We have finally cleared out the backlog of great music and present some new episodes.
Episode 711 features music from The Jesus and Mary Chain, Zola Jesus, Duster, Sangre Nueva, Dialect, The Bug, Cleared, Mount Eerie, Mulatu Astatke & Hoodna Orchestra, Hayden Pedigo, Bistro Boy, and Ibukun Sunday.
Episode 712 has tunes by Mazza Vision, Waveskania, Black Pus, Sam Gendel, Benny Bock, and Hans Kjorstad, Katharina Grosse, Carina Khorkhordina, Tintin Patrone, Billy Roisz, and Stefan Schneider, His Name Is Alive, artificial memory trace, mclusky, Justin Walter, mastroKristo, Başak Günak, and William Basinski.
Episode 713 brings you sounds from Mouse On Mars, Leavs, Lawrence English, Mo Dotti, Wendy Eisenberg, Envy, Ben Lukas Boysen, Cindytalk, Mercury Rev, White Poppy, Anadol & Marie Klock, and Galaxie 500.
Skolavordustigur Street in Reykjavík photo by Jon (your Podcast DJ).
Get involved: subscribe, review, rate, share with your friends, send images!
Did you get the NEW Kid606 full-length CD yet? The eagerly anticipated follow-up to lastmonth's full-lengther, "P.S. I Love You" rounds up various songskicking around from out of print 10", 7" and unreleased songs. The moodthis time around is one step more bridging the gap between thebombastic noisey and the high pitched squealing sonics (or love songsas Kid seems to refer to them). For a single release, many artistsfocus more on an individual track than a 'concept' that would becarried out over the course of many many songs. In many ways singlescompilations can be perfect overviews of an artist's works. On thistasty CD it works! It sounds great and provides a great way to catch upwith your favorite wonder-boy electronica poster child without huntingdown all those old vinyl singles which are difficult to grab thesedays.
Like a few releases recently, I had to take my time with this one for it to make sense to me. I had to figure out what made me like and dislike the album all at the same time. The reason that makes the most sense to me is this: the members of both the LPD and Download camps have become excellent writers while the execution of the recordings seem entirely too rushed and careless.
The lyrics and instrument playing have both become more developed than ever while the choices of tempo and instrumentation leaves much to be desired. It seems as if there wasn't enough thought involved. I hear the songs on 'Crystal Mass' and imagine some of them slowed down, sound effects added in, color added or various other things. For the most part this disc sounds rather bland while the writing is great. It's heartbreaking as it seems like you're watching a gifted young child surrounded by negative reinforcement. Even more disturbing than this is the lack of care in quality control. Can't figure out who's to blame on this - the band, the engineer, the master or the record company. 9 songs appear on 8 tracks, there's two songs sharing track 3, but lyrics of each song suggest something completely out of order from the printed track list. The only song that I can positively identify is track 1, which is strangely the only track title written in ALL CAPS (possibly suggesting it's not of the 8 tracks all listed below it). Confused???! My favorite song, "Lament" opens the disc in a stunning piece which echoes "I Am the Way, the Truth, the Light" (from LPD's Asylum) in an almost retro-80s pop style, continuing on, songs almost pierce the ears with bland adult contemporary pop-rock feel. One even summoning up old memories of "Sultans of Swing" from Dire Straits. Another gem on the album I thought was originally "Her Majesty's Trusted Food Taster" seems like it's actually "Castaway" as the lyrics make more sense being part of that 2-song track earlier on the disc. I'm all screwed up, somebody please correct this. Can we start again? Leave track 1 in though...
CQBL016 | BURIAL HEX | ESCHATOLOGY I | C60 [Ltd. 100 Obsidian on Black Mist] "Eschatology I" is the first installment of the "Precession of Nightfall" cycle which will eventually culminate in the "Nightfall" divination kit and cassette boxset. A cycle which presents 8 unique 30 minute compositions exploring a new hallucinatory concept of ritual precession as a means to further explore the divinations of Mother Midnight; also known as The Reading of Readings, The Oracles of The Oracle, and/or The Visions of The Void. The first piece is presented in this sprawling collection as the mysterious "Twilight Visitors", which features a slow rotation of apparitions and psychic phenomena. Once these spirits get to know you, they begin to celebrate and awaken one another, surrounding you, whispering in your ear until your eyes close and the veil is totally dissolved. The second piece presented is the "Book of Delusions (St Hilary's Day Remix)", which takes the already exhausting trance of the cursed epic "Book of Delusions" and doubles it in length, drowning and discoloring the work until nothing is left but a numb and muted pulse. World without end, Amen.
Recorded six years ago, but just released this year, this is a three way collaboration with some of the biggest names who inhabit that gray space between musique concret and harsh noise. The result is an all-too-brief work that covers the strengths of both scenes quite nicely.
On "Wrestling," there are layers of squelchy static atop an uneasy thud that almost feels rhythmic, neither of which becomes too loud to overshadow the other.Between the sputtering analog synth cast-off noises and dynamic, abstract clattering, there is a sense of both electronic chaos and careful, but abstract structures.
"Rest" opens up the doors to noise a bit more, heralded by an opening, expansive blast of noise that feels like an Incapacitants bit that at least initially pulls away to leave legions of little analog birds to chirp away.These hyper synth burps are contrasted by what sounds like some big, dumb guitar blasts, ending up in a more raw, less controlled context.The latter portions are a bit more menacing, sounding like splashing water and plumbing pipes bursting in a dark, cavernous space.
Considering this is only a 7", it is all too brief in length.While occasionally it sounds like three distinct artists doing their own thing, those moments are mostly erased by the ones where it all comes together and clicks, like a really good free jazz record.
I have not heard anything from this French duo since 2008's The World Upside-Down, but their gently roiling and shimmering guitar drone made a big impression on me.  On this, their first full-length vinyl release, Pierre Faure and Thierry Monnier caught me a bit off-guard by taking a much more minimal and much less overtly musical approach.  It definitely took me a while to warm to these changes, as their new arsenal of buzzes, hums, and whirs does not offer much in the way of immediacy, melody, or rhythm. However, there is still quite a lot to like here, as Sun Stabbed have made some significant creative progress over the last few years– it just takes some faith and patience to appreciate it.
If this had been the first Sun Stabbed release that I had heard, I probably would not have paid close enough attention to it to enjoy it all that much.  These guys certainly aren't the first folks to focus their attention on all of the electric guitar's peripheral sounds (fingers sliding along a string, amplifier hum, feedback, pick-up noise, etc.), but they are pretty uniquely skilled at ingeniously harnessing and sculpting those sounds into something vibrant and compelling.  However, a great deal of this record's success lies in my being drawn in by the mysteries of the process.  As such, Des lumières, des ombres, des figures has somewhat limited appeal despite its imaginative and skillful execution: Pierre and Thierry completely eschew any kind of melodic development or progression here in favor of tension and texture.  This is an impressive work, but it is a hard one to love–I still very much prefer The World Upside-Down.  Nevertheless, this release is a very promising development.  A few more concessions like melody or warmth would be welcome, but it is hard to fault a band for boldly and skillfully testing the limits of their sound.
Sonic Youth and the Opalio Brothers both share a definite propensity towards ambitious and fruitful international collaborations, so it was pretty much inevitable that they'd wind up occasionally intermingling.  In fact, this live Verona performance is actually the second time that these four musicians have shared a stage, having previously performed with Dead C's Michael Morley in 2008 as part of a French art exhibition.  In theory, the combination of Ranaldo's tumultuous guitar noise, Ponzini's Japanese percussion, and Roberto Opalio's weird sci-fi toys has the potential to be something quite spectacular.  The reality is a bit less than that, but this album definitely has its share of compelling moments.
Ramona Ponzini is not as well-known as this session's other participants, but she has been working with the Opalio brothers for quite some time in projects like Black Magic Disco and plays a very prominent role in All is Lost in Translation.  The first of the two lengthy pieces is centered around her recitation (in Japanese, presumably) of some poetry by proto-feminist Yosano Akiko.  That doesn't start for about ten minutes though and the build-up to it is quite nice: a fragile guitar motif twinkles beneath an array of chimes, bells, echo-heavy voice recordings, and Roberto Opalio's wordless falsetto vocal swoops.  It all feels strangely sacred, like a recording of some bizarre cult, but it is charmingly disrupted from time to time by laser sounds and other futuristic noises from Roberto's eclectic assortment of toys and electronics.  Gradually, however,  the guitars and electronics get more and more pronounced and both Maurizio Opalio's cymbals and Ponzini's hand-percussion grow steadily more active as the piece builds to its slow-burning climax.
Unfortunately, the work is torpedoed a bit by some unfortunate irony, as Lee Ranaldo attempts to amp up the intensity with some of his own English-language poetry that is not lost in translation.  It seems like his words are intended to play off and enhance Ponzini's, but his incessant shouted variations of "kick me in the head!" definitely shatter the piece's mantric/ritualistic feel for me and turn the proceedings into something approaching avant-garde theater or performance art.  It's quite exasperating because everything else works so well, but I guess that is one of the perils of improvising: some ideas just don't work as well as others.  The piece nearly gets its momentum back when it dissolves into an electronic blizzard of burbles and whooshes, but then Ranaldo chimes in with an ill-timed "I didn't mean to kick you in the head–I was only trying to get elected," causing me to involuntarily grimace.  Then it derails yet again during the otherwise sublime chanted outro, as Lee begins loudly demanding to now be hit in the head.  I'd love to think that he is making some extremely clever point about the limitations of language or something that is way over my head, but my gut tells me otherwise.
The second and final song is a bit more cacophonous and rhythmic, as Ranaldo's guitar squalls, howls, and feeds back over an actual drum beat and some avian and insectoid electronic twittering.  After about five minutes, however, the louder elements drop out and Ramona returns to the microphone to intone some more poetry over woozy harmonics and a bed of layered moans.  Then, to my utter disbelief, Lee starts demanding to be kicked in the head yet again, only a bit more impassioned than he was earlier.  He also starts wildly yelping before the piece gently ebbs to a close with a steadily dwindling flurry of dissonant guitar noise and space-y electronics.
I can't describe All is Lost in Translation as anything other than inspired, but deeply frustrating: most of it is quite good, but the not-so-good parts tend to be the most prominent.  Ranaldo definitely had the right idea in a larger sense, as his vocal contributions brought some welcome passion and unpredictability to the performance, but the actual content did not serve the surrounding music particularly well.  There is definitely a lot to like but this album is probably too uneven to offer much appeal to anyone that is not already an existing fan of the parties involved.
The guys in Weedeater don't have a use for virtuosic solos, blastbeats, tormented wails, or any of traditional heavy metal's idiosyncrasies. Frankly, they sound far too zoned out to care—or at least, I imagine they'd like us to think so, given an album title that winks at opiate use and the tar-black, sludgy riffs that coat their follow-up to 2007's God Luck and Good Speed.
Jason... the Dragon is too slow to headbang to, too song-based to zone out to, too abrasive (mostly) to sing along to. Like Saint Vitus and Cathedral before them (among many others), Weedeater's specialty is overdriven, fuzz-coated rhythmic riffs and a lockstep, hard-hitting rhythm section. The band plays not as separate musicians, but a single, titanic entity; when they settle into a groove, as on the one-two opening punch of "Hammerhandle" and "Mancoon," Weedeater sound like a force of nature, satisfyingly heavy and visceral. Frontman "Dixie" Dave Collins' throat-shredding vocals are not so much anguished as sneering and provocative, if occasionally a bit silly when they can be understood.
Weedeater's music is as much an exercise in heavy rock as metal, so who better to sit at the mixing board than Steve Albini? He produced their last Southern Lord album, God Luck and Good Speed, four years ago, so while it's perhaps a case of not fixing what isn't broken, it's a great decision regardless: Jason... the Dragon sounds punchy, primitive and unhinged. It has the same recorded-live-in-the-studio feel that Albini captured for the Jesus Lizard's Liar 20 years ago, but with buckets of rumbling low-end in the mix—thick and sludgy bass that anchors the songs and amplifies Weedeater's attack.
Two songs stand out as major departures: "Palms and Opium" is a shock, trading distortion and sludge for back-porch country twang—a fitting soundtrack not for burning crosses, but roasting marshmallows over a campfire. While that song works in context, a mid-album respite from the surrounding heaviness and devastation, closer "Whiskey Creek" isn't as successful. Croaking frogs, rainwater washing down a gutter, and a single-note bass throb provide a disjointed backdrop for an instrumental banjo piece. One false ending later, a solo barroom piano closes the album in puzzling fashion. "Whiskey Creek" sounds like Weedeater had fun fucking around in the studio between actual songs, but I wish the album closed with a stronger statement.
My biggest complaint with Jason... the Dragon, though, is that it's over far too quickly. While I certainly don't mind albums that avoid filler and stay short and sweet, Jason is more akin to an EP in disguise. It's easy enough to do the math: one intro, one interlude, and two experimental (i.e., non-metal) songs on a ten-track album means there's a scant 22 minutes of crushing goodness here. It has been four years since Weedeater put out a full-length, so I can't help but feel disappointed that Jason is over so quickly. Here's hoping that their next album feels more substantive, especially if they nod off for another few years before recording again.
In contrast to the way I felt about their last collaboration, Space Finale, Big Shadow Montana is a dynamic, ever changing composition that mixes random sounds, droning electronics, and even some actual, albeit odd, passages of music into a perfect soundtrack for a '60s exploitation flick that never existed.
A single piece split over two halves of vinyl, each actually functions on their own, but feel best played as a whole.The A side opens with gentle, pensive drones that expand with a sense of nostalgia, through faded photographs and lingering dust.Occasionally, melodies of another time seem to be carried in by icy winds, as are ghostly passages of lost radio transmissions.Looped basses and clattering wind chimes appear as a more forceful, dominating element in the slow, dream sequence like passages.
Through this, the occasional odd bit of voice appears, along with some pretty notes and odd creaking noises amid the huge walls of heavy ambience that are broken up by what sounds like expansive harmonium.As the half ends, the constantly evolving and flowing sound ends on some truly bizarre waltzing Casio keyboard sounds.
On the flip side, the music is more spacy, psychedelic, and a bit playful.Modular synths and weathered textures abound, forcefully over some subtle melodies.Overall there’s a more restrained, chilled out sound, even in the open canyons of sound, with the occasional outburst of radio transmissions and what sounds like passing UFOs.
The absurdity goes on to even greater heights, where the Casio sounds reappear in an outright bit of lounge music, which has the right level of kitsch to be fun and not obnoxious.All the while the sonic debris from this bit of pure oddness are processed and effected into completely weird, but brilliant passages of sound.
With almost mournful, icy sounds on one half and weird, absurd science fiction vibes on the other, it makes for an odd combination, but one that really flows beautifully together.Compared to the sprawling Space Finale, Big Shadow Montana is a more concise document that is both fascinatingly complex and bizarrely fun at the same time, a pairing that just sadly does not come along often enough.
After recently loving the Sun Splitter cassette on Land of Decay, I had high hopes going into this split and they most certainly came through. Their half here stands up proudly with that tape, which is no easy feat, and the Bridesmaid side is no slouch either.
Bridesmaid, who I was notreally familiar with are definitely sailing similar waters to Sun Splitter, but still put their own unique spin on things."Vilkin' It For All It's Worth" is a fully instrumental piece that initially conjures up images of smoke and bong water, with its overdriven bass and garage band drums that are just the right amount of messy.It’s an unrelenting headbanging delight until the final 30 seconds or so, where it just goes full bore into grindcore assault, shattering the comfortable repetition that preceded it violently.
On the other side, "Plum Blossom" by Sun Splitter is cut from the same cloth as their tape.Opening with a robotic cymbal passage into their wonderfully diverse Sabbath riffs, the track is pure noisy bliss.While the song doesn’t quite transform into as many odd configurations as some of their other songs, it does carefully balance a repeated vocal mantra with big, caveman riffs and more complex guitar notes, dissolving into screams and noise in the middle segment.Subtlety is tossed out the window at the end, when the drum machine is programmed for "machine gun" and the guitar is pure death metal.
Paired together, they both highlight different aspects of the sludgy, post-doom metal scene.The contrast between Bridesmaid's ramshackle drums and Sun Splitter's digital precision is especially noticeable since both are matched with heavy, fuzzed out bass guitars, but neither is better than the other, they're just different: different, but equally badass.
The three movements of Untitled #360 stand out distinctly in Francisco López’s recent body of work, largely due to their sheer sense of force and chaos. With scant information as far as source material goes, my best guess is that he plundered sound effects libraries, especially those aimed at action and horror film productions, to construct this lengthy composition. Rather than radically processing these sources, he instead focuses on layering and arranging them (with tasteful amounts of treatment) to create a tense, audio-only pseudo-narrative that is among the most aggressive and harsh that I have heard from him.
The first movement is the most traditionally collage style in nature.Crashes, explosions and chaos are all about, peppered with gunshots and the occasional music cue or two.The sound never relents, with López layering sound atop sound, with a bit more in the way of playback speed and direction adjustments.Panned all around, it is a disorienting mass of noise.While other sections on the album seem to hint at a narrative structure, this is the disc’s frenzied, messy inception.
Bookended by the two shorter, less varied works, the centerpiece of Untitled #360 is the 54 minute "Movement Two."Comparably, there is much more space and breathing room here, and also a bit calmer.Opening with the sounds of water, López brings in knocking and banging sound effects, but never overwhelmingly so.Crackling indistinct sounds and hydraulic machinery noises give a literal industrial atmosphere to the piece, though later offset by recordings of heartbeats that almost approximate some semblance of rhythm and a hint of humanity.
Francisco López almost brings about a sense of melody with some droning electronic atmospheres, but those are brief and passing.Soon, he takes the piece takes in a darker direction, bringing a mass of violent, fleshy thuds and squirming, wet sounds the forefront.At this point López has apparently locked into the "tension" tagged sounds in his effects library, because he hits all the ones that could be expected:ticking clocks, heavy breathing, and monstrous growls (or something of that nature).The jarring outbursts, offset with hissing air and the occasionally random scraping noise, culminates in a dark, tense, and unsettling conclusion to the section.
It is the third and final movement where it seems as if the unspoken narrative is clearest, and also the most visceral.A dense mix of sound effects cannot obscure the explosions, crashing, and crunching sounds he stacks throughout the mix.A wide array of automatic weapon fire can be heard from all distances, punctuated with car alarms and the occasional passing helicopter.It is much akin to a protracted, dramatic film shoot out scene, a la Michael Mann's Heat, but with all music cues and dialog stripped away, rendering it even more inhuman and purely violent.Spread out over 13 minutes and with the drastic volume shifts, it is a jarring, harrowing experience with a siren here, followed by a disturbingly loud burst of submachine gun fire.The closing minutes in which everything takes on a submerged, aquatic, quality, complete with sonar pings, labored breathing, and the hissing of an oxygen tank further demonstrate how López could end up with some Hollywood sound design credits to his name.
I never know what to expect when listening to a new Francisco López work because, as prolific as he may be, he is always doing something new and it never is disappointing.I was not quite prepared for the harshness and often terrifying narrative he constructs in Untitled #360, so the first listen was a mix of baffling and frightening.However, like all of his work, it is diverse and complex and, while not necessarily the most comfortable of listening, is always a fascinating experience.
This limited EP collects four brand new remixes and reinterpretations of songs on 2010's album Rocket Fire. Justin K. Broadrick (Godflesh, Jesu, Pale Sketcher) takes sources from "It's Too Late" and reinvents the melodies, GD Luxxe records a German pop version of "Someday," Monster Movie (Slowdive, Eternal) perform a very sympathetic cover of "Stars Fall," and Jessica Bailiff creates a terrifying reconstruction of "Never Make You Cry" from samples and her own playing and singing.
Only 500 copies will be sold through Brainwashed. It is available now for purchase in the Brainwashed Store. Songs are available below: