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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Before I even got around to playing this album I was intrigued by the album's packaging. The red fuzzy sleeve contains both the CD (obviously) and sleeve notes printed on a thin, Styrofoam-like material. The different textures of the materials are at first baffling but then a certain kind of logic begins to emerge while listening to the album. The music itself changes texture persistently, from soft to rough, from hard to gooey; by the time I adjust to a piece I am lost again. It is a wonderful feeling, like being a little drunk in a foreign town.
Aranos is no stranger to variety, his music constantly changing shape from moment to moment and the pieces here do not break from this mold. The bizarre and repetitive barbershop of "New Boyfriend" is sandwiched between completely different styles. Preceded by "Awaking Horns," a very minimalist style composition that sounds almost like the run-off of a vinyl groove, and followed by the amusicality of "Some Clowns are Not Funny," "New Boyfriend” sounds like an island of melody in a sea of atonality. However, the island is nice enough to explore but the real fun is taking a dip in that sea, getting lost in the different sounds that make up "Some Clowns Are Not Funny." The creaking noises and the sound of hailstones on a hard surface are like the most exquisite coral and brightly coloured fish.
The first seven tracks fly from the stereo like scattering bullets, ranging in size from just over a minute to just under ten. Then Aranos throws another curveball. Not content with jumping styles, he includes too very long tracks at the end of the album. After the bite size chunks from earlier in the album, these two pieces are daunting to say the least. "Towards Glittering Warm Dumplings" is the sound of strange percussive scrapings, what sounds like guitar strings and some other heavily processed scrapes. Slowly Aranos adds other layers of rhythms and slight melody to the piece, the overall effect is like some of Faust's tape collages; something both familiar sounding but also completely warped. Mother of Moons Bathing finishes with the sublime "Invisibility Cloak of Time," featuring all soft drones and haunting ambiences. After the varied and sometimes frenetic music that has come before, "Invisibility Cloak..." is an unexpectedly calm end to a fascinating album.
The best way I can describe Mother of Moons Bathing is that it is an adventure. Dropped into it without much of a map (just a stanza of poetry in the sleeve notes), it is wonderful to just wander through it, not knowing what is coming next. As I am getting more used to the album's twists and turns, it allows me more time to pay attention to the immediate surroundings of the music. The textures are not just limited to the materials making up the sleeve; it is almost possible to run a finger along the sounds themselves.
Although collaborators since the early 1980s, Raw Powder marks the first official release from this duo (excluding self-released CD-Rs) that encapsulates some 18-plus years of rock and roll into a sprawling, slap-dash collection of 24 tracks, intentionally raw and rough around the edges. While many may know Denham more for his/her connections to Throbbing Gristle, Psychic TV, Greater Than One, and other integral bands of the era, s/he proves here that his musical sensibilities are just as noteworthy as his paintings and artwork.
Even within the first few tracks that open this disc, the microcosm of rock and roll becomes immediately apparent: "Move Like A Tiger" is immediate and grippingly pure glam stomp, right down to the slide guitars segues into the folk rock of "Universe" and then into the rapid fire dance drum machine pulse of "Shine" that apes the likes of the Happy Mondays and others of the so called "Madchester" scene.
Other reference points are even a bit more specific, such as how "Spit Me Homage" and "Ship For You" pull off an excellent imitation of early Rolling Stones, from the rhythms to Denham's very Jagger-esque vocals. Perhaps the most odd is the hip-hop elements that come up in the beats to "Judas Fish" and even into the vocals somewhat on "Individual."
Some of the work eschews the rock sensibilities entirely for experimentation that is more consistent with Denham's early connections to the then burgeoning industrial scene, "Real World" and "Doncha Fear A Thing" are built on abstract rhythm loops and pure experimentation rather than conventional rock frameworks. The deep filtered vocals, processed rhythm loops and fuzzed out guitar of "Hang/Candy Bomb" seems to just exist on its own, not easily labeled into any specific genre.
As a whole, the disc is intentionally raw and rough: according to the liner notes it was recorded entirely to four-track cassette and largely improvised on the spot, which makes the music all the more compelling. In some cases the lo-fi nature brings parallel to other dissimilar artists: the somewhat lighthearted lyrics and rough guitar work of "My Hangover" could be something from The Pod era Ween, and that is a compliment.
The disc has an overarching sense of fun and whimsy that is so rarely represented in the more esoteric forms of music so many of us are fond of. Sure, across 24 tracks some feel more like filler and less notable than others, but taken as a whole, it is more good than "ehh." It is nice to hear something that can be both captivating in the musical sense, but also playful and lighthearted and seemingly created out of the sheer joy of making music that definitely feels "rock," but on Val & Oli's terms.
The premise alone sounds should be enough to get people's attention: a folk "supergroup" featuring members of Yellow Swans, Deerhoof, Six Organs of Admittance, and Charalambides, among others. Considering the pedigree, it is safe to assume that it won't be folk in the conventional sense. Instead of the "overly sensitive guy in the coffee shop with an acoustic guitar" folk sense, it's more of an ethnography of early Americana music. It is dense, rich, and more than just a bit sinister in nature.
How this record got lumped into anything allied with the "freak folk" movement is a bit confusing to me, as it has little in common with the likes of Devendra Banhart or other such luminaries. No, rather than acoustic guitar and out there vocals and lyricisms, it is a work that captures the sense of early American folk music in the pre-recording technology era. The entire work is steeped in a sensation of isolated, rural Appalachia, the sound filling the cool autumn air as the sun starts to set and things start getting a bit creepy.
The tracks are awash in a thick, oppressive reverb that sets the mood throughout. On most of the tracks a bit of plaintive guitar pushes through the reverberation, sparse and sharp, but gentle and isolated. Often the guitar is played in a simple, rhythmic fashion, such as the minimal strums that make up "Mountain Wine" and "Duet," the latter accompanied by a decrepit sounding organ that may have been on its last legs.
Vocals make their appearance on a few of the tracks, notably on "The Crops That You Tend" and "Mountain Wine" and in those cases are exactly the type of vocals to best suit the music: multiple vocalists, layered, and heavily effected. The chanting cadence of them lends an otherworldly disembodied sensation that fits the music. The vocals are there, but they sound as if they’re coming from somewhere just out of sight.
The instrumentation manages to somehow be both sparse and thick, which sounds like a contradiction for obvious reasons, but there really is no other way to describe it. Layers of ambience that permeate most of the tracks and are featured in a few short instrumental passages such as "Whichever" and "Snowballs for Reuven," and as backing elements for most of the other tracks are thick and notable, and balance the more plaintive guitar/violin/organ elements nicely. There are a few moments of pure on electronic noise squeal as well; the droning elements of "We Are All Hopeful Farmers" and especially the opening of "Grow Your Hair" are nice contrasting elements to the more gentle moments.
The production of this entire work is noteworthy, as it is extremely murky in the best possible way. Not murky as in muddled or poor, but like a thick mountain fog that covers the entire album in a sheen of ambiguity. The sounds are somewhat familiar, but they're obscured by layers of echo and reverb that places the listener in recognizable, but mysterious territory, all of which adds to the underlying tension and malevolence that seems to hide just below the surface of the music.
This collaboration has produced a work that is greater than the sum of its parts. It is a great, tension laden slab of darkness that outcreeps most noise and metal albums that have been released thus far this year. A wonderfully moody work that is extremely filmic and stands on its own without the need of images to go along with the sonics.
Exploring the limitations of an instrument can be more enlightening than obsessing about perfect tone or versatility. On Everydays, Onda and Licht use the button noise and trashcan fidelity of cassettes as a tool rather than a handicap. The results range from bucolic chatter to full on noise assault.
Some music doesn't benefit from quality recording. I doubt the crashing piano on the opener "Tick Tock" would be as abrupt and nauseating had it been pristinely sampled. The overdriven roar and whir of the tape spools is what really puts the ears off-ease. Not all the tracks are that spastic. The squeals and chirps on "Tip Toe" seem lifted straight from some interstellar aviary. Oscilators join the birdsong, undualting like a North Sea swell.
I could have listened to "Tip Toe" for the duration of the album, but Onda and Licht had different ideas. Everydays has a unity of approach, not mood. The closer, "Be Bop", tears the mellow vibes asunder, cassettes all spewing raw static and hissing shrieks. Squalls of feedback rear up and then disintegrate in coughing spasms. This CD does not die gently.
The main appeal of Everydays is the diversity. Onda and Licht tease out every disposition they can from their instruments. No small feat. When using tapes, noiseniks often shovel out an undifferentiated muck, without peaks or valleys to challenge the listener. Onda and Licht opt for a more surprising, anarchic experience. Everydays is definitely not for the fastidious, but there's something in there for just about every other taste.
Mountain Battles sounded like a superficial hodgepodge with few promising moments. Desperately seeking positives, I sought a suitable listening venue and found one with a Breeders fan: my hairdresser.
Heather gives a relaxing head and neck massage before all haircuts. Unfortunately, not even the pleasantly relaxing effects of that can disguise the fact that opening song "Overglazed" and also "Walk It Off" say next to nothing, nice or otherwise. The pace picks up during "Bang On" (at least if her tapping foot and nodding head are anything to go by). Then, during "Night Of Joy" it is time to decide "what I want doing." This presents no problem at all for someone who has had the same hair style for at least two decades. The song puts Heather in mind of going to the beach, whereas it makes me seriously consider the possibility of getting a shaved head and joining a monastery. One with a vow of silence.
Our opinions are even more overtly divided about "Here No More." I feel it points to a dark countryesque sound that might give The Breeders a well defined and substantial direction to pursue, and that their voices have the right balance of purity and grit to carry such slightly sketched tunes. Heather remembers "Drivin' on 9" from Last Splash, but scoffs at my idea with some snipes about her grandparents' speed, a cattle drive, and the word "pardner." For a few moments I seriously consider asking for a more radical "do" than usual.
She is similarly unimpressed with the language variety of "German Studies" and "Regalame Esta Noche" and, indeed, these attempts to add breadth do seem awfully flimsy and dull.Thankfully, "Istanbul" does not draw any questions about my travel plans for the summer, we agree the vocals are redundant, but while she enjoys the evocative music, I find it trite. With the scissors close to my ears and eyes I keep my own counsel as she says she loves the lyrics "no counsel, no grand strategy, no sword to fall on" from "We're Gonna Rise." This song makes her happy and she digs the carefree, refreshing, style of expression. She also likes the chorus to "Spark" which is just as well since the line "clouds were bruised when the day broke" is relentlessly repeated. "Spark" is the most sensuous track on the album, and the slow crunching bass line and agonized vocals contrast with a slow, clean, sparse, guitar line. At last some clarity and conviction. (It probably helped, too, that the electric clippers were buzzing on the back of my neck; not as good as the massage but my next favorite part).
I have to remind Heather that cutting my fringe too short would really be a mistake, because when listening to "It's the Love" she begins a vague pogoing movement without actually leaving the ground. Thankfully she resists any punky gobbing while she's snipping away and singing along: "It's the love, love, love, love, love"…. She favors the rawness of "No Way" over the slower closing title track, during which she makes a comment that includes the word "suicidal" (though it sounds just fine during my shampooing ) and I make a mental note never to play her any late period Nico.
It's possible to argue that, for their return, The Breeders have chosen repetition and minimalism, but there's a nagging and familiar sense that they just don't have too many ideas. Recent gigs have drawn praise: obscure but revered UK critic 'Whispering' Steve Mills memorably complained that the show at Sheffield's Leadmill was so good he was late for dinner and his onion bhaji's were cold! The vocals on Mountain Battles have a refreshingly calm appeal, the guitar can sound crisp and distinctive, and yet the majority of the record is not what I would have asked for. Heather admits she won't be adding it to her collection. I go home and have a shower to take the loose hairs off my neck. Later, I think that at least The Breeders are not trying to update their style drastically, or disguise their flaws like someone might comb over thinning locks. I kind of wish my hair grew faster, not least as I do enjoy our chats. I remind myself that she is getting paid. Later I think about Roy Harper giving the kiss of life to a sheep, and listen to Richard Youngs' album "Autumn Response."
Fans of the post-punk shouldn't let fear of diminishing returns dissuade them from checking out The Lines. While Memory Span is not a proverbial lost masterpiece of rock and roll, the songs collected display enough nuance and diversity to separate the band from usual glut of also-rans and could-have-beens.
The Lines had an auspicious beginning. Their first single, the mid tempo creeper "White Nights" was well received by Slash magazine among other punk tastemakers. In the song, singer Rico Conning (who later went on to remix songs from Depeche Mode, Sting, Frank Tovey, and Coil's "Anal Staircase") coos about a midnight rendezvous while dual guitars chime and churn like streetlights drifting in the distance. As good as the single was, it could have been the band's swan song. Soon after its release, Conning flew off to explore America and the band was put on hiatus for a few years.
Following their singer's return to England, The Lines resumed playing and recording, but they were a much different entity. The music now had a manic edge. Conning's voice lost its cool confidence, and his singing acquired a stained, nasal pinch. The chorus of "Dance to a Drop of Blood" is practically sneezed out. Fortunately, the band worked their way out a stylistic rut, immersing themselves in the dubbed out, post-disco zeitgeist of late '70s Britain.
Like their peers on Mute and Factory, The Lines inverted the simplicity and anger of punk-rock into a mechanical, introspective sound. Rhythm and atmosphere began to take precedence over vocals or melody. Thumping bass lines or percolating drum machines now anchored the songs while trumpet, chiming guitar, and echoed sound effects floated about. The lyrics became even more abstract and impressionistic, often focusing disillusionment and neurosis. Conning's voice still strained and buzzed, but seemed more of piece with the songs, rather than a reflection of his limitations as a singer.
Despite their lack of commercial success, the Lines ended as a better band than when they began. They played with notables of that era, among them Fad Gadget, The Cure, The Birthday Party, and Bauhaus. They may have lacked the notoriety (posthumous or otherwise) of their fellow travelers, but it was not from lack of trying. Whatever their limitations were, the band continually changed their sound for the better. They kept innovating, and held their ears open to what was new and important. So many great things about a band are out of the artist's control, but you can at least credit The Lines for working in the right direction.
Mahmoud Refat steps up to the plate for his entry into Staalplaat’s Mort aux Vaches series with a live recording at the consummate Amsterdam radio station VPRO. Rhythmic drones and hollow tones abound.
Ellen Allien's DJ skills are made available once again in her fabulous Boogy Bytes 4 mix. Following her contributions to the Fabric mixes (Fabric 34), and "My Parade" (BPC094), the long awaited new release on BPitch Control is finally finished and ready for all to hear! And we have to first say a big "YES!" because Ellen Allien possesses a striking intuition for being directly on the sound of the present and never subduing herself to a certain "Zeitgeist". Instead, she is known for shaping her own typology of sound, which at times might seem a bit too far out, crooked, more abstract or technoid than others, but is always her personal reflection of the NOW. As a DJ, Ellen Allien continues the long tradition of having an emotional and direct contact with the audience and she aims to wage all feasible facets possible in the interaction between dancefloor, airports, studio, office, and living rooms. It is important for Ellen Allien to "memorize" her favourite tracks for the club, but besides that, she never stands idle during the week, and thus the motif of motion carries through from her daily life to the mix. The newest mix is impulsive, yet equally subtle and described by Ellen Allien as "emotional, noisy, trippy, weird, and sexual".
The bass drum is not set into the foreground as it is not intended to dominate the feelings of the listener. Rather, Ellen Allien sketches a voyage that consists of bass lines, effects and the arrangement of the tracks among each other, leaving enough space for the listener's own perception of the music. Not only has the last year been a special year for Ellen Allien, but also for electronic music "made in Europe". And thus, that element resonates throughout the mix -- Ellen Allien begins with a poem by producer AGF (who also produces her new long player SooL) and finishes with the ballad "Twice" of Peacefrog's Little Dragon. In between, space is left for the development of concrete moves, and feelings of the last night spent at the club comes to mind. Furthermore, with the current Boogy Bytes 4, Ellen Allien follows seamlessly in the successful series of mixes by BPitch Control artists. The photographer Axl Jansen, a friend of the BPitch Control universe, did a perfect instant-action shot for the cover. Whereas in the previous releases Kiki, Sascha Funke, and Modeselektor stood behind the decks, now it is time to give room to ELLEN ALLIEN!
John Fahey and Ayal Senior layed down the tracks for Three Day Band in a Woodburn Hotel room at some point in 1999. These tracks show an undocumented improvisational side of Fahey. It's certainly not early period Fahey but not TOTE era either. At night after the recording sessions commenced Ayal would record Fahey reading and discussing selected excerpts from his writing. Fifteen tracks of spoken word Fahey are included.
From Ayal Senior's liner notes:
I think I first met John Fahey at a Vince Martin gig in Manhattan at some point in 1998. He was sitting in the back of CBGB’s ‘other’ space, listening to the gig and painting with fat bright markers in a notebook he carried around with him. It was impossible not to notice this guy. Big, bald, white beard, black sunglasses wearing shorts and wool socks with black basketball shoes in a triple sized red t-shirt. I didn’t even know who John Fahey was, but John Allen, who brought Fahey out to the east coast and, who I have always greatly admired, learned me to the game. John Fahey and Vince Martin in the same room. Incredible. I wonder if they spoke… I asked John for one of the pieces he was working on and he casually ripped a sheet out of his notebook and gave it to me.
I spent a few more days with Fahey at John Allen’s place in Jersey. At the time I was in university reading a lot of crap about European philosophy, phenomenology and epistemology. Here I am, in my early twenties, schmoozing with the uncontested literary and intellectual champion/prankster genius of guitar music in the 20th century, not knowing anything, really, about his life and music. It was weird, honest and unpretentious. We hit it off, and I guess he found me interesting because we locked in on Kafka, Camus, Spengler and Loren Connors like we were old war buddies. He called me a Sephardic Troll and wanted to steal my red New Balance kicks.
I ended up tagging along with the No Neck Blues Band for a few shows to Philadelphia and Boston where they played with Lee Ranaldo and Fahey. I think Sunburned played as well. No one would remember I was even there, but I’ll never forget going to the record store in Philly with Fahey, Ranaldo and John Allen looking for records before the show. It was during that trip that I found sound@one #1.The entire Fahey/NNCK axis is so mysterious to me, the recorded fruits of which are truly mind-bending. Back at the Hinthouse in Harlem, I remember David Nuss telling me Fahey said the NNCK were a group of warlocks, which they most certainly are and were. (Ken’s Electric Lake) I kept in touch with Fahey and he picked me up at the airport in Salem with a blind friend whose name I think was Terry. We popped in a tape of my latest jams from the psych shack into his deck and Terry was really digging it. He definitely said it sounded like Hendrix. Fahey said he liked it too and then I think we went to a Denny’s for some french fries and shakes.
Readers of Vampire Vultures will no doubt recall my futile attempts to describe or comprehend the state of Fahey’s motel room during this period. It was basically a crime scene. Empty fruitcups, wet paint on the carpet… My journal from that week records that Fahey’s motel room was not cleaner than his car. We cruised the Value Village scene looking for records. It was during a trip to one of these thrift stores one morning that we bumped into a younger acquaintance of John’s who said he’d want to jam with us back at Fahey’s motel room. I think his name was Barry. Nice guy. We went to his place and grabbed some kazoos and other hobo instruments he had and threw them in Fahey’s car.Next thing you know, we’ve got some guitars and amps and headed back to the Woodburn Inn with two pretty, young ladies. We closed the curtains and I pressed record. I had brought a 4 track minidisk recorder with me with the intention of hopefully doing some spoken word recordings of John but had no idea that I would be laying down some molten hot psych with thee Fahey. On tape, John’s smoking away on electric guitar, but this ain’t Womblife. There’s three other people in the room besides us and I don’t remember any of their names. I don’t remember what they looked like or what the hell they were playing but we were definitely channeling some sort of highway poltergeists. I’m playing guitar as well, tweaking about a bit. For some reason, I kept myself from listening to it or playing it for anyone for a long time. Why?
At night, Fahey would lie in bed and I’d record him reading various excerpts from his writings. He reminded me a lot of Kurt Vonnegut in his cynicism and gallows humor. I think they would have gotten along great. I love the unfinished Fahey short story about Elie Wiesel meeting Doc Boggs on a park bench. Boxes were strewn all over his room filled with spiral notebooks. Fool’s gold. His visual art was incredible, I’m sure there are people out there who have the various pieces of the puzzle to his sketches, drawings and paintings, that I hope, will be compiled in a way that does them justice.
Vulcano is sourced from original master recordings discovered by Kluster member and Tangerine Dream engineer, Klaus Freudigmann. Along with Admira, also being released at the same time on Important, Vulcano is presented here for the first time in this deluxe package. These intense sessions were made with Schnitzler at the helm, as always, after the departure of Mobius and Roedelius from the group.
Conrad Schnitzler founded Kluster in 1969 along with Roedelius, Mobius and often Klaus Freudigmann who had multiple roles within the group as a player, engineer and instrument inventor. Eventually Roedelius and Mobius left Kluster and continued on as Cluster while Schnitzler and Freudigmann continued as Kluster often exploring the communal aspects of music by bringing new people into the group. Vulcano is limited to 1000 copies and is packaged in a deluxe gatefold jacket made to emulate the original die stamped puffy packaging for Kluster's album Klopfzeichen. Very deluxe.
Admira is sourced from original master recordings discovered by Kluster member, and Tangerine Dream engineer, Klaus Freudigmann. Along with Vulcano, also being released at the same time on Important, Admira is presented here for the first time in this deluxe package. These intense sessions were made with Schnitzler at the helm, as always, after the departure of Mobius and Roedelius from the group.
Conrad Schnitzler founded Kluster in 1969 along with Roedelius, Mobius and often Klaus Freudigmann who had multiple roles within the group as a player, engineer and instrument inventor. Eventually Roedelius and Mobius left Kluster and continued on as Cluster while Schnitzler and Freudigmann continued as Kluster often exploring the communal aspects of music by bringing new people into the group. Admira is limited to 1000 copies and is packaged in a deluxe gatefold jacket made to emulate the original die stamped puffy packaging for Kluster's album Klopfzeichen. Very deluxe.