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).
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Almost disturbingly prolific, this is the latest (though that might change by the time you read this) disc from this noise/drone/metal duo. While they have been cranking the releases out in their relatively short career, they have at least been consistent with the quality of their releases, and Drenched Lands, for all its metal look and presentation, is one of the more subtle releases I have yet to hear.
The opening track, "Obsolete Elegy in Effluvia and Dross," sounds like it could be some black metal track, replete with battle axes, corpse paint, and scrawny Nordic men posing in the snow, but instead it starts with simple, clear guitar strumming that is allowed to breathe, with only a subtle underpinning of synth hums, which is a lot more pure and open than a lot of their backcatalogue.
This is pretty much the lightest moment here, the next one, "Ghost Repeater," leads off with a buzzing amplifier and subtle guitar scrapes. High frequency pings start to come in, giving a very rhythmic, but natural sense of minimalism. Towards the second half of its lengthy duration, an anemic guitar squall comes in to push the treble levels even higher. Unfortunately the mix mostly neglects the lower end of the sonic spectrum, and would benefit more from a bit of bass added.
The brittle mix continues into "Barren Temple Obscured By Contaminated Fogs," but is more of an asset. The bits of clear guitar and digital organ sound better skewed this way, and the screamed metal vocals and white noise sound a bit more like a lo-fi Sunn O))), but more experimental and less metal. This contrasts the more bassy "Epicedium" that showcases guitar and some ambient tones, a more open work that, once the taut guitar playing kicks in towards the second half, has the structure and tension of a great film soundtrack.
"Obsolete Elegy in Cast Concrete" brings back the pained vocals that do sound very black metal, but are contrasted with the distant electronic bells and more airy synths, where even the chugging metal riffs keep it away from boring and clichéd metal territory. The disc ends with the 30-plus minute "Greyfield Shrines," which is the same live recording I reviewed in its original LP form. While it loses some of its charm as a bonus track rather than a heavy slab of vinyl, it still is a strong and well composed piece of live material.
I must say I’m a bit nervous since each release I’ve heard from this project is managing to be somewhat different, yet still consistent with the overall vibe of the band, and have not lost any bit of quality. Any time I see this frequency of music being released, I anticipate boredom to set in, but it has yet to happen with Locrian.
Kevin Tomkins is probably always going to be known for his tenure in the early (and some would say best) incarnation of Whitehouse, closely followed by his power electronics project Sutcliffe Jugend and the rock-oriented Bodychoke. This first solo outing from him completely defies expectations, being based only on sounds generated by an autoharp.
For such a simple concept, the tracks rarely resemble each other and are based less on the "playing" of the instrument and much more on using every facet of it as a means of generating sound and textures. Only on "Fifth Flaw" and the closing "Twelfth Flaw" is traditional playing the focus, and even within those there is a fair share of abstract clatters and vibrations, the latter being front-loaded with a dense set of sounds, but closing into pure and beautiful tones. "Eighth Flaw" takes the strums and instead messes with the tunings, allowing the loosened strings to rattle and create their own sense of percussion.
The percussive applications of the autoharp are spread throughout the album, sometimes being untreated, but consisting of what must be items bounced on the strings, such as the opening "First Flaw," which adds in extremely quiet swelling tones to balance out. "Ninth Flaw" marries the percussive treatment of the instrument with some Eastern-like string plucks. It is a continuous, collage-like piece that is almost too abstract for its own good, never really locking in to a specific sense of structure or cohesion. The too short "Fourth Flaw" is perhaps the only track where editing and sequencing seems to be a dominant theme, cutting the sounds of plucks and vibrations into a tightly mixed piece that resembles what would be labeled electronica if it was coming out of a laptop or sampler.
The longer "Sixth Flaw" is perhaps the best piece here, and is nicely sequenced right in the center of the album. The layers of autoharp are shaped into insect chatters, tribal percussion elements, and an array of disorienting tones that would make the perfect soundtrack to going up a river into a dark jungle. The following "Seventh Flaw" continues the jungle motif, autoharp being used as a gamelan, and occasionally l ike a fiddle, possibly moving the river metaphor from before out of Africa or Asia and into some of the less settled parts of the American South.
For an album that is focused solely on the use of one instrument, Tomkins has used what sounds more like old fashion experimentation more than technological processing, yet for the most part channels the creaks, groans, and vibrations of an autoharp into diverse and varied compositions. While it lacks the brutality and aggression of his other projects, it retains the structure and composition that set Sutcliffe Jugend apart from many similar noise bands.
Presenting a whopping 24 tracks in just over 45 minutes, this album is exactly what it says it is: a series of drone works the titles of which indicate the digital works' file type, size, bitrate and other pieces of information. If this sounds like a disjointed mess however—and you couldn't be blamed if the quantity and brevity of the material suggested as much—don't be fooled. This is an extended work whose whole is simply attained through the slight differences afforded by so many partitions.
If anything, the suggested chaos of the number of tracks is quelled by Ophibre's distinctly placid sound. The moniker of Benjamin Rossignol, the project represents a study in the subtlest shifting of sound planes. Where much contemporary drone busies itself with overdone dramatics, Rossignol's works often end as they begin as he starts with a set number of sounds and allows them to interact as they will.
In this context, the results far outweigh the specific differences indicated by the track titles. With every track here lasting at or just under two minutes, it seems as though the work was first conceived of as a whole and then, perhaps, broken down and reformatted. While the differences between them seem negligible at first, they do have a way of causing just enough change so as to give the still nature of the work some shape. Thus the work evolves as more of an experiment than a statement, keeping the outcome unforeseen and subtly mobile as the third through sixth tracks drop their sample rates from 128 KBPS gradually down to 32 KBPS. The entire texture changes with it.
The step-wise subtlety of the changes here go hand in hand with the number of tracks then, as each section flows into the next and pushes it along with patient shifts of detail. This approach is markedly more thoughtful and, dare I say, academic than a lot of this type of work, yet it reveals little of the sterility that such approaches often yield. Instead the process behind the work, however intriguing it may be, takes a back seat to the inescapable beauty of the piece itself. Starting as a nearly ambient work, the whole thing slowly dissolves and restructures itself again and again as it goes through its variations, allowing differing portions to themselves as the work progresses.
Essentially what results is a nearly ambient piece, but one whose varying degrees of sample quality create grit that maintain the continuity of the whole through the common source material. When the last track arrives, it is the same exact format of the first one, and its high bitrate and clarity round off a disc whose travels are deeply inward. It is a direction drone could look more often.
An hour of mostly solo cornet played in a French monastery might seem a strict challenge. And that's the point here as Rob Mazurek battles his more extreme urges on 11 compositions recorded at Fontevraud l'Abbaye and dedicated to the controversial Robert D'Arbrissel who founded it in 1099.
Rob Mazurek is director of Exploding Star Orchestra, leader of Isotope 217 and various aggregations of the Chicago Underground jazz group, and has worked with Tortoise, Brokeback, Stereolab, and Gastr del Sol. In 2005, Mazurek was granted an artist residency at Fontevraud. He produced paintings from watercolors and local wine, videos, writing, piano compositions, and (on May 27 & 28, 2005) this recording.
Abstractions comes with a fine booklet including photgraphs of the recording sessions. They give an idea of the incredible acoustic environment in which Mazurek was working. Apparently, he spent time playing all over the abbey in the late evenings until late at night benefitting from the amazing sound qualities. One photograph of him standing way off in the distance in the enormous abbatiale is especially evocative. Annoyingly, though, the packaging is a rectangular shape and has no reference to artist:album title on the spine. I suppose it looks tasteful but storing and finding it could be rather annoying.
The impact of the first notes is stunning, but none of the entire hour of recording disappoints. The cornet is given time and space to articulate Mazurek's notions and feelings about the history and atmosphere of the location; and yet the introduction of other sounds provids timely contrast and support. I particularly like the warmth generated by the piano at the beginning of "The Torso" but even the birdsong on "Meditation and Skyward Motion" works. Tracks are titled to focus on the parts of the body as separate from each other, and in consideration of flesh, the physical, and the spirit.
Robert D'Arbrissal was known for his extreme asceticism. He supported Gregorian clerical reform and was first a destitute hermit and then a wandering, barefoot, hair-shirt wearing preacher. According to Grover A. Zinn in Medieval France, in both of these guises Arbrissal attracted many followers, especially women. His popularity and his single-mindedness led to the founding of an abbey at Fontevraud, near the Loire river in the diocese of Poitiers. The site had separate buildings for monks and nuns. Accusations were rife that Abrbrissels took in protitutes and that the nuns shared Arbrissel's bed as well as the church. However, evidence suggests that it was fear of the practice of syneisaktism (or subintroducta), which was at the root of the criticism. This spiritual marriage of people of the opposite sex, two spiritual souls who avoid sexual relations, tested the notion of gender and challenged the notion of male superiority.
When Mazurek asks a brief question at one point on the album, rather than shattering any spell, this serves as a link to (or reminder of) the present. Similarly, the final piece "Sound and Silence" starts briskly but is then silent for five minutes until we hear people walking and talking in the abbey amidst the faint echoes of music and whatever residue of other past sounds still remains at Fontevraud.
Campbell Kneale may longer be known as Birchville Cat Motel, but he certainly has not stopped making abrasive, nightmarish music. Surprisingly, curating a Prince tribute album (Shutupalreadydamn!) has failed to translate into a funkier, sexier Neale. Stillborn Plague Angels is exactly the sort of album that Satan would make if he had the time and inclination to start a noise band.
The title track kicks the album off on an appropriately ugly and unsettling note, as a distorted throb lays the foundation for a menacing, metallic shimmer. Gradually, layers and layers of dissonant and unsettling synths and guitar noises are built up until the song culminates in a bizarrely effective atonal lead guitar part that would make Jandek smile. Amusingly, this teeth-rattling discordance is among the more melodic and conventionally musical moments on the album, as there are at least actual, clearly defined, notes being played.
The following two tracks can best be described as grotesque and corrupt hellscapes. They are both painful, uncompromising, and very difficult to listen to. I find that "Pink Hollow Paradise" is more of squirming, chattering, strangled miasma of shrill queasiness while "Chinese Emperors" leans more towards being a wavering, slow motion, anguished howl. I don't know if I will ever listen to these tracks again, but they are both resoundingly successful in creating a palpable sense of abject horror.
After some disquieting shimmering drone, "Chinese Emperors" erupts into the mournful guitar squall of "Over Prehistoric Texas" (although it might just be one long track entitled "Chinese Emperors and The Army of Eternity Over Prehistoric Texas" - the Dekorder website seems to think they are separate and I feel ill-equipped to win an argument with them over it, so i will assume that two separate tracks segue). While "Texas" is undeniably more melodic than the previous three tracks, it seems a bit anticlimactic and uninspired after the previous visceral abominations.
Naturally, music this unrepentantly harsh will appeal to very few people, but Stillborn Plague Angels is a complete success artistically. Terms like "good," "bad," and "listenable" seem irrelevant in the face of such elephantine and single-minded ugliness. Dekorder quite aptly describes this album as "endless roaring catastrophe" and I have absolutely no qualifications to add to that. If such a thing sounds at all appealing, Campbell Kneale is someone to watch closely (albeit without hassling him about unmet expectations).
Italian mutant jazz-metal no-wavers Zu have been plying their bludgeoning trade in the underground for a decade, but it seems that they are finally receiving some widespread attention now that they are signed to Mike Patton's Ipecac label. In the past, they have collaborated with a staggering and varied array of folks, ranging from free jazz icons to members of Can, The Stooges, the Ex, Sonic Youth, and Dälek. On Carboniferous, they largely opt to go it alone, although Mike Patton and King Buzzo make somewhat dubious contributions.
Zu inhabit the eclectic and adventurous, yet not easily definable, niche made up of artists like Last Exit, Naked City, Massacre, and Ruins. Naturally, they are undeniably proficient instrumentalists (like all of their kindred spirits). However, they work with a fairly limited palette (sax, drums, and bass), so whom they choose to collaborate with has a significant effect on the quality and direction of their albums. In the past, Zu have made some impressive albums with folks like Ken Vandermark and Mats Gustafsson. However, their collaborations here with Mike Patton don't work quite so well (listen to "Soulympics" for rather damning evidence of this). Lamentably, Carboniferous takes something of an unwelcome stylistic detour from their past successes and largely jettisons their previous chaotic free-jazz influence in favor of a highly structured, Helmet-like metallic crunch.
The album starts off impressively enough, as "Ostia" features a heavy fuzzed-out bass line, propulsive and inspired drumming, and some squealing free jazz saxophone pyrotechnics. Unfortunately, however, it quickly falls prey to all of the things that annoy me about this genre: abrupt song shifts, zero subtlety, and no focus on melody or songcraft. Everything is virtuosically tight, of course, but that really cannot carry an album. Also, it is striking that there are not any amazingly intricate (or even just "cool") riffs or solos on this album (although the drum fills on "Erinys" and a few other tracks are intermittently brilliant). If what replaced them was really great, I would probably commend Zu on their restraint and lack of self-indulgence. Instead, the album is loaded with mid-nineties metalcore grooves (sans guitars and an angry shouting person).
Additionally, Luca Mai's saxophone playing is a bit frustrating throughout Carboniferous, as he seems to limit himself to either chromatic squealing and squonking or simple repeating lines that syncopate with the rhythm section. This syncopation would be great if there were some other instrument taking over melodic duties, but there usually isn't. Consequently, many songs feel like really heavy and dexterous unfinished song sketches. Also, instances of melody are few and far between here ("Beata Viscera" is a charitable representation of this predicament), which has the unfortunate effect of making all the songs blur together into one endless mosh part that could pass for a lost recording of a jam between Prong and Morphine.
That said, Zu are an generally an excellent and incendiary band. I'm sure that they would tear my damn head off if I saw them live, but Carboniferous does not document them at their best. I would recommend How To Raise An Ox or Radiale over this or just wait for them to play in your town. I'm sure Zu will get past their current single-minded fixation on being as tight and bludgeoning as possible and return with an amazing follow-up soon. They have few peers in terms of intuitive improvisory cohesion, so this questionable stylistic experiment has probably already been abandoned or evolved upon.
Over ten years after the last of these tracks were recorded the members of Fridge have selected their favorite songs from their slew of releases on Output Recordings, the label that first championed them. Luckily they turned out to be my favorites as well. With headphones on and 80 minutes of their choicest cuts cued up, it is hard to be unhappy. The relentless pace Fridge showed, in both their rhythms and sheer number of songs recorded over a two year period, would exhaust the creative energies of many musicians. They were just getting warmed up. Listening back, after a decade of new developments and notable side projects, we can trace the trajectory they have followed, and hear within these songs, many points of origin.
Listening to this collection is like having a mix tape of all the best tracks taken from the originals, but with the bonus of six more, previously unreleased. Of those six only one is longer than a minute. The five short pieces tacked on at the end exhibit the same textural beauty as “Lign.” I always wished that song had been longer, but its concentrated nature makes it more of a haiku than a sonnet, and as such it is perfect. The five short pieces, like “Eff” and “Arr” also show that hardcore no longer has the sole market for songs that clock in at less than a minute. They have a post-punk edge and frenetic energy that make similar, and barely longer songs like “Cassette” (at a minute and a half) so enjoyable.
Knowing they can keep a song as short as it needs to be shows that Kieran Hebden, Adem Ilhan, and Sam Jeffers are in tune to the inner source from which their music flows. They listen with an ear open to the daimon guiding their skilled hands, making a song what it wants to be, not what they think it needs to be based on formulas and ideas such as marketability. They are equally at home crafting near epic length songs as they are with shorter fare. In this realm they allow musical events to spread out, creating a headspace to be lost in; “Angelpoised” is such a song. The driving rhythm of an 808 brings on the trance while simultaneously building forward momentum. Fluttering electronics are blurred around the edges and tight strings keep an uplifting melody. The textures are nothing short of blissful.
Gurgling keyboards and trumpet blasts are prominent on “Triumphant Homecoming,” the longer of the previously unreleased songs. Spastic drums are layered over top of a funky bass rhythm, giving happily unhinged sensibilities to what amounts to a musical ticker tape parade. “For Force” carves out a similar vein of gold, giving quite a rush.
There is no sifting involved when listening to this retrospective, no skipping around to find a good song. Each time the disc was put into the player it inevitably played to conclusion. What is more, boredom and tedium never set in. I usually expect to get bored in a culture so wealthy with music, much of it second rate. Here I found a polished gem among piles of CDs that seem little more than copper shekels. Fridge show that a lot can be done with the simple ingredients of a drum kit, bass, and guitar. When they add a smattering of effects, drizzle in some keyboards and drum machines, and mix it straight to cassette the possibilities are as exciting as they are endless. Ten years down the road these songs remain vibrant and strong.
Led by Dave Heumann, Arbouretum doesn't beat around the bush. Out of the gate they make it very clear exactly what rock 'n' roll means to them: huge melodies, rolling rhythms, noisy solos, and few introspective moments for good measure. Over eight concise songs, the band wrings the guitar for everything its worth and then some.
There's nothing very complicated about Song of the Pearl and that's a great part of its appeal. The opening song, "False Spring," launches the album into epic rock 'n' roll territory without a hiccup or second thought. With its galloping rhythm and soaring vocal melodies, Arbouretum start with a clear musical declaration and they never deviate from it. They're not as psychedelic as expected from previous recordings, but what they lack in hallucinatory power they more than make up for with pure muscle and great songwriting. In fact, every song on here benefits from a tighter, more direct approach. The bass lines are thick and impenetrable, the solos are more chaotic than structured, and the verses are potent slabs of syncopated rhythm. Heumann contributes line after line of confident singing, too; his lyrics are vividly and potently delivered on each song, sounding a bit more bold than he did on Rites of Uncovering. This group has the same kind of untamed and messy power you'd expect from a band like Crazy Horse, but there's some very un-garage influences on the record.
Song of the Pearl isn't just a brute force experience. In fact, the first half of the album is smoky and atmospheric; blues and folk music both figure heavily into the songs that follow "False Spring." The title song is reminiscent of Fairport Convention in some ways, with elegant string arrangements supporting Heumann's sentimental lyrics and the band's clean, simple accompaniment. In contrast, "Another Hiding Place" is a simmering electric piece that rests on the strength of a strong rhythm section and simple vocals; it never quite erupts, but it isn't a powerhouse of a song in the way that some of the other tunes are. The point is that the album starts big, but is kept tight and diverse thanks to the numerous approaches Arbouretum bring to their guitar-centric songwriting.
The second half of the album is where all the driving energy of the first song continues. On "Infinite Corridors," drummer Daniel Franz is let loose; his cascading fills and nuanced dynamics add a great deal to this song. Not content to simply keep time, his contributions mean just as much to Song of the Pearl as the guitars do. His drumming from start to finish is considerate and economical; with repeated listening it becomes obvious just how much he adds to the music. The record concludes with a stunning take on Bob Dylan's "Tomorrow is a Long Time." Keeping the original's brooding and lonely quality, Arbouretum amplify it and lend a deep, doom-like rumble to its quietude. Reverberating guitars carry the song's lead melody into slow, lonesome territory and those ringing strings help close the album on a desolate and retrospective note. It's a very affecting song and one of the best on the record. If any complaints can be made, it's that some of the production is a little flat. The upbeat songs on the disc all share a similar aesthetic, which is to be expected, but had the production been opened up a little bit the album might have benefitted.
Consisting of only seven spare pieces lasting just over 25 minutes in length, Tenniscoats find themselves having to make a lot out of a little on this disc. That the duo of Saya and Ueno are displaced from their Tokyo home base and immersed in the Amazon rainforest for a series of essentially live recordings seems as though it would leave even less room for error. Yet this distillation results in a poignant intimacy that seeks and finds its own niche in the realm of location-based music interactions.
Most clearly on display here is Tenniscoats' clever and cautious instrumentation, which unfolds the airy and peaceful qualities extrapolated on. "Ichinichi" presents each guitar strum or harmonica breath as its own statement whose presence is in constant contact with the chirping birds surrounding them. The result is an odd musical space that hovers somewhere between the gentle textures of musique concrete and the spatial awareness of Japanese gagaku.
Yet the music is not without motion. Instead of just attempting to interact with their environments throughout here, often it sounds as though they've worked out small scale pop tunes which they must try and fit in between the sounds of their surroundings. "Ninichime" sees a guitar and small organ interacting by a roadside. As the small lines interact in a near tropical breeze, the trucks nearby drift by like waves on a shore. It's a nifty effect, and one that avoids the potentially pallid results it could attain with the strength and conception of the material.
This is crucial, as not all bands could pull this out without it sinking into some sort of folky "live in the forest of life" schlock. But these guys pull it off and then some, and there is a sincerity to these works and their performances that keeps the entire length afloat with small surprises. Special mention on this front must be made of co-conspirator Lawrence English, who recorded and produced the album. His delicate balance of cavernous water dripping among light pattering rhythms and lulling pipes on "Timeless" never lets any sound source take hold on any other.
The following "Do" exhibits Saya's vocal prowess with small, syllabic motives among drifting water, while "Sitting By" features a finger-picked guitar line and clacking pulses among forest birds; the result is one of the most cohesive, poppy pieces here, as Ueno's guitar provides a near soundtrack to the picturesque setting it implies, pushing it to the background before English once more fades it in to let the work slip back towards the wood.
"Hajimari / Owari - Dream Is Refreshing" closes the disc with what is likely the least environmental work here. Rather, the duo's full sound drifts outward as small organ lines, guitar tappings and Saya's lilting vocals draw themselves along with unending beauty. When the organ goes dark and Saya recites spoken words, her voice, like the bird calls around her, speak volumes whether translatable or not.
Done right, calypso conveys succinct unpretentious pleasure. In the wrong hands, though, it can be murderously bad. Thankfully, there is no over production or lyrical inanity to interfere with the simple, timeless enjoyment of this consistent collection from 1950s West Africa.
Honest Jon's have released a ton of worthwhile compilations recently. Sprigs of Time was packed with variety, and Living is Hard uncovered a forgotten creative history of Caribbean immigrants in Britain. London Is The Place For Me documented the 1950s Soho scene and now Marvellous Boy offers a unique snapshot of the West African musical landscape from the same period.
Until music becomes a gentically modified nightmare disparate seeds will be blown off course and bloom in unexpected places. Calypso was first recorded in the Caribbean in 1913 (Lovey's String Band). Its West African counterpart did not blossom until the early 1950s in Freetown, Sierra Leone, in the hands of both Ebenezer Calender and also Famous Scrubbs. Ebenezer has four tracks here, all are fabulous, fleetfooted odes to free living. Famous Scrubbs has two tracks: the opening "Poor Freetown Boy" and the unconvincingly self-depreciating "Scrubbs Na Marvellous Boy". Scrubbs may claim to be an average Joe the Calypso Singer but I'm not buying it!
In a collections as solid as this there are gems at every turn. Steven Amechi gives delightful, if outdated, wooing advice on "Nylon Dress". Presumably, in the 1950s, nylon was hip, and ironing [the more comfortable cotton] was square. Bobby Benson And His Combo gives us a gorgeous call and response tune "Taxi Driver (I Don't care)" as well as an almost-instrumental "Calypso Minor One" and the breezy genius that is "Gentleman Bobby" - a message to husbands and parents not to let their wives or daughters be exposed to either the alluring calypso rhythms or the overwhelming personal magnetism of Bobby Benson! They can't say they weren't warned...
And so it goes, weaving highlife, swing, military brass bands, Afro-Cuban jazz, into a hell of a compilation. I like that the majority of tracks are sung in English but the others are easily infectious and as relaxing as soft waves trickling over aching feet. My favorites (for today) are E.T. Mensah And His Tempos Band's tale of unusual love "The Tree And The Monkey" and The Rhythm Aces spacey instrumental "Mami".
Before the Caribbean musical influences in West Africa were all but extinguished by US Soul there was still time for the majestic Godwin Omabuwa to cut some essential sides. His "Dick Tiger's Victory" commemorates the bout which made a World Boxing Champion from Nigeria. Omabuwa's approach to vocals on this track sums up the atmosphere of this disc. He shows scant regard for precise rhythm and exact metre and the effect is as if we were being serenaded by the kindest, hippest official from the Nigerian Tourist Board while being massaged by ultra-hypnotic uber-beings from our most delightful dreams.
Some compilations of early Calypso, such as Calypso Calaloo, are so good that I thought they could never be matched. But Honest Jon's have added to the highest order of this simple music of heartbreaking celebration.
Jarboe is an artist that is very much at the mercy of her collaborators; a strong band behind her and she flourishes but accompanied by a weaker artist she flounders. This has made for a patchy career, the dizzying power of her performances with Swans has not been a constant presence in her work but in recent years her work with Neurosis and Larsen has shown that her drive is still there. Her latest album sees her play with a group that can be every bit as crushing as any other modern metal band and also allow Jarboe’s softer side to shine through.
Jarboe’s group for Mahakali includes all three members of Dysrhythmia as well as Josh Graham from Red Sparrowes/A Storm of Light/Neurosis. Thus, the heavier parts of Mahakali sound like a typical Neurot Records band but thankfully never quite as derivative. Strings by way of Julia Kent and Kris Force and the inclusion of decidedly non-metal rhythms expand the range of the music which allows Jarboe to try out lots of different styles of vocals throughout the album. This is a good and a bad thing. Yes, there are some great performances by her on many of the tracks and arguably they are some of her best. Equally, there are a couple of absolutely dreadful moments that do their best to sour one of her best albums in years. Jarboe herself is to blame for only one such moment as she attempts some bizarre child-like out of key mewling on “Bornless,” which completely sits askew on top of the music (which is terrific).
Luckily this sort of outburst is a rarity and elsewhere she puts on a stunning performance whether it is her commanding lead vocals on songs like “The House of Void (Visceral Mix)” or her haunting backing vocals on the pieces where she takes a backseat. Her intensity is matched by the music, her backing musicians reciprocating her performance perfectly and vice versa. The last times she has been matched by such a confident band was with Neurosis and before that with Swans. It says a lot that she has worked with many different artists from the extremes of rock but only a few can keep up with her. She has always had a powerful and decisive voice so it is no surprise that on “Ascend,” when she sings of the sky opening up, she sings with such fervor and energy that it is difficult not to go outside and check that the sky is still there.
Jarboe has invited two other vocalists to contribute to a track each to varying effect. Attila Csihar’s vocals on “The Soul Continues” are not his best but in the context of the song they work well enough. Once the group gets their groove on, the piece quickly goes from being just a showcase for Csihar’s menacing growls to being a truly heavy and ominous piece. The other guest vocalist on Mahakali came as a surprise to me as Phil Anselmo strikes me as the antithesis of Jarboe; the “is he/isn’t he racist?” figurehead of meathead metal is a million miles away from what I would expect her to be associated with. If he was a good vocalist I could look past his dubious persona but his voice has not improved since his days in Pantera or Down and “Overthrown” features some of the most overwrought and hammy vocals ever committed to disc. Yet, as with Csihar, the song does blossom when the music gets going and once Jarboe starts wailing in the background it is amazing.
One annoying thing about the album is that there are three different versions depending on the territory and packaging. The US digipack version (the one this review was based on) is different to the US jewel case version and both are again different to the European version. This is unnecessary and not what I would expect of the artists involved. I am not angry, just disappointed.
Overall, Mahakali is one of Jarboe’s best albums but is unfortunately marred by some less than stellar vocals on some tracks. However, these are mainly out of Jarboe’s hands and the good parts outweigh the bad by a considerable margin. Jarboe should definitely do a repeat performance with these guys as they are a perfect fit for her style of singing.