Being thankful for an earful.
Brand new music by Marie Davidson, Niecy Blues (feat. Joy Guidry), CEL, Marisa Anderson and Luke Schneider, Stina Stjern, Carmen Villain, Murcof, A Lily, and Far Golden Pavilions, with music from the vaults by Tomaga, Ozzobia, Jan Jelinek.
Sushi photo by Lindsay.
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Crouch's last release, A Gradual Accumulation of Ideas Becomes Truth (Line), was a heavily conceptual work touching on location and memory that, even divorced from its intellectual underpinning, was an excellent piece of sound art. Sublunar may not be as steeped in concept, but again the audio (a live performance mixing existing material and field recordings) is the most important facet, and again he excels in creating a disorienting piece of familiar and unfamiliar sounds that blur together wonderfully.
Sublunar is the result of a live performance utilizing source material from fellow artists Rafa Esparza and Yann Novak as part of mas gestos y mas caras, a multimedia performance including sculpture and performance art.His reworking of the material is drastic, resulting in a performance split into four pieces of a very different sound and sense.A light static ambience enshrouds "Descension," capturing a variety of found sounds, like an insistent beeping sound that could be almost anything.Crouch works the various layers of sound together, coming together at times lush and rich, and at others thin and harsher in nature.This constant unending flow makes for a complex, captivating piece of sound.
"Brick by Brick" continues with the delicate water sounds from the previous piece, but at first Crouch keeps the mix sparse.What he does leave in the mix helps to build that sense of space and distance, like the architectural structures of his previous album.The emptiness soon becomes crowded however, as Crouch adds a droning, engine like noise that becomes denser and denser, engulfing the mix before letting it collapse.
The following "Listen to the Sound of the Earth Turning" has a more hushed, meditative sensibility to it fitting the title.With the static hum and detuned radio noise that define the opening of the piece, Crouch conjures the sense of hovering in air, off of the earth but not quite in space.This is only strengthened by the blowing winds that surge throughout, not cold or frigid in nature, but giving the feeling of hovering in open space.
The final part of the performance, "Coda (Sailing Stones)" continues the sense of space from before, but Crouch slowly brings the work back down to earth.The openness is mixed with field recordings of an unspecific nature; environmental sounds that could be recorded anywhere or nowhere.With this he adds some gorgeous tones and synth-like buzzing, shaped into a melodic progression before pleasantly fading away.
Separated from the source material, Sublunar may not have the same conceptual nature of his previous work, but his knack for mixing familiar sounds with unfamiliar ones is still strongly present.Here he manages to create a space that is both comfortable and alien, where the ambiguity simply adds to the quality of the sound.Given this is a live performance; it just makes this record all the more impressive.
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This split tape manages to capture what sounds like the final Ars Phonenix release (though vocalist/guitarist/keyboardist Jon Glover and keyboardist/vocalist Caitlyn Grimalkin are continuing as Pass/Ages), and one of only a handful of works by Adam Batley's Viirus project. Besides both hailing from the wild lands of Florida (not what I would consider a hotbed for electronic music), they also share the commonality of creating skeletal, yet catchy and moody electronic pop, making for an exceptional pairing.
If it is truly the final release from Glover/Grimalkin and Mike Cruickshank, they are going out on an especially high note.Their four songs fit in consistently with their previous split with Burnt Hair and their Violent Rain LP with mostly midpaced structures and the occasional uptempo surprise.Lead by some excellently produced snappy synthetic drums, "Wings of a Millstone" opens their half of the tape on a strong note.Vocals are kept in the distance to maximize the sense of space created, which also accentuates the slow guitar melodies Glover provides.
The trio begin "Grey is the Only Line" with a wonderful pulsating synth line with rhythmic accents, and the guitar melody again making for an excellent focal point.The overall feel is slow, dour, and depressing, but the heavy syndrum sound gives it the edge to make it stand out strongly.The closing "Thoreau Goes to Ferguson" is similarly paced, but with a distinctly strong bass line, and Glover’s vocals mixed more up front compared to most of the other album.
The high point for the Ars Phoenix half is the previously released (as a video) "Lifetime Supply."With its faster tempo and slightly harder drive contrasting the more moody songs very well, it excels in its energy and catchiness.That edge, plus a memorable chorus from both Glover and Grimalkin, results in one of the band’s strongest works, and one that makes their imminent dissolution even more disheartening.
On the other half, The Viirus begins with at first a loose progression of analog synths on "Our Image" that quickly transitions into a fast paced drum machine lead piece.Batley's vocals eventually appear, muted in a very fitting manner.The closing song "Forever (Unlasting)" has a similarly stripped down, but extremely effective arrangement.A catchy synth sequence and snappy drums result in an exceptional sounding work; a mix that may not be overly complicated but excels from the basics.
The sharp drum machine programming stands out sharply on "Freddy’s Hand" with throbbing synths behind, giving a dark, bleak feel immediately to the song.With Batley’s vocals taking on a more monotone, disconnected sound, the piece comes together with a strong hint of EBM to it.The following "Mask My Face" goes in a different direction, immediately apparent from the stammering 808 beat that opens the piece up.The intentionally Spartan arrangement, and the heavily vocoded vocal style makes for an oddly loose piece amidst the more structured songs.
Ars Phoenix's more moody half of this tape is balanced very well with The Viirus' synthetic, yet more driving sound overall.With the latter’s eccentricity and the former’s stand out "Lifetime Supply," the total package is a superlative one.My only gripe is that neither of these bands were active when I served my time in Florida, since it would have made for a much better experience overall.
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Thalassa is the new collaborative project between two titans of the metal tinged avant garde world of guitar: Aaron Turner (Isis, Mamiffer) and William Fowler Collins. Mythical and elemental imagery abounds on the four lengthy pieces split across two LPs, no doubt informed by the contrast of their respective homes: Turner’s cold and damp Pacific Northwest versus Collins’ arid New Mexico home, but the two are entirely on the same page when it comes to performance. Equally fitting into the worlds of old school ambient composition and metallic darkness, Bonds of Prosperity is as bleak as it is engaging.
For two guitarists who have consistently worked in metal-aligned genres, both of them have demonstrated that restraint can be just as heavy as harshness, and that is a clear characteristic of this record.The first moments of "Pitted Aegis" is a telltale overdriven chug of distortion that could be as much a guitar as it could be a battery of effects.However, the two build from this seemingly simplistic starting point to expand into a sprawling expanse of grimy grind.Eventually this sputters out and then returns, eventually relenting for a beautifully expansive guitar sound to take hold.There is a massive, monolithic quality to the final product that is overwhelming without oppressing.
The following "Secular Pyres" begins with a similarly monochromatic ominous hum that unravels to reveal a much greater complexity to its sound.Turner and Collins start from this and allow it to unfold into a menacing roar that builds to extreme levels, to then just as quickly pull it away.Beyond that there is a fascinating static-laden buzz that remains before the piece gently drifts off.The initial sustained drone that begins "Face Obscure", on the other hand, does not stick around long before a squealing guitar stab cuts through, a visceral, almost painful sounding burst of noise.While it eventually relents to allow some low frequency rumbles and warbling tones to appear, it never fully goes away.Things do not stay peaceful however; as the sound warms and the duo create a mood that is undeniably beautiful, yet still somewhat imposing.Again this harsh squeal reappears, and then again a few minutes later after a near silent passage.Eventually the piece concludes on what sounds to be taut string plucks, sounding more like analog electronic tones than a standard guitar sound.
The final composition, "Revolting Corpus," has the two staying a bit more reigned in as far as the noisier stuff goes, or at least until the end.A throbbing repeated guitar motif appears at first and slowly builds up, becoming more melodic and almost pleasant sounding as a whole, even though the rest of the piece is a murky darkness.Collins and Turner work heavily with repetition here, resulting in an overall rhythmic structure that becomes more and more dissonant with time.By the chaotic conclusion it is an all out noise war, complete with what sounds like a monstrous vocal outburst before coming to an extremely abrupt conclusion.
Considering both Aaron Turner and William Fowler Collins' existing body of work, a collaboration between the two was seemingly inevitable, and while the results are not necessarily surprising, Bonds of Prosperity also does not disappoint.There are clearly sinister vibes throughout the record, but like their respective home environments, there is a distinct beauty in the extremity.Thalassa's sound is daunting and at times oppressive, but that is exactly what makes this collaboration so brilliant.
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Spurred on by an open Facebook post during one of John Olson’s (Wolf Eyes) visits to Upstate New York, this album features him with two local luminaries, Eric Hardiman (Rambutan, Century Plants) and Jeff Case (Burnt Hills) in a purely improvised setting. These three lengthy performances are surprisingly restrained, with Olson exclusively on reeds and wind instruments, Case on drums and Hardiman on saxophone and synths. I am guessing the result is an excellent example of psycho jazz (still not knowing exactly what that means as a genre), though it is surprisingly more conventional than I had expected.
The first session is essentially straight up free jazz for the bulk of its duration.Olson takes the lead, sharing a notable amount of space with Case’s understated drumming behind.The freeform structure is apparent, but the playing is restrained; far less chaotic than I would expect from the crew.Later on the playing is underscored with some almost vibraphone type sounds, and the piece does not drifts into aggressive territory.The trio gets a bit wild near the end though, with the reeds getting a bit more intense and some harsher electronics coming forth.
For the second piece, Olson and Hardiman lock horns with each other as Case keeps the beat behind them.It is comparatively harder and a bit more chaotic, with the two taking turns retreating and then bursting out in a complex duet. The higher and low register difference in tone between the two complements each other very well, keeping for a dynamic sound as the percussion soldiers on.Here the overall sound shifts from a more peaceful chill out space, building to heavier bursts and rapid fire freakouts, all concluding in an excellent and appropriately boisterous crescendo.
The lengthy concluding performance (about as long as the two that preceded it combined) ties the album together extremely well.With the greater amount of time the improvisation between the three becomes more dynamic, deliberately building and collapsing as time goes on.The rhythms stay subtle as Hardiman introduces a bit more in the way of electronics.That, plus a tasteful amount of processing (specifically in the form of echo and reverb) push the performance into a very different, almost fusion jazz space (although a fusion of very different genres than usual).The performance has a brilliant transition from almost new age ambience into harsher, more aggressive territory before concluding on more of a synth drone note.
For what is essentially just a three person jam session in a basement, the sum total of the performances on March of the Mutilated Vol. 1 comes across as so much more.Shifting sounds and moods abound, but most importantly it never becomes overly directionless or self-indulgent.Sure, the performances get a bit noodly at times, but in a way that makes sense, and works.It may be a bit lighter than what I have come to expect from Olson, but the presence of Hardiman and Case make it a compelling jaunt from start to finish.
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These two new releases from the legendary composer may have come out around the same time, but they both represent extreme ends of his work. The former is a two disc, 16 piece compilation of shorter works created over the span of two years, covering a wide gamut of the López sound. The latter is a flash drive containing a single work (split into 11 distinct parts) five hours and 20 minutes in length, all based on a single sound source. They may be distinctly different in composition and construction, but both are brilliant works in his already shining discography.
Untitled (2012-2014) is the more accessible of the two, or at least as much as that term can be applied to Francisco López’s often difficult work.Consisting of 16 pieces ranging from just shy of three minutes to a bit under 14, it functions well as a compilation or overview of the work he has been doing in that time span.One thing that does define these works (and seeps into Untitled #352 as well) is an intensive use of low frequencies.Listening on headphones (as recommended) results in some moments of near silent volume, but significant vibrations and rumbling.
One of the major reasons for the diversity of these two CDs is the differing sources of sound López utilized to create them.Four of the pieces stem from raw sound material provided by other artists that he radically reworked into his own compositions."Untitled #316 (for Zbigniew Karkowski)" uses material from the late composer (and friend of López) to create an expanse of low frequency that, without adequate headphones or speakers, would probably sound like complete silence.With the addition of shrill digital static, the piece builds to a harsh roar before falling back to the open space.At times I could not tell if what I was hearing was actually on the recording or sound of my headphones barely being able to handle the low end noise.
In a similar vein, "Untitled #297", using source sounds from the artist Shhh… is another pastiche of extreme frequencies.It functions almost as a study of significant contrasts, where foundation shaking low frequencies are paired with almost ultrasonically high register noises verging on the upper limit of human hearing.In truth, it is not too dissimilar to the approach of some of the earliest Whitehouse recordings, but here executed with a scientific, almost clinical precision.
Most of the remaining pieces are works derived from field recordings, although in a less obvious manner than Lopez has presented on his Epoché series of recordings in recent years.Here is where a significant amount of variation can be heard."Untitled #293", created from recordings made in Lima and Panama City, leads off with an almost startling lack of bass, but instead glistening, shimmering shards of noise.The volume rises and falls, and sounds almost resembling horns and pseudo-rhythmic segments appear, before the piece ends on a foundation rattling note.
There are also pieces included with less clear sources, but are no less engaging.Voices appear at erratic times throughout "Untitled #296", augmented by swirling tones and understated electronics.There is a notable amount of activity to be heard, though where it is coming from is anything but clear, ending with what sounds like a sharp spring reverb passage."Untitled #304" is at first what I would consider a "standard" López composition:a droning, almost air conditioner like din sets the mood as quiet electronic-tinged noises cut through.Later, however, and almost drum-like thump is introduced that gives an entirely different feel to the piece.
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On the other hand is Untitled #352, a massive, monolithic work created from a single source:field recordings from an urban boiler plant facility at the Régie de Chauffage Urbain, near Paris.The final 20 minute segment of the five hour and 20 minute piece, the soundtrack to Exposure (a choreographic project by Anne Collod) is a mixdown of an originally 46 channel piece based on these recordings.The composition is an extremely dynamic one, blending rhythmic puffs of white noise and intersecting layers of varying recordings, piled together then stripped back and back again.At times the sound is an overwhelming combination of nearly every frequency in the sonic spectrum, and then others it is only the subtlest of pops and crackles.
The five hours that precede this is a series of ten 30 minute pieces, titled "MANTRAck" 01 through 10.The nature of these recordings is all in the title:each is a rework of the same source material, in long form structures with little overt variation.In that regard, they are excellent meditative pieces, having the "zone out" quality of white noise, but with enough change and variation within the pieces to keep them engaging.Most of the variation has to do with the frequencies:some cover more of the full frequency spectrum, such as the first.The opener is an abrasive, dissonant buzz that builds to an unmoving wall, while the quieter, more bassy foundation evolves and changes.
For the sixth piece, he emphasizes the mid and high end frequencies, resulting in a metallically shrill, almost painful bit of sound.On the third segment Lopez keeps the harsher moments at bay and instead emphasizes the more textural elements of the source recordings.This results in a more varied piece, where pops, clicks, and the occasional bit of (intentional) digital clipping result in a greater depth and variety.The final tenth segment is another pairing of extreme frequencies, but engineered in such a way as to be peaceful, rather than abrasive.
The two disc compilation Untitled (2012-2014) is the more inviting of these two works given its wider array of source material, but the magnitude and depth of Untitled #352 makes for a more challenging, yet overall more rewarding experience.To sound a bit cliché, the compilation is well suited for the casual listener or unfamiliar person interested in Francisco López’s daunting body of work, but can easily be appreciated by those who have followed him for awhile.Untitled #352 is likely going to be a bit off-putting for the uninitiated due to its intentionally static structure and sprawling duration, but fans will find much to appreciate.
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Drøne's second album was bizarrely released as a part of Record Store Day, which was quite an unexpected strategy given that few record stores are clamoring to stock new sound collage albums from Swedish record labels.  As a result, I was kind of expecting A Perfect Blind to be some sort of collectible minor release with eye-catchingly ambitious packaging and swirled gold-flecked vinyl or something.  Instead, it is just another excellent album, though Mark van Hoen and Mike Harding do enlist a murderers' row of talented collaborators including Philip Jeck and Anna von Hausswolff to help realize their expanded vision.  In fact, this album marks quite an impressive and unexpected evolution from the duo’s 2016 debut, using Reversing Into Future's beguiling miasma of shortwave radio transmissions, cryptic snatches of dialog, and droning synths as a foundation for something a bit more substantial and melodic.
The first half of the opening "Back to Station" deceptively feels like a perfectly linear continuation of Drøne’s Reversing Into The Future aesthetic, as a looping synth drone coheres into an insistent pulse that quickly swells with dense layers of field recordings.  The field recordings sound a hell of a lot like a wave machine at a water theme park, as the insistent sloshing locks into the same pulse as Van Hoen's synth.  That touch lends the piece quite a visceral heft, as if the ocean itself wanted a hand in this project.  The duo soon build upon that heavy momentum with a hollow and whooshing onslaught of electronics and unrecognizable field recordings, though a recurring annoying buzz keeps things enticing strange: there is never any real hint as to which of the various divergent threads may ultimately take control of the piece.  As it turns out, none of them do, as the piece's rolling elemental force unexpectedly dissipates in favor of a bleary reverie of melancholy cellos and violas mingled with scraping and rattling metal strings.  At first, the interlude languorously drifts along in a subtly dissonant and impressionist haze, but it slowly and sneakily blossoms into a mournful descending melody that recalls the central theme of Arvo Pärt's "Cantus In Memory of Benjamin Britten."  Needless to say, it achieves an impressive degree of elegiac beauty, but I found myself far more fascinated with all of the buried and cryptic sounds bleeding into the periphery.  While Drøne are not likely to surpass Pärt's genius as a composer anytime soon, they unquestionably excel at surrounding their stabs at melody with a mesmerizing atmosphere of feverish unreality.
The album's second half is devoted to yet another side-long epic in the form of "Cutting the Screen."  Opening with a heavy thrum of slowly quavering synth and deep rumble, it gradually swells into a menacing swirl of blurry, uncomfortable harmonies and desolate industrial textures.  Though it sustains that dark atmosphere for a while, there are plenty of subtly executed small changes that cumulatively build towards a throbbing interlude of deep burbling undercurrents, buried voices, and tensely quivering strings.  That new motif is allowed is linger and accumulate tension for a while before it is ultimately engulfed in the slowly swelling roar of a new undercurrent.  Curiously, however, that roar acts as a reset button rather than the foundation of a new chapter, as everything abruptly falls away to leave only a floating and dreamlike stasis and the muted indecipherable chatter of a distant television.  It feels like an appropriate end to the album, but Harding and Van Hoen have one last trick up their sleeves, unexpectedly closing the piece with an atypically simple and conventionally pretty coda of lush strings and church organ.
If A Perfect Blind has a flaw, it is only that it feels like a collage of unrelated improvisation sessions artfully bleeding into one another.  In a way, that approach is also one of the duo's greatest strengths, as the trajectory of each piece follows a wonderfully unpredictable dream-logic.  The downside is that the pacing is sometimes puzzling and both pieces seem to ultimately follow a very similar trajectory: a hallucinatory flow of burbling, multilayered abstraction gives way to a final structured and melodic set piece (the proverbial rabbit being pulled out of the hat).  That transition would be a bit stronger if it were more seamless and less blunt, as the sharp focus of the structured, melodic passages somewhat undercut the duo's genius for murky obfuscation.  Unveiling a pay-off at the end of each piece is nice, I suppose, but it is not where Harding and Van Hoen truly shine.  Thankfully, they excel in quite a few other realms with this record (mood, vision, inventive sound sources, etc.).  Drøne's greatest accomplishment lies in their production talents, however, as A Perfect Blind is an immersive feast of rich textures and dynamic shifts in density.  While the duo have taken a bold step towards more ambitious composition and orchestration, this album is wonderful primarily because it successfully replicates the simmering and churning fever-dream alchemy of its predecessor.
 
Luke Younger’s latest EP draws inspiration from his fascination with the UK's media chaos surrounding last year’s Brexit vote.  I suppose that is arguably one good thing to come out of that dark bit of recent history, but Helm already seemed to be doing a perfectly fine job producing fine albums without that unfortunate muse.  Inspirations aside, Helm EPs generally tend to feel a hell of a lot like maxi-singles and they only surface when Younger has made a significant creative breakthrough.  World in Action is no exception to that trend.  In this case, that breakthrough takes the form of the 9-minute "Blue Scene," a gloriously skittering and jazz-damaged cacophony that often resembles a hallucinatory flock of worried geese...with a groove.  Naturally, the remaining three pieces adhere to characteristically Helm-esque levels of quality, but it is quite clear that the wildly skwonking, must-hear tour de force of "Blue Scene" is the reason that this release exists.
One aspect of Luke Younger's art that I always find intriguing is his ability to continually evolve Helm's aesthetic without losing his direction.  I often grumble about artists who are chameleonic, but Helm is an example of such a practice actually working quite well: no matter how many esoteric new influences Younger absorbs, he always seems to filter them distinctively through the "Helm" prism.  Case in point: the opening "Blue Scene" is far more indebted to free-jazz than it is to electronic music, but the layered squalls of gnarled saxophones and shuffling drums sound perfectly at home.  It is not terribly hard to see how the confused and overlapping jumble of jabbering horns relates to the media coverage of Brexit, incidentally.  It would be a gross oversimplification to focus exclusively on the more dissonant aspects of the piece, however, as there is a very cool looping brass hook that holds the piece together beautifully.  Without that component, this would feel like the work of a dilettante.  With it, however, "Blue Scene" is absolutely perfect.  In a way, it reminds me of Terry Riley’s classic "Poppy Nogood" beefed up with a bit more snarl and momentum.  Of course, there are also some more distinctly Helm-esque touches in the mix in the form of buried industrial textures and brooding synthesizers, but the real beauty of the piece lies in the masterful juxtaposition of roiling, honking chaos and an unstoppable and perversely soulful groove.
The following "Candy" is a bit more in the expected vein, however, as it is a brief and sketchlike piece that marries a quavering and hazy drone to some stuttering and clattering metallic percussion.  It certainly offers some wonderfully crunching textures, but it ends a bit too quickly to feel particularly substantial.  The title piece takes a somewhat similar (if noisier) approach, erupting into a heavy industrial/junkyard percussion groove strafed by retro-futurist/sci-fi modular synth bloops.  Much of the credit for its success goes to guest percussionist Valentina Magaletti (Raime/Vanishing Twin), as she conjures up quite a bludgeoning racket, but it would not be nearly as heavy without Younger's textured and grinding layers of noise and bulldozing sub bass.  The two artists make a fine pair, as "World in Action" is both concise and crushing.  The EP closes with yet another fine piece, "After Dark," which reprises the "snarling brass loop pile-up" aesthetic of "Blue Scene," but takes a somewhat different direction with it.  This time around, the melodic components feel like they are submerged and fighting to surface.  There is also some rumbling percussion buried deep in the mix, but the foreground is consumed almost entirely with a roiling dull roar of drone.  It never evolves into anything more, yet Younger executes a wonderful balancing act of unresolved tension, as the submerged elements feel constantly on the verge of bubbling up to the surface.
The sole nagging issue that I have with World in Motion is that it feels like Magaletti and Younger never quite fully realize their combined potential with the three shorter pieces.  I certainly enjoy them, but they are a bit lean on hooks and melody.  Granted, no one has ever excitedly purchased a new Helm album hoping for plenty of either, yet it seems like Younger focused almost entirely on the production-side of things with "Candy" and "World in Action," maximizing the density and textural dynamism of pieces that are a little more than cool percussion patterns.  In the case of "World in Action," that percussion is admittedly visceral and hypnotic enough to carry the piece on its own (Magaletti is an ideal foil).  While the same is not quite true of "Candy," it is brief enough to avoid overstaying its welcome.  Younger clearly knows when he has an idea that can sustain a ten-minute song and when he does not. Of course, the more optimal way of viewing World in Action is simply as an absolutely killer single.  Viewed in that light, it is a complete success: Younger has just released what is possibly the finest song of his career in "Blue Scene" and threw in a handful of brief and interesting experiments as a bonus.  That works for me, as I am perfectly happy with just one sustained flash of brilliance per EP.  Artistic considerations about World in Action’s future place in the post-industrial canon aside, it is also worth noting that this EP feels weirdly like it is Younger’s "party album," as the heavy "live" percussion and strangled horns are an appealingly listenable and momentum-enhancing additions to the Helm aesthetic.  I hope they stick around when Younger makes his next leap forward.
 
 
As a longtime Richard Skelton fan, I have been watching his recent trajectory with quite a bit of fascination, as he has been restlessly diving into increasingly varied and arcane territory while distancing himself further and further from his brilliant earlier work with each new release.  While there are still some lingering vestiges of that vibrantly harmonic-strewn string work in his *AR project with Autumn Richardson, Skelton's solo work as The Inward Circles is explicitly (and increasingly) intent on exploring an aesthetic of "burial, obfuscation and mythologization."  In fact, The Inward Circles often seems like a rather perverse name, as Skelton has seemingly ceased burrowing inwards and thrown himself into the epic, timeless, and vast. At times, that newly cosmic scope falls uncomfortably close to dark ambient (a genre that I am generally quite happy to avoid), but it can sometimes yield absolutely crushing and awe-inspiring results as well (Nimrod is Lost).  This latest opus does not quite sustain the lofty heights of some previous Inward Circles classics, but it compensates with a slow-burning majesty that builds to a sustained and wonderful crescendo.
Unusually, this particular album does not seem focused upon a particular theme, though its digital-only sister release Scaleby centers around the discovery of a deerskin-clad "Ancient Briton" in the peat moorland of Northern England (a truly Skelton-esque inspiration indeed).  For Right Lines, however, there is just a cryptic scattering of Nathaniel Tarn and Sir Thomas Browne lines that may very well be clues to nowhere.  There is an unintentional theme to the album, however: it sounds better and better the louder I play it.  The reasoning for that is quite simple, as its charms are generally not melodic ones.  Rather, Right Lines seems to traffic in something approximating vast cosmic horror and existential dread, as early pieces like "The Soul Subsisting" are all about ominous, cavernous swells and gloomy, menacing harmonies…at least at first glance.  At more extreme volumes, the textural richness begins to come out, as does the sharpness of some of the individual notes.  Experienced in that engulfing and visceral way, the album's seemingly weaker moments become kind of a crunching, grinding, and nerve-jangling nightmare.  I have no idea if that was Skelton's intention, but the immensity of his scale is scary regardless, as no one likes being confronted with their insignificance in the face of infinity or geological time.  It may not necessarily be the sort of fare that I look to Richard Skelton for, but it diverges enough from artists like Lustmord to be relatively compelling.
Things start to get more inventive and lively with the album's third piece, however, as "In An Hydropicall Body" is a shifting and oscillating cloud of feedback swells that would make Kevin Drumm proud.  It even sounds like there is a processed high-hat or maraca in there at one point, conjuring up the surprising illusion that I am hearing an actual band of amplifier worshippers.  Again, that is not traditionally Skelton-esque fare at all, but it is an intriguing experiment and it leads nicely into the trilogy of excellent pieces that comprises the real meat of the album.
The first is a brief exile from the Scaleby variations, "Scaleby, X," a simple and perfect blur of woozily looping and quavering drones.  The following "Nitre of the Earth" initially seems to reprise the brooding ambient gloom of the album's earlier pieces, but it eventually blossoms into something more complex and gripping when a sharp and pulsing harmonic motif tears through the haze to give the piece some genuine bite and a wonderfully ugly cloud of dissonant harmonies.  "Necks Was A Proper Figure" rounds out that hot streak with an aesthetic somewhere between "Scaleby" and "Nitre," unveiling a muted and forlorn melodic loop that is disrupted by eerie swells and something that resembles a shuddering and garbled deep space transmission.  As it progresses and obsessively repeats, it gradually snowballs in gnarled ferocity until it becomes quite a dense and vibrant howl of harsh textures and uncomfortable harmonies.  Skelton could have safely stopped the album right there, but he opts to include one more substantial piece in the harrowing sustained roar "If The Nearness of Our Last," which sounds like an dissonant mass of harmonically clashing choral samples over a layer of phase-shifting grinding.  It is certainly heavy, but a bit limited.
The album draws to an unexpectedly quiet close with the muted "Scaleby, XI," which feels a lot like a submerged version of its predecessor.  It is a solid (if unexceptional) end to a solid (and occasionally great) album.  Trying to maintain some semblance of objectivity when I am passionate about an artist is always hard, as I am unavoidably in the thrall of preconceived expectations and want every album to be better than the last.  Richard Skelton, on the other hand, has completely different priorities than I do: namely, 1.) not repeating himself, and 2.) absorbing an eclectic array of new and often non-musical influences into his artistic vision.  On those grounds, Right Lines is a very successful album, albeit one with a few weaknesses (an occasional over-reliance on the power of amorphous cinematic brooding, a few comparatively less inspired pieces, and a weaker thematic focus than usual).  Those grievances are mostly eclipsed by the awe-inspiring elemental force Skelton unleashes when he hits the mark though.  Also, a few pieces, such as "Nitre of the Earth" and "Necks Was A Proper Figure" easily stand with some of Skelton's finest work.  As "Scaleby, X" and "In A Hydrologicall Body" are not far behind, it feels apt to view Right Lines as a stellar EP that has been padded out with a few experiments that do not quite fully connect...or perhaps an extremely promising transitional album.  Either way, there is a lot to love here, even if it does not quite add up to a fresh masterpiece.
 
The Boston Globe says: “desiccated nightmare lullabies or ambient carousel music from the grounds of an abandoned carnival."
"I am incredibly proud of this album, which was written from scratch by me and my songwriting hero, Edward Ka-Spel from The Legendary Pink Dots. This album has taken us years to finally realize. I hope you love it as much as we loved creating it."
-Amanda Palmer
Much, much more information can be found here.
There is a station where the train never arrives, where the Waiting Room is always occupied, where the conversation is inevitably awkward and where you’re never quite alone, but perpetually ALMOST alone.
Ladies & Gentlemen, welcome to Station Yellow Moon, the final bastion of humanity, the last stuttering blip on the life support system, the domain where Access Is Denied perpetually – but who the Hell would want to go there anyhow? Well, some pay handsomely for the Great Escape, despite the risks….
High On Station Yellow Moon is a new solo album by Edward Ka-Spel of The Legendary Pink Dots, and marks the beginning of his collaboration with long-time friend and fellow traveler Amanda Palmer of the Dresden Dolls.
It doesn’t get more conceptual than this.
More information can be found here.
Perc (London-based producer Ali Wells) returns with Bitter Music, his third album following Wicker & Steel (2011) and The Power And The Glory (2014). As before, the album is released via his own Perc Trax imprint, giving Perc the complete creative control needed to realize his vision of what should be a milestone release for both himself and Perc Trax.
Originally a very inward looking album when work started on it in March 2016, the extensive political change happening in both the UK and around the world forced the album to widen its perspective. By the time the album was finished in December, it was clear that the sentiment of tracks such as "Look What Your Love Has Done To Me" was as equally applicable to the micro politics of person relationships as it was to concerns for the future of a country in a state of flux.
Sonically, the album takes in everything from strung-out vocal treatments to the type of warehouse rabble-rousers Perc has made his own since his very first releases. More dancefloor-focused than his previous albums, yet pulling from a wider range of sounds, Bitter Music shows a development and maturing of Wells' music that could not have been foreseen just a few years ago.
Delicately balancing the personal and the political, Bitter Music stands apart from most recent techno albums as it continually pushes outwards rather than concerning itself with the microscopic refinement of already established sounds. It is an album unafraid to take chances from an artist continually looking for his next step forwards.
More information can be found here.
