Burgner-Hannum's extremely expressive and powerful vocal performance result in one of the album’s highlights: a sense of grandeur and power unlike any other.
The album’s closer, "Basel," ends the album on a similar note to how it began with "Paris":big, booming drums and upfront synthesizer work again make it clear what the primary influences are on The Holy Circle's sound.However, what makes it obviously unique is the shifting structure the trio uses, from an initially stripped down opening into an epic conclusion, it manages to pair regal beauty with a catchy, memorable structure that seems to just tease for future work.
Having only issued a cassette EP and a single song lathe 7" preceding The Holy Circle, this trio have already solidified themselves as experts in a modern revival of the classic 4AD sound, but bearing that as an influence, rather than an imitation.From Nathan Jurgenson’s expressive drumming, to Terence Hannum's melodic, yet occasionally harsh-edged synth work, to Erica Burgner-Hannum's distinctive, beautiful vocals, The Holy Circle is a band strictly of the present day.The perfect balance of the familiar and the fresh, it is an exceptionally captivating album.
Crouch's last release, A Gradual Accumulation of Ideas Becomes Truth (Line), was a heavily conceptual work touching on location and memory that, even divorced from its intellectual underpinning, was an excellent piece of sound art. Sublunar may not be as steeped in concept, but again the audio (a live performance mixing existing material and field recordings) is the most important facet, and again he excels in creating a disorienting piece of familiar and unfamiliar sounds that blur together wonderfully.
Sublunar is the result of a live performance utilizing source material from fellow artists Rafa Esparza and Yann Novak as part of mas gestos y mas caras, a multimedia performance including sculpture and performance art.His reworking of the material is drastic, resulting in a performance split into four pieces of a very different sound and sense.A light static ambience enshrouds "Descension," capturing a variety of found sounds, like an insistent beeping sound that could be almost anything.Crouch works the various layers of sound together, coming together at times lush and rich, and at others thin and harsher in nature.This constant unending flow makes for a complex, captivating piece of sound.
"Brick by Brick" continues with the delicate water sounds from the previous piece, but at first Crouch keeps the mix sparse.What he does leave in the mix helps to build that sense of space and distance, like the architectural structures of his previous album.The emptiness soon becomes crowded however, as Crouch adds a droning, engine like noise that becomes denser and denser, engulfing the mix before letting it collapse.
The following "Listen to the Sound of the Earth Turning" has a more hushed, meditative sensibility to it fitting the title.With the static hum and detuned radio noise that define the opening of the piece, Crouch conjures the sense of hovering in air, off of the earth but not quite in space.This is only strengthened by the blowing winds that surge throughout, not cold or frigid in nature, but giving the feeling of hovering in open space.
The final part of the performance, "Coda (Sailing Stones)" continues the sense of space from before, but Crouch slowly brings the work back down to earth.The openness is mixed with field recordings of an unspecific nature; environmental sounds that could be recorded anywhere or nowhere.With this he adds some gorgeous tones and synth-like buzzing, shaped into a melodic progression before pleasantly fading away.
Separated from the source material, Sublunar may not have the same conceptual nature of his previous work, but his knack for mixing familiar sounds with unfamiliar ones is still strongly present.Here he manages to create a space that is both comfortable and alien, where the ambiguity simply adds to the quality of the sound.Given this is a live performance; it just makes this record all the more impressive.
This split tape manages to capture what sounds like the final Ars Phonenix release (though vocalist/guitarist/keyboardist Jon Glover and keyboardist/vocalist Caitlyn Grimalkin are continuing as Pass/Ages), and one of only a handful of works by Adam Batley's Viirus project. Besides both hailing from the wild lands of Florida (not what I would consider a hotbed for electronic music), they also share the commonality of creating skeletal, yet catchy and moody electronic pop, making for an exceptional pairing.
If it is truly the final release from Glover/Grimalkin and Mike Cruickshank, they are going out on an especially high note.Their four songs fit in consistently with their previous split with Burnt Hair and their Violent Rain LP with mostly midpaced structures and the occasional uptempo surprise.Lead by some excellently produced snappy synthetic drums, "Wings of a Millstone" opens their half of the tape on a strong note.Vocals are kept in the distance to maximize the sense of space created, which also accentuates the slow guitar melodies Glover provides.
The trio begin "Grey is the Only Line" with a wonderful pulsating synth line with rhythmic accents, and the guitar melody again making for an excellent focal point.The overall feel is slow, dour, and depressing, but the heavy syndrum sound gives it the edge to make it stand out strongly.The closing "Thoreau Goes to Ferguson" is similarly paced, but with a distinctly strong bass line, and Glover’s vocals mixed more up front compared to most of the other album.
The high point for the Ars Phoenix half is the previously released (as a video) "Lifetime Supply."With its faster tempo and slightly harder drive contrasting the more moody songs very well, it excels in its energy and catchiness.That edge, plus a memorable chorus from both Glover and Grimalkin, results in one of the band’s strongest works, and one that makes their imminent dissolution even more disheartening.
On the other half, The Viirus begins with at first a loose progression of analog synths on "Our Image" that quickly transitions into a fast paced drum machine lead piece.Batley's vocals eventually appear, muted in a very fitting manner.The closing song "Forever (Unlasting)" has a similarly stripped down, but extremely effective arrangement.A catchy synth sequence and snappy drums result in an exceptional sounding work; a mix that may not be overly complicated but excels from the basics.
The sharp drum machine programming stands out sharply on "Freddy’s Hand" with throbbing synths behind, giving a dark, bleak feel immediately to the song.With Batley’s vocals taking on a more monotone, disconnected sound, the piece comes together with a strong hint of EBM to it.The following "Mask My Face" goes in a different direction, immediately apparent from the stammering 808 beat that opens the piece up.The intentionally Spartan arrangement, and the heavily vocoded vocal style makes for an oddly loose piece amidst the more structured songs.
Ars Phoenix's more moody half of this tape is balanced very well with The Viirus' synthetic, yet more driving sound overall.With the latter’s eccentricity and the former’s stand out "Lifetime Supply," the total package is a superlative one.My only gripe is that neither of these bands were active when I served my time in Florida, since it would have made for a much better experience overall.
Thalassa is the new collaborative project between two titans of the metal tinged avant garde world of guitar: Aaron Turner (Isis, Mamiffer) and William Fowler Collins. Mythical and elemental imagery abounds on the four lengthy pieces split across two LPs, no doubt informed by the contrast of their respective homes: Turner’s cold and damp Pacific Northwest versus Collins’ arid New Mexico home, but the two are entirely on the same page when it comes to performance. Equally fitting into the worlds of old school ambient composition and metallic darkness, Bonds of Prosperity is as bleak as it is engaging.
For two guitarists who have consistently worked in metal-aligned genres, both of them have demonstrated that restraint can be just as heavy as harshness, and that is a clear characteristic of this record.The first moments of "Pitted Aegis" is a telltale overdriven chug of distortion that could be as much a guitar as it could be a battery of effects.However, the two build from this seemingly simplistic starting point to expand into a sprawling expanse of grimy grind.Eventually this sputters out and then returns, eventually relenting for a beautifully expansive guitar sound to take hold.There is a massive, monolithic quality to the final product that is overwhelming without oppressing.
The following "Secular Pyres" begins with a similarly monochromatic ominous hum that unravels to reveal a much greater complexity to its sound.Turner and Collins start from this and allow it to unfold into a menacing roar that builds to extreme levels, to then just as quickly pull it away.Beyond that there is a fascinating static-laden buzz that remains before the piece gently drifts off.The initial sustained drone that begins "Face Obscure", on the other hand, does not stick around long before a squealing guitar stab cuts through, a visceral, almost painful sounding burst of noise.While it eventually relents to allow some low frequency rumbles and warbling tones to appear, it never fully goes away.Things do not stay peaceful however; as the sound warms and the duo create a mood that is undeniably beautiful, yet still somewhat imposing.Again this harsh squeal reappears, and then again a few minutes later after a near silent passage.Eventually the piece concludes on what sounds to be taut string plucks, sounding more like analog electronic tones than a standard guitar sound.
The final composition, "Revolting Corpus," has the two staying a bit more reigned in as far as the noisier stuff goes, or at least until the end.A throbbing repeated guitar motif appears at first and slowly builds up, becoming more melodic and almost pleasant sounding as a whole, even though the rest of the piece is a murky darkness.Collins and Turner work heavily with repetition here, resulting in an overall rhythmic structure that becomes more and more dissonant with time.By the chaotic conclusion it is an all out noise war, complete with what sounds like a monstrous vocal outburst before coming to an extremely abrupt conclusion.
Considering both Aaron Turner and William Fowler Collins' existing body of work, a collaboration between the two was seemingly inevitable, and while the results are not necessarily surprising, Bonds of Prosperity also does not disappoint.There are clearly sinister vibes throughout the record, but like their respective home environments, there is a distinct beauty in the extremity.Thalassa's sound is daunting and at times oppressive, but that is exactly what makes this collaboration so brilliant.
Spurred on by an open Facebook post during one of John Olson’s (Wolf Eyes) visits to Upstate New York, this album features him with two local luminaries, Eric Hardiman (Rambutan, Century Plants) and Jeff Case (Burnt Hills) in a purely improvised setting. These three lengthy performances are surprisingly restrained, with Olson exclusively on reeds and wind instruments, Case on drums and Hardiman on saxophone and synths. I am guessing the result is an excellent example of psycho jazz (still not knowing exactly what that means as a genre), though it is surprisingly more conventional than I had expected.
The first session is essentially straight up free jazz for the bulk of its duration.Olson takes the lead, sharing a notable amount of space with Case’s understated drumming behind.The freeform structure is apparent, but the playing is restrained; far less chaotic than I would expect from the crew.Later on the playing is underscored with some almost vibraphone type sounds, and the piece does not drifts into aggressive territory.The trio gets a bit wild near the end though, with the reeds getting a bit more intense and some harsher electronics coming forth.
For the second piece, Olson and Hardiman lock horns with each other as Case keeps the beat behind them.It is comparatively harder and a bit more chaotic, with the two taking turns retreating and then bursting out in a complex duet. The higher and low register difference in tone between the two complements each other very well, keeping for a dynamic sound as the percussion soldiers on.Here the overall sound shifts from a more peaceful chill out space, building to heavier bursts and rapid fire freakouts, all concluding in an excellent and appropriately boisterous crescendo.
The lengthy concluding performance (about as long as the two that preceded it combined) ties the album together extremely well.With the greater amount of time the improvisation between the three becomes more dynamic, deliberately building and collapsing as time goes on.The rhythms stay subtle as Hardiman introduces a bit more in the way of electronics.That, plus a tasteful amount of processing (specifically in the form of echo and reverb) push the performance into a very different, almost fusion jazz space (although a fusion of very different genres than usual).The performance has a brilliant transition from almost new age ambience into harsher, more aggressive territory before concluding on more of a synth drone note.
For what is essentially just a three person jam session in a basement, the sum total of the performances on March of the Mutilated Vol. 1 comes across as so much more.Shifting sounds and moods abound, but most importantly it never becomes overly directionless or self-indulgent.Sure, the performances get a bit noodly at times, but in a way that makes sense, and works.It may be a bit lighter than what I have come to expect from Olson, but the presence of Hardiman and Case make it a compelling jaunt from start to finish.
These two new releases from the legendary composer may have come out around the same time, but they both represent extreme ends of his work. The former is a two disc, 16 piece compilation of shorter works created over the span of two years, covering a wide gamut of the López sound. The latter is a flash drive containing a single work (split into 11 distinct parts) five hours and 20 minutes in length, all based on a single sound source. They may be distinctly different in composition and construction, but both are brilliant works in his already shining discography.
Untitled (2012-2014) is the more accessible of the two, or at least as much as that term can be applied to Francisco López’s often difficult work.Consisting of 16 pieces ranging from just shy of three minutes to a bit under 14, it functions well as a compilation or overview of the work he has been doing in that time span.One thing that does define these works (and seeps into Untitled #352 as well) is an intensive use of low frequencies.Listening on headphones (as recommended) results in some moments of near silent volume, but significant vibrations and rumbling.
One of the major reasons for the diversity of these two CDs is the differing sources of sound López utilized to create them.Four of the pieces stem from raw sound material provided by other artists that he radically reworked into his own compositions."Untitled #316 (for Zbigniew Karkowski)" uses material from the late composer (and friend of López) to create an expanse of low frequency that, without adequate headphones or speakers, would probably sound like complete silence.With the addition of shrill digital static, the piece builds to a harsh roar before falling back to the open space.At times I could not tell if what I was hearing was actually on the recording or sound of my headphones barely being able to handle the low end noise.
In a similar vein, "Untitled #297", using source sounds from the artist Shhh… is another pastiche of extreme frequencies.It functions almost as a study of significant contrasts, where foundation shaking low frequencies are paired with almost ultrasonically high register noises verging on the upper limit of human hearing.In truth, it is not too dissimilar to the approach of some of the earliest Whitehouse recordings, but here executed with a scientific, almost clinical precision.
There are also pieces included with less clear sources, but are no less engaging.Voices appear at erratic times throughout "Untitled #296", augmented by swirling tones and understated electronics.There is a notable amount of activity to be heard, though where it is coming from is anything but clear, ending with what sounds like a sharp spring reverb passage."Untitled #304" is at first what I would consider a "standard" López composition:a droning, almost air conditioner like din sets the mood as quiet electronic-tinged noises cut through.Later, however, and almost drum-like thump is introduced that gives an entirely different feel to the piece.
The five hours that precede this is a series of ten 30 minute pieces, titled "MANTRAck" 01 through 10.The nature of these recordings is all in the title:each is a rework of the same source material, in long form structures with little overt variation.In that regard, they are excellent meditative pieces, having the "zone out" quality of white noise, but with enough change and variation within the pieces to keep them engaging.Most of the variation has to do with the frequencies:some cover more of the full frequency spectrum, such as the first.The opener is an abrasive, dissonant buzz that builds to an unmoving wall, while the quieter, more bassy foundation evolves and changes.
For the sixth piece, he emphasizes the mid and high end frequencies, resulting in a metallically shrill, almost painful bit of sound.On the third segment Lopez keeps the harsher moments at bay and instead emphasizes the more textural elements of the source recordings.This results in a more varied piece, where pops, clicks, and the occasional bit of (intentional) digital clipping result in a greater depth and variety.The final tenth segment is another pairing of extreme frequencies, but engineered in such a way as to be peaceful, rather than abrasive.
Luke Younger’s latest EP draws inspiration from his fascination with the UK's media chaos surrounding last year’s Brexit vote.  I suppose that is arguably one good thing to come out of that dark bit of recent history, but Helm already seemed to be doing a perfectly fine job producing fine albums without that unfortunate muse.  Inspirations aside, Helm EPs generally tend to feel a hell of a lot like maxi-singles and they only surface when Younger has made a significant creative breakthrough.  World in Action is no exception to that trend.  In this case, that breakthrough takes the form of the 9-minute "Blue Scene," a gloriously skittering and jazz-damaged cacophony that often resembles a hallucinatory flock of worried geese...with a groove.  Naturally, the remaining three pieces adhere to characteristically Helm-esque levels of quality, but it is quite clear that the wildly skwonking, must-hear tour de force of "Blue Scene" is the reason that this release exists.
One aspect of Luke Younger's art that I always find intriguing is his ability to continually evolve Helm's aesthetic without losing his direction.  I often grumble about artists who are chameleonic, but Helm is an example of such a practice actually working quite well: no matter how many esoteric new influences Younger absorbs, he always seems to filter them distinctively through the "Helm" prism.  Case in point: the opening "Blue Scene" is far more indebted to free-jazz than it is to electronic music, but the layered squalls of gnarled saxophones and shuffling drums sound perfectly at home.  It is not terribly hard to see how the confused and overlapping jumble of jabbering horns relates to the media coverage of Brexit, incidentally.  It would be a gross oversimplification to focus exclusively on the more dissonant aspects of the piece, however, as there is a very cool looping brass hook that holds the piece together beautifully.  Without that component, this would feel like the work of a dilettante.  With it, however, "Blue Scene" is absolutely perfect.  In a way, it reminds me of Terry Riley’s classic "Poppy Nogood" beefed up with a bit more snarl and momentum.  Of course, there are also some more distinctly Helm-esque touches in the mix in the form of buried industrial textures and brooding synthesizers, but the real beauty of the piece lies in the masterful juxtaposition of roiling, honking chaos and an unstoppable and perversely soulful groove.
The following "Candy" is a bit more in the expected vein, however, as it is a brief and sketchlike piece that marries a quavering and hazy drone to some stuttering and clattering metallic percussion.  It certainly offers some wonderfully crunching textures, but it ends a bit too quickly to feel particularly substantial.  The title piece takes a somewhat similar (if noisier) approach, erupting into a heavy industrial/junkyard percussion groove strafed by retro-futurist/sci-fi modular synth bloops.  Much of the credit for its success goes to guest percussionist Valentina Magaletti (Raime/Vanishing Twin), as she conjures up quite a bludgeoning racket, but it would not be nearly as heavy without Younger's textured and grinding layers of noise and bulldozing sub bass.  The two artists make a fine pair, as "World in Action" is both concise and crushing.  The EP closes with yet another fine piece, "After Dark," which reprises the "snarling brass loop pile-up" aesthetic of "Blue Scene," but takes a somewhat different direction with it.  This time around, the melodic components feel like they are submerged and fighting to surface.  There is also some rumbling percussion buried deep in the mix, but the foreground is consumed almost entirely with a roiling dull roar of drone.  It never evolves into anything more, yet Younger executes a wonderful balancing act of unresolved tension, as the submerged elements feel constantly on the verge of bubbling up to the surface.
The sole nagging issue that I have with World in Motion is that it feels like Magaletti and Younger never quite fully realize their combined potential with the three shorter pieces.  I certainly enjoy them, but they are a bit lean on hooks and melody.  Granted, no one has ever excitedly purchased a new Helm album hoping for plenty of either, yet it seems like Younger focused almost entirely on the production-side of things with "Candy" and "World in Action," maximizing the density and textural dynamism of pieces that are a little more than cool percussion patterns.  In the case of "World in Action," that percussion is admittedly visceral and hypnotic enough to carry the piece on its own (Magaletti is an ideal foil).  While the same is not quite true of "Candy," it is brief enough to avoid overstaying its welcome.  Younger clearly knows when he has an idea that can sustain a ten-minute song and when he does not. Of course, the more optimal way of viewing World in Action is simply as an absolutely killer single.  Viewed in that light, it is a complete success: Younger has just released what is possibly the finest song of his career in "Blue Scene" and threw in a handful of brief and interesting experiments as a bonus.  That works for me, as I am perfectly happy with just one sustained flash of brilliance per EP.  Artistic considerations about World in Action’s future place in the post-industrial canon aside, it is also worth noting that this EP feels weirdly like it is Younger’s "party album," as the heavy "live" percussion and strangled horns are an appealingly listenable and momentum-enhancing additions to the Helm aesthetic.  I hope they stick around when Younger makes his next leap forward.