06 May 2018

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Albums and Singles

I was completely blindsided by this second release from unlikely collaborators Machinefabriek and Dead Neanderthals, as Smelter transcends the sum of its parts in absolutely crushing fashion. Anyone familiar with Dead Neanderthals' explosive blend of extreme metal and free jazz will be unsurprised by the heaviness of this album, yet this is something new and different, taking Rutger Zuyderveldt's nuanced drone aesthetic and blowing it up into a scorched and seismic force of nature. While it admittedly derails into an occasional lull at times, such moments are short-lived and easily forgotten in the face of such a viscerally howling onslaught of blackened sludge. At its best, Smelter feels like being bulldozed by a glacier that was shaken loose by a torrent of smoking and bubbling lava.

Moving Furniture

The album opens in deceptively subdued fashion, as a lazily spacey one-finger synth melody erratically unfolds over a backdrop of eerily spectral whistling sounds and brooding dark ambient textures.It is not quite exactly what I would expect from a drone artist meeting an extreme metal duo, but it is certainly close (Dead Neanderthal have certainly been known to dabble in some deep space ambience in the past).I felt like I could l see where the things were headed, so I settled in for an entire album in that vein.Consequently, it felt like a goddamn building just dropped on my head when Smelter suddenly erupted into a dense and churning floe of blown-out synth buzz and impressively violent slow-motion drumming from René Aquarius.Obviously, Aquarius has proven himself to be quite adept at hyperkinetic freeform drumming pyrotechnics in the past, but his objective here seems to be trying to shatter his cymbals with the sheer brutality of his slow-motion doom attack.Initially, it feels like DNMF might ride that massive distorted drone into infinity (which would be just fine by me), but it soon opens up into a majestic vista of epic-sounding chord changes curdled by a gnarled morass of ugly harmonies.Later, some unexpectedly beautiful and nuanced shades of glimmering color creep into relentless death march of scorched sludge, but Smelter remains an unpredictable and relentlessly lurching monster of a piece, as the only thing that remains constant is the slow and merciless crunch of Aquarius's punishing drumming.

Of course, the problem with starting off a 40-minute piece in such gloriously massive and brutal fashion is trying to figure out where the piece can possibly go from there.That is where Smelter's brilliance starts to wear away a little: the first 15 minutes sound like a massive, burning oil tanker, so it is unavoidably anticlimactic when that section gives way to a hallucinatory interlude of Otto Kokke's blearily twisting synth burbles over a grinding and rumbling backdrop of murky drones.The piece soon roars back to life, but it now feels more like a composition than an apocalyptic natural event, as sustained synth chords give the piece the bombastic feel of symphonic black metal.To my ears, that seems like a bit of a misstep, yet DNMF compensate somewhat by escalating the gnarled and corroded horror erupting from the underlying drones.That is quite a cool trick, as it feels like Smelter is desperately trying to head in a more lumbering and predictable direction, yet is instead getting ripped apart from the inside.Entropy ultimately wins, thankfully, and the piece collapses into a smoldering wreckage of howling noise.DNMF have one final trick, however, so the scorched-earth wake of Smelter's metal phase slowly evolves into a haunting new soundscape built from scraping pulses of white noise and ghostly, floating dissonance.That too transforms, however, and the album ends with an unexpectedly sublime coda of spectral choral voices arising from a ravaged and broken miasma of throbbing synths and lingering wisps of grinding dissonance.

My sole critique of Smelter is that I am exasperated by how close it came to being one of the best albums of the year, as this trio achieved an absolutely transcendent degree of heaviness with their opening salvo.I definitely did not see this album coming, as I had never imagined that Machinefabriek could be so violent and explosive, nor did I expect Dead Neanderthals to take a break from their more kinetic and virtuosic tendencies to unleash a creeping and engulfing drone avalanche.While Smelter admittedly has some imperfections, it was clearly birthed from a period of white-hot inspiration, as it begins and ends brilliantly.At its best, Smelter is a legitimately apocalyptic piece of work, as well as a sublimely gorgeous one: DNMF are just as adept at straining towards heaven as they are at plunging deep into a hellscape of gnarled and corroded ruin.It is quite remarkable for an album to do both so beautifully and even more so when the transition between those two poles feels so organic and well-earned.Given that, I do not particularly mind the brief leaden lull in Smelter's mid-section, as it is a necessary part of a tour de force transformation from an ugly, shambling juggernaut of pure heaviness to an absolutely gorgeous and dreamlike soundscape.Both Dead Neanderthals and (especially) Rutger Zuyderveldt have quite overwhelmingly voluminous discographies, but I feel quite comfortable in stating that Smelter is one of the most singular and striking works that either have ever produced.This is a legitimately significant and awe-inspiring release.

Samples:

• Smelter (1)
• Smelter (2)
• Smelter (3)

 

06 May 2018

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Albums and Singles

Ohio legend Mike Shiflet has unquestionably had a lengthy and fascinating career as an experimental guitarist and electronics specialist with a multitude of diverse, exceptional releases since the early part of the century. This year, however, he has embarked on his most ambitious project to date. The Tetracosa series is an eight part, 24-hour-long project being released monthly in three hour segments, with the first four currently available. While it seems at first a daunting project, it is anything but, and so far it is an exceptional piece of work that is engaging on a multitude of levels.

Self-Release

Besides the long-form concept behind Tetracosa, Shiflet applies some specific tactics to the structuring of these pieces.The entire series is constructed from some 350 different "sound objects," recorded entirely independent from one another, that act as the building blocks of the compositions.Shiflet then pieced them together with the assistance of random number generation, resulting in these expansive walls of sound that seem both the product of chance, but also an overarching sense of structure and cohesion that clearly comes through.

Because of the width and breadth of these pieces, Shiflet clearly put in significant effort to generate the sounds that make up these pieces and in doing so draws from every facet of his diverse repertoire.Right from the opening moments of Volume One's "00:00:00.00" (all pieces are just titled as time codes), a shimmering guitar drone clearly bears his mark:a droning, sustained passage that is undeniably the work of Mike Shiflet.This first volume is a bit more guitar-centric, appearing in echoing walls throughout the beginning of "00:24:06.00" and a bit more devoid of processing and effects on "00:46:09.04."The final parts of Volume Two's "05:45:40.18" also feature him wielding the instrument, in this case in the form of a nicely distorted buzz.With his pairing of texture and guitar, I could not help but be reminded of some of Robert Hampson's best work, both solo and in Main.

Various electronics are another recurring theme throughout this first half of the Tetracosa project.Within Volume Three and Four it is especially prominent, such as the deep resonating drone that opens "06:23:23.96," which is more of an exercise in restraint, ending on an almost conventionally sounding synth passage.This transitions brilliantly into "06:44:13.33," although with the added chaos of feedback and guitar.Eventually though the melodic electronics take the forefront, underscoring everything as the surrounding sounds become more and more disjointed, making for an amazingly diverse sounding piece.In a less pleasant manner, the electronics (and maybe field recordings) throughout "09:12:52.21" on Volume Four are more distorted overall, taking the form of sputtering crackle and buzz, and eventually a hollow machinery hum that gives some classically industrial vibes to the sound.

It also would not be a Mike Shiflet work if he did not integrate some more traditional, old school noise elements into his work, and those appear weaved in brilliantly throughout these first four volumes.The peaceful electronics that appear early in "00:24:06.00" eventually give way to a high-pitched cacophony of scrapes and pings that is not far removed from the din of a pachinko hall.Later, the second half of "04:01:29.95" from Volume Two is a dusty mass of brittle, crackling electronics that reside clearly in the shrill end of the sonic spectrum.The digitally crushed sound and clatter of "06:12:04.28," on Volume Three, at first becomes a nice blend of noise and tone, but soon decays into the sharp crackling of an old school overdriven noise wall.

Twelve hours of often abstract, sometimes painful sound may sound imposing superficially, but that ends not up not at all being the case.Mike Shiflet's approach to structuring this work really adds a lot of depth and variation. Sure, it can be heard in the three hour blocks it is being released in, and that approach really showcases his use of recurring themes and sounds that are peppered throughout each volume.But each piece can also be enjoyed individually in their roughly eight to twenty minute durations.Even in such a massive, complexly structured work such as this, each segment stands on its own as an individual composition as well.Nothing feels like filler or an incidental, transitory piece that simply bridges two other pieces of music.I imagine experiencing the full work once all eight parts are released also gives a further defining facet to Tetracosa, though I think that experience will take some specific scheduling and planning to fully appreciate.

samples:

• 00:46:09.04
• 04:01:29.95
• 09:12:52.21

 

06 May 2018

Administrator

Albums and Singles

Shane Broderick's (Corephallism, Twodeadsluts Onegoodfuck) latest project in some ways strays away from the ethos of his other projects, but not so far as to be unrecognizable. Namely, Soaplands showcases more of his interest in modular synthesis and electronics. This self-titled EP has a nuanced and dynamic sound, but one in which he cannot help but burst out into some of his more noisy tendencies, resulting in an all-too-short burst of electronics, distortion, and even a fair bit of good old fashion screaming.

No Rent Records

Across these four songs Broderick does a bit of everything from his distinctive style of electronic music.The pulsating synthesizer that opens "The Birds Above Methadone Mile" is almost disturbingly pleasant, at times drifting precariously close to new age, but overall stays more on the nice ambient side of the equation.That, of course, does not last and a jarring noise outburst pops up rather quickly, then transitioning the piece to end on field recordings. Things are intentionally stripped back a bit on the sub-two minute "Serotonin Jacuzzi Lust" and instead of lush electronics it is just a short, noisy outburst of aggression grounded by droning electronics.

For "Techniques of Religious Ecstasy," Broderick again navigates between sonic extremes.The opening heartbeat-like pulse and processed samples are pleasant enough, but the droning, menacing tone that he includes rather quickly darkens things up nicely, but the vocal outburst blows it all away.Within that short span things transition from standard electronics to bleak drone and into full on power electronics assault.The concluding "Godmode:Potential Immortality-Pure Pleasure" clocks in at eight minutes making it roughly the duration of the three preceding pieces combined. Broderick maintains more restraint here and instead of going as heavy on the noise hebuilds the electronics up.The opening lush electronics and drone set the groundwork for some very 1980s sounding synth stabs to cut through, with subtle layers of electronics placed together, building in intensity.Eventually stuttering electronics and some thick, heavy washes of noise pile on, but the overall feeling is less harsh in the grand scheme of things.

Besides the diverse array of sound Shane Broderick brings to this debut Soaplands EP, his use of dynamics on the recording itself are also worthy of note.The quiet moments are appropriately hushed, but the harsh outbursts are jarring and abrasive, which is exactly what I want to hear on a tape such as this.The only major issue is the short duration, but this tape heralds more great things to come I would imagine.Also props for the artwork by manga artist Shintaro Kago, whose sexualized, surrealist imagery is a perfect complement to the sound and aesthetic that Broderick is cultivating on this cassette.

samples:

• The Birds Above Methadone Mile
• Techniques of Religious Ecstasy
• Godmode: Potential Immortality-Pure Pleasure

 

06 May 2018

Administrator

Albums and Singles

Liz Harris's Grouper project has taken on quite an unusual and fascinating trajectory over the last several years, transforming into something that feels like a slowly unfolding series of poetic postcards from a ghost. Grid of Points, the most recent window into Harris's soul, continues to further distill the stark and tender fragility of 2014's Ruins, unfolding as a 22-minute suite of gorgeously ephemeral piano sketches that blur together to weave a hypnotic spell. I suppose the word "sketches" conveys a somewhat unfinished aesthetic, which is not far from the mark, as these sessions were unexpectedly curtailed by a bout with high fever. In a deeper sense, however, that fever was providential, as these pieces are perfect in their spectral elusiveness, evoking (as Harris herself puts it) "the space left after matter has departed, a stage after the characters have gone."

Kranky

Notably, these seven pieces were recorded several years ago during a brief 2014 residency in Ucross, Wyoming.Grid's predecessor, Ruins, was also recorded during a residency (that time in Portugal, back in 2011).That approach of short bursts of intense creativity followed by years of reflection is quite an unusual creative process, as a willingness to slow down and thoughtfully craft something as quietly devastating as Grid of Points is quite rare.I would be curious to know how much material Harris discarded from these sessions, as these pieces feel like they have been tenderly reduced to their absolute essence, leaving only the most soulful and heavenly residue behind.Occasionally, that tendency can admittedly be a bit exasperating, as the lovely and hymn-like opener "The Races" does not even stretch to a full minute.The delicious flipside of that, however, is that Harris occasionally floors me with something like the achingly gorgeous and utterly sublime "Parking Lot."Structurally, "Parking Lot" isvery much representative of Harris's vision for the entire album, as the remaining five pieces are all variations of elegantly simple piano melodies married to languorous and lush vocal harmonies.The only real difference between "Parking Lot" and the rest of the album is that its vaporously beautiful vocal melody is an especially stunning one.The halting and slowly cascading melody of the following "Driving" is yet another highlight, but it is definitely "Parking Lot" that steals the show.I cannot think of many other pieces that are so deeply soulful, emotionally direct, and elegantly simple.Harris has come quite a long way from her murkily reverb-swathed early days (though they were great too).

After that impressive run of opening pieces, Grid''s simple and understated approach starts to blur into something a bit more amorphous and dreamlike.There are still actual songs, but the melodies are not as prominent or memorable.That said, it does not feel like Grid is front-loaded with its best work so much as it feels like the album is slowly dissolving and dissipating into a pleasantly hallucinatory fog of rippling arpeggios and blearily floating vocals.Intriguingly, that steady descent into soft-focus languor sets the stage for the unexpectedly sensual and experimental final piece "Breathing."Initially, "Breathing" recaptures some of the swooning and lyrical melodicism of the album's opening pieces, almost resembling a seductive R&B ballad reduced to just breathy vocals with a skeletal, one-finger piano accompaniment.It is definitely a great song while it lasts, yet it unexpectedly gets swept away by a surprisingly loud field recording of a train after about two minutes.That move is an impressively perfect and inventive way to end such a delicately dreamlike and quiet album, cathartically rumbling through the fragile idyll and leaving only the slow fade of its chugging engine behind.It is both climactic and deliciously ambiguous, simultaneously evoking a wistful longing for faraway places while also feeling like the inevitable intrusion from the outside world that erases all traces of Harris's quiet, fragile, and soul-baring reverie.I especially love that the train's lingering wake is given just as much time and importance as the song itself, blurring the line between art and life and giving the album a very real sense of place (it was recorded on cattle ranch in Wyoming, after all).

If this were a normal album by a normal artist, I would probably be a bit disappointed that Grid of Points is incredibly short for a full-length and only contains a few memorable pieces, yet it feels weirdly perfect for a Grouper album: this is not so much a batch of songs as it is a lovely oasis of simplicity, depth, and sincerity undiluted by any clutter or conspicuous artifice.This is a very direct and vulnerable album quite unlike anything else that is being released these days.While Grid is probably too brief to be a legitimate contender for the best Grouper album, "Parking Lot" is certainly one of the most rapturously beautiful pieces that Harris has ever recorded and the album as a whole is unquestionably another significant leap forward in Harris's evolution as an artist.With her palette reduced to simply her voice and a piano, she has taken her work in a transcendently timeless and pure direction, straining to eliminate anything and everything that dilutes or distracts from an intense and direct emotional connection–all that might ring false or inessential has been burned away, making Grid's extreme brevity a strength.Grid of Points is very much the result of a lengthy and thoughtful distillation process rather than a dearth of new material.Naturally, that internal struggle to make something truly deep and meaningful has slowed Harris's output considerably in recent years, yet the results are certainly worth it: the rare moments when everything falls into place just right are truly special and damn near ecstatic.Grouper is like a once-mighty spring that has gradually slowed to a quiet trickle, yet magically spits out a diamond every now and then.With her last few albums, Harris has gone far beyond being a good songwriter with a distinctive aesthetic, blossoming into something of a visionary, using the most basic and unadorned palette to transform pop-like song structures into deceptively radical and moving art.

• Parking Lot
• Driving
• Breathing

 

29 April 2018

Administrator

Albums and Singles

It has been roughly four years since Dunn last surfaced with his sprawling Kyle Bobby Dunn and the Infinite Sadness triple LP and he clearly spent some of that long hiatus reassessing and rebuilding his woozily dreamlike vision: "The Searchers" is likely the single most gorgeous and perfectly distilled piece that he has ever recorded. The unenviable task of trying to follow such a bombshell fell to hapless fellow ambient-minded guitarist Wayne Robert Thomas, who understandably gets eclipsed a bit. Thomas's languorous "Voyevoda" has a quiet beauty of its own, however, making this release a fine introduction to his work. In fact, Thomas's piece would have been perfectly suited for a split release with Dunn at any point in history before now. On this release, however, it is relegated to dessert after the main course, as "The Searchers" is an instant classic.

Whited Sepulchre

It is always a rough day when I have to begin a review by outing myself as an uncultured simpleton, but I have never actually seen John Ford's The Searchers, generally hailed as one of the most enduring masterpieces of American cinema.Dunn, however, has seen it, as his piece draws its inspiration from the classic western, meditating on how "the imposing expansiveness of the American West worked upon the minds of its inhabitants who fought, lost and did terrible things to each other in their attempt to claim it."Certainly, the collision of John Wayne and sublime contemporary minimalism is an unexpected one, yet I can definitely see how a fairly deep thinker (particularly one of melancholy disposition) would be fascinated by the contrast between the vast, beautiful, and timeless landscapes and the petty, stupid, and cruel events that occurred (and occur) there on the human scale.While the concept is certainly heavy, "The Searchers" is a deceptively simple piece structurally, mingling gently quavering and lush drones with an endlessly repeating pulse of swooning, see-sawing swells.It is an achingly lovely piece from start to finish, as its dreamlike bliss is masterfully deepened and darkened by subtle textural and harmonic hints of anguish and sadness lurking in its depths.I suppose that buried undercurrent of deep existential pain is what makes this such an absolutely transcendent piece: anyone can make music that sounds pretty, but only great art can mingle the sublime with a profound sense of loss to yield something truly and lastingly rapturous.Dunn achieves that rarefied feat with "The Searchers."

Thomas’s "Voyevoda" is quite a radical departure from Dunn’s piece compositionally, as it unfolds as a gently billowing and shifting haze of warm tones rather than a trancelike repetition of structured loops.While there are occasionally some passing shadows of darker harmonies that appear in its depths, it is a far more pastoral and radiant affair than its processor.It does share a bit of its widescreen grandeur though, evoking the feel of lying on my back in a field, enjoying the shifting play of light as dense clouds slowly roll across the sky.As far as guitar-based ambient goes, Thomas is quite adept at his craft, achieving a calm, quite, and unhurried elegance reminiscent of Stars of the Lid.For my taste, however, "Voyevoda" is a bit too amorphous and edgeless to make a particularly deep impact, though it is not like Thomas took aim for my personal aesthetic sensibility and missed the mark.Rather, he skillfully realized his own vision of dreamlike suspension and tranquility with an enviable lightness of touch and impressive attention to small-scale dynamic shifts.By any measure, "Voyevoda" is a strong piece.

If there is any flaw with this split, it is only that there is a significant gulf in the emotional heft of the two pieces, even if they occupy roughly the same stylistic territory: it metaphorically feels like Dunn brought a goddamn tank to a gunfight."The Searchers" is truly an artistic breakthrough and culminating achievement for Dunn.With …and the Infinite Sadness, he presented a huge volume of similar-sounding material designed to weave an extended and immersive spell."The Searchers," on the other hand, is an achievement on an entirely different level, as Dunn has crafted a single motif powerful and absorbing enough to be extended into an infinite loop.If this is what happens when Dunn takes four years to release a new album, I am more than happy to wait.Embarrassingly effusive praise of "The Searchers" aside, it must be said that this split is also quite good as a whole, offering an excellent snapshot of the state of solo guitar composition in 2018 (the ambient drone-based variety, anyway): one piece that expertly captures the state of the genre coupled with another that ambitiously strives to transcend it.

• Kyle Bobby Dunn, "The Searchers"
• Wayne Robert Thomas, "Voyevoda"

 

 

29 April 2018

Albums and Singles

It has been roughly four years since Dunn last surfaced with his sprawling Kyle Bobby Dunn and the Infinite Sadness triple LP and he clearly spent some of that long hiatus reassessing and rebuilding his woozily dreamlike vision: "The Searchers" is likely the single most gorgeous and perfectly distilled piece that he has ever recorded. The unenviable task of trying to follow such a bombshell fell to hapless fellow ambient-minded guitarist Wayne Robert Thomas, who understandably gets eclipsed a bit. Thomas's languorous "Voyevoda" has a quiet beauty of its own, however, making this release a fine introduction to his work. In fact, Thomas's piece would have been perfectly suited for a split release with Dunn at any point in history before now. On this release, however, it is relegated to dessert after the main course, as "The Searchers" is an instant classic.

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29 April 2018

Administrator

Albums and Singles

Originally released in Carpark back in 2006, Belong's debut album has quietly become a something of an enduring underground shoegaze classic. This latest reissue from Spectrum Spools was actually the first time I heard October Language though, which is somewhat remarkable given that I am a fan of Turk Dietrich's current work as Second Woman and I was already casually familiar with Belong from their more song-based follow-up on Kranky. October Language bears no significant resemblance to any of those other albums at all though, nor does it bear much resemblance to any other album in the shoegaze canon, as Dietrich and Mike Jones conjure up a gorgeous ocean of shimmering and roiling guitar noise that feels like it is emanating from a broken and possibly haunted radio. Obviously, the never-ending stream of "lost classics" being reissued on vinyl these days is a numbing minefield of dubious claims and underwhelming experiences, yet October Language is the real deal, fleetingly capturing a unique vision that is equal parts rapturous and enigmatically eerie.

Spectrum Spools

I suspect a large part of the reason that this album feels like such a wonderful and ephemeral confluence of forces lies in its curious assemblage of participants.While Mike Jones' post-Belong activities are a mystery, it is certainly fascinating that Dietrich eventually left swirling, rhythmless seas of dreamy guitar noise far behind to focus on complex and incredibly precise percussion experiments.Equally noteworthy is the participation of Telefon Tel Aviv's Joshua Eustice, who contributed to some of the album's strongest pieces.One intriguing feature of October Language, however, is that is impossible to ever see where anyone's individual playing or personal aesthetic asserts itself, as all traces of melody or songcraft are deconstructed and dissolved into a churning and shimmering dreamscape.It is quite interesting to try to imagine how some of these pieces initially took shape and similarly diverting to guess at the influences that led Jones and Dietrich towards their radical transformations, as October Language is very much a studio creation (most of the heavy lifting definitely took place at the production stage).It is probably safe to say that the shadow of Fennesz looms over this album as a major inspiration though, as October Language hits a similar aesthetic of stuttering, distressed, and sun-dappled melodicism.I suppose that makes this album a necessary autumnal counterpoint to Endless Summer in some ways, but beneath all the warmth, billowing chords, and soft hiss runs a deep undercurrent of achingly beautiful sadness and ruin.Those darker, more enigmatic moments tend to be album's most haunting pieces, like the submerged, slow-motion warbling of "I'm Too Sleepy…Shall We Swim?" and the corroded and quivering rapture of "Who Told You This Room Exists?"It takes a light touch to get that balance just right and Jones and Dietrich seem to nail it whenever they try, which is a bit surprising given that the duo are also quite fond of howling, gnarled roars of guitar noise ("The Door Opens The Other Way").

The album’s centerpiece is unsurprisingly the title one though, as "October Language" beautifully expands the expected swirl of shimmering guitar noise with some lazily melodic slide guitar.Again, Jones and Dietrich employ a very light touch, as the poignant glissandi adds an additional layer of emotional depth without emerging far enough from the roiling, hissing drones to disrupt their fragile, dreamlike spell.While several of the aforementioned pieces also stand out as clear highlights, it bears mentioning that the rest of October Language is uniformly excellent, as the baseline vision of warmly beautiful shoegaze drones dynamically filtered through disruptive laptoppery is wonderful enough without any additional twists or layers (even if it is nice when they happen).The more distinctive pieces simply provide variety and stand as recognizable landmarks along a slow-moving and lysergic river of engulfing and richly textured drone heaven.In fact, Belong's knack for intriguing textures plays a crucial role in making October Language the uniquely compelling album that it is.Jones and Dietrich evoke an immersive and womblike environment of layered guitar bliss as well as anyone, but their work has a precariousness, unpredictability, mystery, and depth to it that takes it to a completely different level.While always quite lush and lovely, October Language is eternally on the verge of escalating to an overwhelming roar, plunging into a submerged echo of itself, or being torn apart by crackling and stuttering tears in its fabric.It walks the finest of lines, achieving a kind of frayed and flickering heaven that never quite teeters into chaos, nor does it ever cohere into an unthreatened idyll.It is beautiful like heartache is beautiful; a complicated swirl of dark and light emotions and memories far more intense and affecting than mere bliss.

Notably, the physical versions of October Language come with a download card for the three bonus tracks that comprised the extremely limited Tour EP, which was recorded in 2005.That is presumably a treat for Belong completists (if they exist), but that EP's primary appeal lies in how it contrasts with October Language (recorded in 2004), as it illustrates how delicately all of the various threads needed to balance to yield such a brilliant album.Aesthetically, the Tour EP replicates almost the same vision as October, yet it lacks all of the necessary bite and vibrancy that might have made it similarly striking.As such, it is pleasant but largely unmemorable.Part of me is inclined to attribute that to the fact that the Tour EP songs were probably rough cuts/sketches exclusively for fans, yet Belong never fully recaptured the singular alchemy of October Language ever again (though they released a few promising vinyl EPs in its wake).Obviously, plenty of people love the follow-up, 2011's Common Language, but that album genuinely sounds like the work of an entirely different band: October Language was a one-time event that no one has ever been able to replicate.In fact, it has been glibly described elsewhere as "Loveless sans the songs," which is certainly an apt description.It is not quite a perfect one though, so I will boldly attempt my own concise summation with "a lovelorn Christian Fennesz on vacation in Twin Peaks."I am not sure that fully conveys the essence of this release either, but the take-home message is clear: this is an exceptionally great album.I am ashamed that it needed to be released three times before I finally realized that.

• October Language
• I'm Too Sleepy...Shall We Swim?
• Who Told You This Room Exists?

 

22 April 2018

Administrator

Albums and Singles

Anne Guthrie's strange and beautiful Codiaeum Variegatum was one of 2014's most delightful surprises, but I was admittedly perplexed by the early samples that I heard from this follow-up. Brass Orchids is quite a radical departure from its predecessor, as the erstwhile French horn player has now plunged deeply into a hallucinatory miasma of collaged and murky field recordings. As such, Orchids is quite a challenging and abstract album, but its dense fog of unusual textures and found sounds occasionally coheres into something quite compelling and unique. Also, Guthrie definitely gets points for so boldly swimming against the tide of the experimental music zeitgeist, reminding me favorably of the golden age of the early '80s when serious Italian composers were making bizarre noise tapes.

Students of Decay

Guthrie does not waste any time at all in plunging into the shadowy depths on Orchids, as the opening "Bellona" is quite an uncompromising and surreal swirl of disparate environments woven together to create a disorienting tableau.Initially, it sounds like someone is fiddling with the record button of an uncooperative tape player as they trudge through deep snow, but that scene is soon mingled with a deep, gurgling rumble that suggests that I am perversely also at the bottom of the sea.Some ghostly melodies also surface from time to time, though they prove to be too flickering and elusive to ever cohere into a structure.I would like to be able to say that it evokes the final fragmented dreams of a doomed scuba diver before he unexpectedly washes up in a quietly dripping grotto, but even that is too linear to describe the disorienting trajectory of the piece.That phantasmagoric and drifting web of field recordings is more or less the template for the entire album, but the beauty of Brass Orchids lies in how Guthrie's deep immersion into the impenetrable mists of the subconscious occasionally open up into an unexpected and emotionally affecting window of lucidity.In the regard, the center of the album is where Orchids starts to become something more fascinating and mysterious than mere experimentation.

In "Serious Water," for example, a warbling haze of strangled-sounding feedback drones blossoms out of the murk.It is quite a cool motif to begin with, yet it is further enhanced by some impressive textural sorcery, evoking the sensation of having an otherworldly vision of a submerged world while inside a burning building.And then, an Indian shopkeeper inexplicably interjects to extol the virtues of some random product, though his delightful appearance is similarly fleeting, as he is quickly replaced by a ravaged tape of tinkling jazz piano in a haze of queasily dissonant spectral harmonies."Red Wolf," on the other hand, sounds like an especially unsettling nightmare that takes place in an abandoned subway station, where impersonal recorded voices sporadically appear amidst a warped and rumbling chaos that sounds like reality itself is bending and dissolving around me.The album's centerpiece, however, is "Spider."The opening minutes resemble someone enthusiastically tap-dancing in an empty house as an electromagnetic storm rages around them.I am not sure it is accurate to say that things only get stranger from there, but Guthrie certainly unleashes a visceral, gnarled, and volcanic squall of howling noise, corroded machinery, shuddering electronic squelches, and cryptic snatches of dialogue.The final piece, "Glass," is the album’s only real nod to melodicism, as a melancholy French horn melody languorously snakes its way through a bleary soundscape of dissonantly shimmering glass drones.

I suppose it would be fair to say that Brass Orchids is not as strong or revelatory as Codiaeum Variegatum, but it would be more accurate to view that album as the gateway to Guthrie's unique vision and Orchids as a darker, more psychotropic trip deeper into that rabbit hole.I suspect the perfect Anne Guthrie album would probably lie somewhere between the her two Students of Decay albums, as Orchids could definitely benefit from a stronger melodic or harmonic component.It is a bold step forward in both in both experimentation and intimacy though, weaving complex and sharply realized acoustic environments around a kaleidoscopic trawl through Guthrie’s fractured memories.At its best ("Spider"), Brass Orchids evokes something that is part reality-shredding psychic earthquake and part séance and it is absolutely glorious.While the other four pieces only sporadically reach similar heights, this album is still quite a provocative, iconoclastic, and ambitious bit of sound art.

• Serious Water
• Red Wolf
• Spider

 

22 April 2018

Administrator

Albums and Singles

I can think of few other artists who have amassed a body of work as impressive as Clarice Jensen before releasing their debut album, as she is the artistic director of the American Contemporary Music Ensemble (ACME) and has appeared as a cellist on albums by a wide array of great artists (William Basinski, Bjork, and Jóhann Jóhannsson among them). The late Jóhannsson, in particular, is a solid reference point, as Jensen's vision shares a lot of common ground with Fordlandia's blend of neo-classical grandeur and contemporary experimentation. In fact, the man himself surfaces here as Jensen's collaborator on the opening "BC," which is one of several intriguing collaborative threads that run throughout the album. Unsurprisingly, that piece is absolutely gorgeous, yet it is Jensen's two-part solo composition that stands as the stands as the album's towering centerpiece.

Miasmah

This album was first conceived as a collaborative multimedia endeavor with artist Jonathan Turner, who created four elegiac and hauntingly beautiful black and white films to complement these pieces.The combination of those films with Jensen's work is admittedly quite mesmerizing and powerful, yet the album on its own does not feel incomplete, nor does it feel like a soundtrack.I am guessing that the music must have come first, though Turner’s languorously dreamlike trips through endless empty hallways is admittedly a relatively blank slate for a composer.In any case, both the films and Jensen's music evoke a profound sense of bittersweet melancholy that is simultaneously majestic and haunted.The lush, glacially swelling cello moans of "BC" are particularly effective at mining that vein of achingly beautiful sadness, as are dreamily swooning strings that drift over the top of it like slow-moving clouds.The central theme is certainly strong enough to have stood out as a highlight on any of Jóhannsson's own albums, yet "BC" feels more like a sublimely hypnotic infinite loop than a composition, steadily flowing along without much change until it finally disintegrates into a wobbly and submerged-sounding shadow image of itself.The following "Cello Constellations" is a bit of a departure from the rest of the album, eschewing the sweeping romanticism and strong melodic component of the other pieces for more of a drone-based approach that incorporates sine tones.That aesthetic detour makes sense though, as "Constellations" was composed by Michael Harrison for Jensen rather than by Jensen herself.It is a bit less immediately gratifying than the other pieces, as it lacks their melodic strength and emotional heft, yet it compensates somewhat by being more overtly experimental and harmonically complex.

The last half of the album is devoted to Jensen's two-part tour de force, "For This That Will Be Filled."The first part is quite brief, clocking in at mere five minutes, yet that brevity is entirely appropriate given its churning and volcanic nature.In a sense, it could be considered yet another drone piece, as it has a shifting foundation of sustained cello tones and a spectral haze of overtones and lingering delay, yet it is very easy forget that that structure is even there, as it is being continually strafed by densely fluttering and swooping masses of arpeggios.It kind of feels like trying to appreciate a lovely garden, then being dive-bombed by a flock of supernaturally immense predatory birds.As such, it is quite a satisfyingly explosive and dynamic piece, perfectly condensing all of its firepower into a sustained and intense catharsis.The second half that emerges from its ashes is a considerably longer and more complex composition, acting as a culmination of sorts that synthesizes all of the album's previous threads into a single powerful package.It opens as a slowly throbbing drone reverie, albeit one with a bit of a grinding, metallic sheen.Gradually, however, it blossoms into darkly billowing chord swells as a melancholy cello melody languorously unfolds.That theme eventually gives way to quite a lovely interlude, however, as a slow-moving and heavenly motif of groaning cello swells appears amidst an undulating haze of floating harmonics.It is absolutely lovely, yet Jensen treats it as a mere starting point, unleashing a gorgeously churning and snaking cello solo as the backdrop slowly fades away.That turns out to be the album's final transformation and it is an absolutely heavenly one, as the final moments of the album cohere into a coda that is both gently hallucinatory and warmly, organically intimate, as Jensen's undulating arpeggios leave a fluttering and spectral trail and a mysterious voice gently reverberates in the distance.

Given Jensen's pedigree, it is not at all surprisingly that she has such a wonderful and distinctive vision, nor that it is executed with such an unerring hand.Even so, I was still caught off-guard by how much this album exceeded my expectations: the beautiful moments are rapturous and the darker plunges are wonderfully visceral.Also, more subjectively, I simply love the sound of a bowed cello when it is in the right hands, as its deep, warm, and woody resonance makes every note feel poignant and timeless.My only faint critique of For This From That Will Be Filled is that it feels more like a collection than a planned album with an arc of thematically linked pieces.That makes sense, given that there are three different composers involved, but it is definitely a collection packed with absolutely sublime work: "BC" is 12-minutes of lushly languorous heaven and the title suite is on a plane all by itself.There is a lot to love here, as Jensen has a strong gift for melody, an unerring intuition for dynamics and density, and a healthy sense of experimentation, augmenting her cello's natural sounds with an array of pedals and tape loops to vaporously dreamlike effect.It is truly rare to encounter such an inspired and pitch-perfect blend of romanticism, depth, and elegantly hallucinatory production flourishes.This is a legitimately amazing debut.

• BC (with J√≥hann J√≥hannsson)
• For This From That Will Be Filled (A)
• For This From That Will Be Filled (B)

 

 

20 April 2018

Administrator

Albums and Singles

Aaron Martin’s album A Room Now Empty sees him returning to the memory-based recordings of previous albums such as Almond, River Water and Chautauqua, where layered meanings in the music and titles don’t allow a single clear-cut reading of the music.

"A Room Now Empty is similar to the concept of Day Has Ended where Christoph Berg and I created music to encompass the passing of a day, but stretched out for the passing of a lifetime or at least a portion of a lifetime," says Aaron.

Using cello, electric guitar, bass, roll-up piano, banjo, concertina, acoustic guitar, voice, ukulele, singing bowls and lap steel, A Room Now Empty keeps the same intimacy and directness of Aaron’s previous albums, with a slightly more processed sound creating distance within the music.

More information can be found here.