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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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Axebreaker is a new project from Locrian vocalist/keyboardist Terence Hannum, and one that harkens back to the earliest days of the power electronics scene (right when it transitioned from the world of industrial), while putting an entirely modern spin on the sound. It is heavily politically charged and packed with all of the anger and rage I could have hoped for. The strength of Hannum’s performance ensures, however, that it will still be relevant even when the political landscape shifts to something hopefully more pleasant in the USA.
Politics and power electronics have been tightly entwined ever since the genre’s inception in the early 1980s.Early projects such as Whitehouse and Ramleh took the more dissonant elements of Throbbing Gristle and SPK, but also emphasized the more extreme political imagery.For most of these bands, they used totalitarian and fascist themes for the same purpose of shock and provocation, sometimes with a more intellectual nuance than others.These early practitioners largely moved on to more developed themes once the shock gimmick was exhausted:Consumer Electronics have been presenting issues of social/economic inequality and toxic masculinity on their most recent releases, and even Genocide Organ has shifted their ever vague and obscured lens to topics such as private military corporations and US interference in foreign governments.
The unfortunate side effect of these early projects is that a subset of their fans latched onto the politics more than the provocation, resulting in a group of antecedents that are riddled with unpleasant themes and a slew of "prohibited for sale on Discogs" listings.That is why Axebreaker is such a stand-out project.Within a scene and style where conservative/fascist beliefs are frequently espoused (sincerely or not, it does not really make a difference), it is refreshing to hear the other side of the coin presented in a similarly aggressive manner and with the same intensity and force.I mean, I may be somewhat biased since the views and ideas espoused here are more in line with my own, but even without that piece it is a great piece of aggressive noise.
Hannum wears his influences pretty overtly on this tape.Most telling may be the layout of the included lyric booklet, which is a clear homage to the legendary Broken Flag label.This comes through in the audio too:"White Rose" has a low, nausea inducing bass synth that could be from Whitehouse's New Britain, and cheap drum machine that sputters under the manic vocals and violent noise wall of "The Reek of Your Privilege" sounds like a leftover from SPK's Information Overload Unit.
Of course it has to be acknowledged that Hannum's occasionally prog tendencies are still at play on Burning False Flags, and I mean that as a sincere compliment.Rather than just a chunk of overdriven bass and distortion, there is a complexity to the electronics that causes these songs to stand out even beyond the aggressive approach.Sure, "White Rose" is at first all aggressive screaming and ridiculous shards of reverb, but by the end the lighter, almost ambient synthesizer work shifts forward, giving an almost pleasant grounding to an otherwise ugly work."Changeling" also features lush electronics and melodies that manage to drift to the front here and there, adding a rich color to a style that is too often monochromatic.
One of the notable things about Burning False Flags is while it is riddled with frustration and anger; it never comes across as hateful.What could have been the audio equivalent of a half hour of punching Nazis (which would have also been enjoyable, I am sure) is instead more constructive without being condescending.Lyrics like "Is Your Spirit Already So Crushed by Abuse/That You Forget it is Your Right to Eliminate this System" on "White Rose" make it pretty clear that Axebreaker is not striving to just deliver simplistic political sloganeering without thought.For the lengthy "Know Your Enemy" Hannum delivers no vocals at all, and instead just opts to underscore recorded during the recent US Presidential campaign with a slow burn of buzzing noise, eventually reaching an intentionally unpleasant, unrelenting bit of dissonant repetition that matches the samples in tone and discomfort.
Given the nature of the power electronics realm, I am not quite sure how Burning False Flags will be received.On the content of the audio alone it should be heralded:Terence Hannum has put a unique spin on a style not widely known for its innovation, resulting in a tape that stands toe to toe with the best practitioners of the genre.The political bent, however, may be a different matter since it is anything but the status quo.That being said, I do not think Hannum will at all care about any dissent on that level, and any social media/message board griping will likely just feed into and strengthen the next record even more.
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The plain, unmarked white shell and clinical titling of break_fold's debut certainly adds a mysterious quality to this project. There is no hint as to what to expect musically, and that alone always makes me curious. That ambiguity carries onto the tape itself, in the form of complex and diverse beat heavy electronics that excels as much in mood and texture as it does in pleasant melodies and memorable rhythms.
These six pieces—all simply titled for the date they were recorded (I assume)—are refreshingly varied and dynamic.Right in the opening moments of "24_08_15," there is a great snappy drum machine, tastefully filtered, to click away as beautiful synthesizers glide effortlessly over the top, immediately followed by the ghostly melody and stuttering, idiosyncratic beat of "07_07_15".In both of these cases, however, there ends up being much more.On the former, the electronics slowly become more dense and dissonant, and by the closing moments they engulf the remainder of the mix.In the latter case, the balance of raw and polish is upset in the ending, as the entire piece disintegrates brilliantly.
This dichotomy continues throughout the tape.While "11_09_15" begins with a dense, heavy beat that eventually transitions from darkness to light, the remainder of the piece does the opposite.The beat may become less oppressive, but the overall arrangement begins in a far more chill zone than the intensity in which it closes.For "05_01_16" break_fold leads off with gentle, fluttering electronics and an overall slower pace, and despite the big, resonating handclaps the mood stays light.However, the beat is shifted around and the focus instead shifts to the big, dramatic synths that stand out strongly.The latter parts of the piece may drift into noisy territory, but the melody never fully disappears.
On the final third of the tape the differences are a bit more pronounced, however.On one hand, break_fold drifts more into conventional song structures on "21_02_16,"compared to the more techno-oriented sounds that preceded it.There is a wonderfully dense synthesizer progression, but as a whole there seems to be more melody and varying structures to be find.On the other hand, "13_04_16" may be a direct continuation of the previous, but the tempo is slowed.Instead the beginning minutes are slower and in general the mix is more stripped down, cutting the electronics back somewhat.It picks up towards its end, but the inclusion of vocal fragments makes the piece more unique overall.
07_07_15-13_04_16 may not be the most experimental or challenging sounding tape, but the familiar ground that break_fold covers is done with such panache that it is an engaging tape completely as it is.The complex production ensures that the beats never become stale, and the wonderful melodies make for a tape that is rife with heavy beats, but without numbing repetition.The presentation may be intentionally obscure and a bit obtuse, but the content itself is excellent.
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I had a very unfortunate false start with Gnod, as the first time I heard them, I mistakenly concluded that they were basically the UK version of White Hills rather than a deeply radical and experimental entity of Swans-like intensity.  With the benefit of hindsight, I have since embraced them as one of the single most exciting forces to emerge from the underground in recent years.  Thankfully, no one at all will be likely to repeat my mistake after hearing Just Say No, though it admittedly tones down the band’s more arty and indulgent tendencies quite a bit in service of visceral brute force (the album title provides a very unambiguous clue as to the band's current mindset). Of course, as much as I enjoy raw power, punk energy, and hardcore fury on their own, the beauty of this album lies in how brilliantly Gnod manage to blend heavy music with their longstanding Krautrock and psych fascinations, enhancing the expected monster riffs with bulldozing no-frills repetition, seismic percussion grooves, Gang of Four-style minimalism, and a wonderful textural chaos of electronics and radio broadcasts.
If I had to succinctly summarize Gnod’s aesthetic with Just Say No, Entertainment!-era Gang of Four would be the clearest reference point, but with the caveat that all their equipment was stolen right before an important gig and that they had to perform using gear that was already set-up and soundchecked for Ministry or Neurosis.  There are plenty of tight grooves and "angular" guitars, but they are often atop an incredibly dense, earthquake-level low end.  The opening "Bodies For Money," ostensibly the album's lead single, is a bit of aberration from that template though.  In fact, Gnod are roughly in White Hills territory again, barreling along at a double-time pace with a simple power chord riff and even erupting into a noisy guitar solo at one point.  There are some key differences though, as Jon Perry's drums are jacked-up to rumbling, elemental force and vocalist Paddy Shine's ragged, world-weary vocals are more of a sincere, snarling, and rueful denunciation of the state of the world than a melodic hook.  Put more glibly, it is Motorhead music with a Crass intellect.  That is an admittedly gratifying and bracing aesthetic, but it is not nearly as compelling as the more distinctive fare that Gnod conjures up elsewhere.  For example, the following "People" is every bit as bludgeoning, but slowed and pared down to little more than pummeling, fill-heavy drums; densely buzzing bass; and a flanging sample that sounds like a processed muezzin's call.  Eventually, an ascending strummed guitar motif appears, but the foundation of the piece is essentially just a sample and some stomping, improvisatory drumming and it all works beautifully.  In fact, it seems like Gnod work best when they are working with the fewest materials.
The following "Paper Error" unexpectedly brings shades of Steady Diet of Nothing-era Fugazi, as Gnod lock into an obsessively repeating two-chord riff while Shine howls elliptical and scathing thoughts about errors and bodies.  While it is not exactly my favorite piece on the album, "Paper Error" makes one of the stronger cases for Gnod's brilliance: it is built upon an incredibly simple riff and a lyric sheet that probably only has like three lines scrawled on it ("Error! Error! Error! Error!"), yet it feels like being run over by a goddamn tank.  It is the perfect distillation of the album's description of "a harsh and repetitive riff-driven rancour refracted through a psychotropic haze of dubbed-out abstraction," as the riff is an unstoppable juggernaut, Shine's raw-throated intensity is magnetic, and the underlying music is a dense and roiling onslaught of furious crash cymbals and buried snarls of ugly guitar noise.  Even better still is "Real Man," the album’s muscular and hyper-minimal centerpiece.  At its core, it is essentially a cutting denunciation of macho culture delivered over a heavy and perversely funky drumbeat.  There are some embellishments, like a blown-out one-note bass line and stabs of discordant guitar, but all of that is secondary to the perfectly swaggering menace of a song mocking swaggering menace.  Eventually "Real Man" erupts into a crescendo of noisy guitars and jabbering loops, but the lasting impression is that Shine and his drummer are about to curb-stomp a bunch of football hooligans.
The album finally winds to a close with the epic "Stick in the Wheel," which initially reprises the band’s winning formula of heavy drums, Shine's bitter and blackly funny rants about society, and well-placed splashes of noisy guitars.  Bizarrely, it suffers a bit from having too many ideas, as Gnod seem to reach their peak when they focus all of their energy on just one simple thing with face-melting intensity. I suppose I cannot blame them for including it though, as its extended length (just over 12 minutes) gives the band a chance to shift gears into a lengthy dub-damaged interlude of simmering psychedelia, reminding me that the rest of Just Say No is not necessarily the true Gnod.  Of course, the true Gnod is a very fluid concept that varies greatly from album to album.  The band have certainly made some stellar albums exploring their more hallucinatory and abstract side, but Just Say No works best when the band sticks to no-frills thuggish brutality, so the arty coda mostly feels like it accidentally wandered in from a different album.  Aside from that, my only real critique is that the band has a tendency to drag their songs on a bit longer than necessary here, as riding a groove for ten minutes works a lot better with psychedelia than it does with eruptions of violence.  With music like this, the best approach is to get in, tear my goddamn head off, then get out.  There is no need to linger.  I have absolutely zero problem with the vision and the execution here though, as Just Say No is otherwise an absolutely crushing and timely tour de force of controlled fury.  This album will deservedly be all over "Best of 2017" lists in December.
 
This latest album continues to explore the more electronic phase of Evan Caminiti's art, yet feels quite a bit different from his other recent work.  Inspired by the "psychic and physical toxicity of life in late capitalism," Toxic City Music is a corroded, crackling, and bleary miasma of processed guitar and industrial textures gleaned from Caminiti's surroundings in NYC.  While the prevailing aesthetic is a somewhat noirish ambient fantasia on urban decay and alienation, the smoggy gloom is artfully balanced out by some fine spectral dub-techno touches. In fact, this record is most successful when viewed as a deeply experimental electronic dub album, as Caminiti is not so much appropriating a new influence as he is dipping it into the acid bath of his flickering and smoky dystopic vision, then presenting the barely recognizable remains.  Toxic City may be a diffuse, shadowy, and understated vision, but it is a very compelling and distinctive one as well.
Over the course of his career with Barn Owl and his many solo and collaborative releases, Evan Caminiti has covered a remarkable amount of stylistic territory, so this latest album is not a particularly radical aesthetic move.  What is radical, however, is how completely Caminiti has shifted from a composer mindset to that of a producer.  While a rare melodic motif occasionally surfaces, Toxic City Music is an album that is almost entirely fixated on texture, largely drifting along as a murky, crackling fog fitfully disrupted by industrial rumblings.  The opening "Acid Shadow I" is a perfectly representative harbinger of everything that follows: cavernous, wobbly throbs; washes of hissing static; enigmatic snatches of machine noise; and ghostly, indistinct swells of processed guitar.  Most of these pieces never quite cohere into anything particularly song-like, but that is very much by design.  Caminiti’s intention here, for the most part, seems to be just conjuring a shifting and vaguely menacing fog that sometimes fleetingly dissipates to yield a glimpse of the structures beneath.  That is an admittedly compelling and ambitious aesthetic move, but one that only works because it is not all tease: a few more substantial pieces eventually emerge from the morass as the album progresses.
The first piece to come more sharply into focus is "Joaquin," which sounds like massive high-tension cables swaying and shuddering in the wind over a desolate cityscape.  There are some warm and dubby chord swells lurking beneath the subdued cacophony of roaring and hissing textures as well, but it is primarily the reverberant non-musical elements that occupy the foreground.  It sounds a lot like trying to quietly enjoy my favorite Mille Plateaux album in an empty parking garage as a city collapses in slow-motion around me, albeit with all the sharper sounds softened and blurred into hallucinatory abstraction. Elsewhere, "NYC Ego" pushes the dub elements further to the fore, dragging along a woozily static and droning chord with a glacial and erratic beat, but gradually stretching and dissolving the structure until it is largely eclipsed with swells of overtones, echoing cracks, and snarling electronics.  It is one of Caminiti's most inspired moments on the album, as it feels like he had an actual song, but decided to see what would happen if he allowed all the minor details to break free of their normal constraints and consume everything.  The following "Toxic Tape (Love Canal)" stands out for similar reasons, starting off as lushly gorgeous bit of electronic dub that increasingly sounds like it has been drugged and is rapidly unraveling: rather than building, the piece deconstructs into isolated individual components drifting lost in a haze of emptiness and existential dread.  The closing "Acid Shadow III" takes deconstruction still further, as its initial thrum of drones gives way to a simple wobbling and sputtering motif that dances nimbly through a wreckage of static and hollow scrapes.  It feels like one cool sound from a Chain Reaction classic decontextualized and isolated to endlessly flit around in a decayed tape loop like a ghost.
To his credit, Caminiti certainly did not choose an easy or expected path for Toxic City Music, which makes some of its exquisite pleasures somewhat elusive and challenging to appreciate: it often feels like Caminiti recorded an absolutely sublime and beautiful album, then dumped a bunch of rubble on it and left it to rot.  The more obvious pleasures peeking through the ruin are certainly an important part of the art, but the more interesting and distinctive aspect is largely the transformative decay.  In fact, the rare forays into minor key melodies feel like missteps to me, as the darkness of this vision works best when it is shadowy, indistinct, and "natural" rather than composed and explicit.  Also, while it is not a flaw, the subtlety of Toxic City means that it takes a bit of effort and attention to fully appreciate what Caminiti has done, as most conventionally gratifying aspects of music (hooks, beats, harmonies) have been willfully blurred and stretched into muted oblivion.  I am perfectly fine with that, but it admittedly took a significant recalibration of my expectations to fully warm to this release: Toxic City Music is not exactly a good dub album, but it beautifully evokes what a good dub album might sound like if it was being played on a dusty and malfunctioning tape deck through blown-out speakers in a bombed-out building.  As far as I am concerned, the latter is the far more intriguing achievement.  If there could be a darkly lysergic nexus where electronic dub; Basinski-esque tape decay; and post-apocalyptic, rusted-out urban wasteland all seamlessly came together, it would probably sound a hell of a lot like this.
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Love is the Capital is the debut LP by Hiro Kone, the recording alias of Nicky Mao. The album is a follow-up to the incredibly well-received Fallen Angels cassette, bringing with it some of Mao's most emotionally and politically driven work yet. It is Hiro Kone's long-coming opus, examining a number of all-too-relevant themes: capital, the state, egoism, anxiety, and steadfast optimism.
The eight songs on Love is the Capital highlight Mao's austere, politicized techno battling for the greater good. Songs are visceral meditations of rhythm, noise, and melody in the vein of Pan Sonic, Chris & Cosey, Muslimgauze, and Kangding Ray.
The sounds were often recorded in scenes of isolation, whether physically or emotionally. "Infinite Regress" was during a trek with Roxy Farman (Wetware) up to the sleepy, upstate NY town of Palenville. There, frozen in a cabin with the most DIY of recording booths, Mao recorded Roxy's vocals and what would be the track that would put into motion the entire album. "Less Than Two Seconds" was written in a single afternoon in late December 2015 when it was revealed that the grand jury had declined to indict the police officer who shot to death 12-year old Tamir Rice.
The taut techno, industrial minimalism, and aural upheaval is embedded in tracks "Rukhsana" (featuring Drew McDowall, formerly of Coil & Psychic TV, on modular synthesizer), "The Place Where Spirits Get Eaten," and "Less Than Two Seconds,"an emotionally wrought blitz of serrated Monomachine tones flanked by timeless recordings of essayist, poet, and social writer James Baldwin. Mao ventures deep into heady, prismatic runs of hypnotic techno, on "Don’t Drink the Water" and "The Declared Enemy." On opener "Being Earnest" and "Love is the Capital," foreboding motifs brood their way back into the narrative.
Still, the album maintains a sense transformation, burdened with an alien tension– the awareness of an impending and necessary collapse. And what may come next.
Out 5/26/17 on Geographic North.
There is a playfully cryptic euphoria embedded in Luke Younger's work as Helm. An expansive constellation of references from across electronic music converge in his output, driving its narrative in and out of the heights of exploratory sound practices, covertly repurposing pop's prosthetic limbs on the side. His latest record, World In Action, broaches the ever-present—and ever agitated—political thread that has been pulled through the project's most opaque regions with a reinvigorated immediacy and purpose.
Recorded across East London, South-East Kent and Snaresbrook Crown Court at the height of the UK media's attempt at divining integrity from the orchestrated turbulence of Brexit, World In Action presents four pieces that juggle the documentation of this particular moment with the desire to discern motivation from despair.
Frenetic woodwind instrumentation is guided through cyclonic synth pads in slow motion, while Valentina Magaletti's percussion scatters the surface, scrambling the after-image of each piece as it propels us to the next. With a nod to industrial rock's breakbeat excursions, field recordings drenched in longer than long ago gather these elements into a worn path through unimaginable terrain.
The track titles recollect a time of just accountability and presence in the UK's mass media. This is a direct manoeuvre on Younger's part, setting World In Action up as a sceptical, yet hopeful work, unafraid of the deep political anguish that underpins its intent.
More information can be found here.
Félicia Atkinson's new full-length album, Hand In Hand, is an expanded development of her musical compositions started with the highly-acclaimed A Readymade Ceremony released on Shelter Press in 2015, and follows her collaborative effort with Jefre Cantu-Ledesma Comme Un Seul Narcisse (Shelter Press, 2016).
Composed over the year of 2016 at EMS during a snow storm and at home in Brittany, Hand in Hand could be considered as the most ambitious body of work recorded by the French musician and artist.
Doubt and Optimism are the two sides of a same coin. Hand in Hand is arid and warm in its whole synchrony and opposition. Days are burning and nights are made of ice. Coyotes are exchanging sounds with rattles snakes while bunnies are hiding. Strident modular sounds are tearing apart minimal beats and drones. The stories told by A Voice to the auditor are no longer fictions and become slowly reality.
Electric waves transmitted by living creatures and machines seem to deliver special sounds and frequencies that only non-human can hear. They grow and vibrate despite of the walls and interdictions. Therefore, the human who is listening to this record might find in it a particular kind of emotion a way to take space in silence, and frame a certain vision of thinking while losing a certain notion of time, acknowledging step by step its universal environment. Plants, galaxies, animals, machines, Hand in Hand.
This record is meant to be a moment of common thinking and listening in its diversity and abstraction. In the same way a sci-fi novel by Philip K. Dick or a sculpture by Guy Mees can be percieved: trivial, sensitive and mysterious at the same time.
More information can be found here.
On the Echoing Green is an elegant work of lush, shimmering sound, rendered with a singular touch by eternal electric romantic Jefre Cantu-Ledesma.
In contrast to the haze and hermetic process of previous albums, Green was conceived as a deliberate experiment in clarity and collaboration: "I was interested in trying to bring out more overt pop elements, to let them come to the front and be present. I also have more trust now in letting things happen – trusting other people’s musicianship, and being open to people’s ideas. Eventually, things emerge."
What emerged from this bond are eight rapturous and richly melodic slow dives of swirling guitar, bass, synthesizer, piano, and drum machines, dramatically accented in places by heavenly arcs of voice courtesy of Argentinian singer-songwriter Sobrenadar. Cantu-Ledesma encouraged chemistry and intuition in the studio by beginning the album without any demos for reference; he and his collaborators pursued patterns and hypnotic textures across long-form improvisations until gradually songs began to take shape.
This is music of growth and grandeur, of ascent and exploration, played with purpose and passion by a craftsman in tune with the beauty of sound and the harmony of light. In his words: "[This album] feels like spring – things coming alive, blooming, emerging from winter."
More information can be found here. Out in June 2017.
After the long overdue release of Drew McDowall’s debut solo album Collapse in 2015, the experimental music underground saw McDowall as an arrival of an artist that was always here, hiding in plain sight. He was quietly in the background, pulling the levers on some of the most influential recordings in electronic music and with shifting his focus from the role as band member of such legendary acts as Coil & Psychic TV along with his recent collaborative efforts alongside Tres Warren (of Psychic Ills) in Compound Eye, McDowall came to finally identity as a singular artist and figurehead to a movement that has vitally required his presence.
His second full length endeavor for Dais Records is aptly titled Unnatural Channel, allowing McDowall to allocate offerings to the ghosts of his past using methods not fully understood. Moving forward from the impact left with his first album, Unnatural Channel moves McDowall into more uncharted territory. From the opening mark, Drew’s distinct fingerprint is evident on the track "Tell Me the Name," his signature ambient ebb and flow to pulsing electronics painted over reverberated percussions that have been pulled apart and spun around the spectrum.
Once the introduction has been made, the album moves forward into more rhythmic territory using classic industrial structures found on his previous work but fused with tumbling aural friction complimented by more techno-based cadence. Views into McDowall’s unconscious are ever-present in "This Is What It's Like," a reflective decent into madness brought on by the anxiety of sleep deprivation. Looping the title mantra, the listener gets caught into the author's own delusion and lost within the auditory hallucination.
The two part suite of "Unnatural Channel" subjects us to a torrent of fluttering and panic-stricken electronics, subtle in its dispatch but powerful in its impact. Field recordings of the most personal, hypnogogic dream-state, lost within itself until McDowall unveils his unbalanced, sequential patterns of fibrous, metallic waveforms and subsonic bass kicks that hit the air with such strength and coercive force that it is impossible not to be converted.
Ending with the statement of "Unshielded," the album ties off with the primal voice talents of artist Roxy Farman of the Brooklyn avant-techno duo Wetware. Roxy’s confused phrasing seemingly crashes head-on with McDowall’s cathartic finale, using every method of sonic hypnosis at his disposal to finish with a bold yet disconcerting assurance.
Out May 26, 2017 on Dais.
Natalie Chami's project TALsounds documents solo sessions of improvised synthesis and live-looped vocal performances, presented to the listener as discrete takes without overdubs. The decisions she makes in her atmospheric sketches - the onset of a quivering vocal melody, the echoing turn of a delay knob - flash across her stereo spreads as seismic ripples within a network of standing sounds. Frozen into recursive afterimages of fingers on keys, her intricate synth arrangements juxtapose textures from her rig of analog electronic instruments and compound into narrative arcs at once alien in tone and direct in human-to-human address. Love Sick, TALsounds's first LP release, follows a series of full-length tapes on labels like Hausu Mountain (run by Chami's bandmates in free music trio Good Willsmith), Patient Sounds, and Moog's own physical imprint. While these releases showcased Chami's ideas in the context of looser improvisations, drifting off into extended states of narcosis and looping architectures, Love Sick distills her tactics of spontaneous composition into her most concise song cycle to date.
Love Sick shifts through a program of contrasting moods and tonal palettes, from close-mic confessional meditations to funereal deep space ritualism. Queasy and clipped percussion samples pop into view over live-layered sheets of sawtooth drone. Liturgical organ chords intersect with the fine-grain whirr of monophonic noise formants. With each live sketch laid out over a length closer to the traditional pop format, far-flung sonic elements arrive as momentary upheavals to animate the space Chami allots them before falling back into the murk. Within webs of texture, TALsounds's vocal performances sound out in her most frank mode of address yet captured. Fragments of discernible lyrics smear into melismatic melody lines and loop back around, intertwining into complex harmonies with her wordless vocalizations. Her vocal style, informed as much by her classical voice and opera training as by a lifetime of immersion in Björk, Portishead, Aaliyah, and Sade, blends a hands-on process of technical self-accompaniment with moments of diaristic intimacy. A more direct recording strategy, with individual feeds of her live performances mixed in isolation, renders every sigh, whisper, and wail at a level of detail far from the realm of cavernous reverb ambience. When Chami's lyrics emerge on the spot in flashes of legibility, they draw out a fascination, or maybe a preoccupation, with the control that raw emotions have over mind and body. The love sickness she offers sidesteps any cutesy, wistful implications, and skirts closer to a state of physical illness whose cause and solution can't be identified. TALsounds captures the stewing within these feelings, the confidence to keep them close and use them for fuel for another fire, without letting confusion or fear of imperfection overtake her.
Love Sick reveals TALsounds as a remarkable anomaly in an era of bedroom producers and laptop-abetted pop projects - capable of sculpting dense fields of sound in live takes and channeling improvised vocal performances into emotional frameworks that betray no defects for their process of instant conception. Quite simply, this way of making music has become second nature for Chami. Distinctions between genres and performance style give way to the clear limitlessness of her musical practice, the experiments of her workaday recording regimen. Her art floats with a body and character not quite identical to her own, pressed into fluid and squeezed of symbolism. TALsounds paints Love Sick from moment to moment with clouds of abstraction and ambiguity, while understanding with some cosmic certainty that this music is the only appropriate form through which to communicate her own depths.
Out June 2nd on Ba Da Bing.
Mono No Aware (もののあわれ) is the first compilation to be released on PAN, collating unreleased ambient tracks from both new and existing PAN artists.
Featuring Jeff Witscher, Helm, TCF, Yves Tumor, M.E.S.H., Pan Daijing, HVAD, Kareem Lotfy, ADR, Mya Gomez, Sky H1, James K, Oli XL, Bill Kouligas, Flora Yin-Wong, Malibu, and AYYA, the compilation moves through more traditional notions of what is called "ambient," to incorporating wider variations that fall under the term.
"Mono no aware," "the pathos of things," also translates as "an empathy toward things," or "a sensitivity to ephemera." A term for the awareness of impermanence, or the transience of things. A meditation on mortality and life's transience, ephemerality heightens the appreciation of beauty and sensitivity to their passing. In investigating the passing of time, the boundaries between memory and hallucination become blurred; between fiction and reality. The movement of time transforms into an eternal present.
Out now on PAN.
