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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I believe I first found out about Fossil Aerosol Mining Project a few years ago on Zoviet France's "A Duck in a Tree" radio show, but I failed to fully appreciate what a truly unusual and improbable entity they were at the time.  For one, this shadowy collective of artists from the Midwest has been quietly making uniquely strange and hallucinatory recordings since 1983.  Secondly, their aesthetic is a fascinating and highly conceptual one based largely upon abandoned media, forgotten culture, and nature's singular talent for transformative decay.  Musically, that makes for a very limited, hit-or-miss experience, but Fossil succeed brilliantly at evoking an alternate history where the '80s experimental music cassette scene never stopped thriving and where isolated pockets of iconoclastic visionaries and scavengers could be lurking anywhere.
It is fitting that I was first exposed to Fossil Aerosol Mining Project through Zoviet France, as the two ensembles have an enormous amount in common in their history of semi-anonymous membership, their love of unusual concepts, and their talent for making music in non-traditional and unexpected ways.  In fact, the two collectives even released a collaborative double album together last year (Patina Pooling).  This latest album is the first time that FAMP has appeared on vinyl by themselves though.  Characteristically, The Day 1982 Contaminated 1971 is based upon a very specific theme, which is obliquely alluded to in the cryptic and mysterious title (the band’s earliest recordings seem to be from 1983): the entire album is culled from decontextualized snatches of obscure '70s genre films.  That is not entirely new territory for the band, as they have previously devoted a handful of releases to the celebration of George Romero's Dawn of The Dead films, but Contaminated is more of an exploration of film's decay than of its content.
Notably, the genius and fundamental shortcoming of this album are exactly the same, as FAMP seem to make use of their base material in willfully primitive and unapologetically purist fashion.  Occasionally, a deep, throbbing pulse or drone is used as a backdrop, but these nine pieces otherwise sound a lot like they could be a real-time tape loop performance or possibly even just the work of a single malfunctioning film projector.  FAMP are completely unlike most of the tape-based artists that I have heard, perversely eschewing the "gradual pile-up" and "hypnotic locked-groove" techniques that the technique lends itself to so wonderfully.  Instead, Fossil chooses to "magnify the grit, the errors, the bad splices, and the dropouts."  The end result is a distinctively unreal, amorphous, and disorienting auditory miasma that does not sound much at all like it was deliberately created by humans.
In theory, that is wonderful and subversively contrarian, but it is very hard to sustain an entire album on clicks and pops alone (especially if the album is completely beatless).  In lieu of anything resembling rhythm, melody, harmony, or power, FAMP instead offer appealingly warbling, fluttering, warped, and echoing snatches of dialogue.  I am probably the target demographic for such an aesthetic, given my great love for Cabaret Voltaire’s "Project 80," but FAMP frustratingly see it as a complete idea rather than merely a textural starting point for something deeper and more significant.
The only real exception is "Floridian Mnemonics III," which beautifully enhances its stuttering and strangled snatches of speech with some warm, gently pulsing chords.  Regrettably, it lasts less than three minutes, but it illustrates how much more compelling this material could be if it was just framed by some additional coloration or used in service of actual compositions.  That said, The Day 1982 Contaminated 1971 is not necessarily a failure; it just does not work particularly well as music: it is nearly all atmosphere and minimal content.  As an art project, however, it definitely has its merits and I absolutely love the idea of a cabal of enigmatic Midwestern weirdos raiding abandoned drive-in theaters in search of ravaged film to repurpose.  Also, it casts a rather unique spell, evoking a drifting and formless fever dream that someone might have while a late-night vintage horror marathon drones away on a nearby television.  Unfortunately, that is essentially all it offers, which is deeply exasperating.  I love everything about this band except for their execution: if this were a more focused and musically substantial album, it would be absolutely wonderful.  Instead, it is merely interesting.
 
 
The latest release from Tietchens continues the ambiguity that has been prevalent through his recent works. Far from the early experiments with sampling and erratic, mechanical rhythms that characterized much of his early work; Ornamente (zwischen Null und Eins) is an opaque disc of hushed electronics and tiny bits of glistening noise. Moments of near silence are followed by digital glitches and massive, intense vibrations to result in another piece of conceptually challenging, yet extremely satisfying piece of complex sound art from one of the masters.
Recent works from Tiechens have embraced obscurity, and this one is no different:A stylized mathematical notation in place of cover artwork, and the only text being a German passage from Romanian philosopher Emil Cioran (someone Tietchens alludes to in past works) does not elucidate much.There are no other elements to grab hold of as far as underlying conceptualism or deeper themes being presented on Ornamente, requiring that the sound itself stand fully on its own.
Which, being Tietchens, is of course what happens.The opening piece, "Ornamente 1," is built from passages of electronics, first as a slightly FM tinged synth-like swell that he expands upon and tears apart.Additional layers of bent electronics are blended as they are slowly stretched out by Tietchens into more pained, nasal passages of noise.What finally remains at its conclusion is what best resembles long forgotten computer data recordings, drifting into the emptiness of space.
Comparably, "Ornamente 2" is a much more restrained work.Never silent, but the electronics are kept lower in the mix, with tiny bits of more forceful sound bubbling to the surface.At times the sounds resemble clinking glasses, or dripping water, or perhaps even a treated xylophone, though in all likelihood they are none of these things.This transitions right into "Ornamente 3", which retains many of the same facets but goes into a more ghostly place.A sense of emptiness and hollowness pervades through the drip-like bits and haunting electronics.While not overly bleak, the ambiguous nature of the piece is a definite asset.
The fourth segment remains near silence, with almost a glitch-like click resonating through the wide open sonic space, at times the whole piece sounding like the artifacts from a poorly compressed mp3 file that are isolated from their source.The final piece, "Ornamente 5" is the stand-out piece, and the appropriate dramatic conclusion for the record.Beginning with a bassier, more heavy sound, Tietchens builds from massive vibrations that are far more forceful than anything else on the album.This shift to more forceful dynamics is why it acts as such astrong conclusion to the album.
While I may be at a loss to understand the conceptual undercurrent to Ornamente, that has never been a prerequisite to enjoying Asmus Tietchens' work.It may be thematically impenetrable, but the reward has always been in the sound.Like most of his ever-expanding catalog, the actual sound that comprises this album shines through fully detached from any and all sort of specific concept that may or may not have been intended.
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Hox is Edvard Graham Lewis (Wire/Dome/He Said/He Said Omala/Ocsid) and Andreas Karperyd (Omala/He Said Omala/Woodwork). Duke of York is their second release following on from the highly acclaimed ‘it-ness’ in 1999. Duke of York a bittersweet contemporary electronic pop record which could only exist as a result of the unison of these particular, peculiar souls.
At once tender, skewered, sophisticated and unsettling Duke of York is a both a journey through the collective minds of Lewis and Karperyd and a substantial representation of their individual talents. Whilst both tackling the sonic side of the outing Lewis also presents pleasantly paranoid lyrics, Karperyd drapes it all in a distinguished design. This combination presents a substantial study of the sonically impressive, visually inviting and songs rich in brooding, dark atmosphere and melodic content.
The production retains the mood of classic Lewis output whilst achieving a very fresh and radical approach to electronics and studio production with Karperyd. Duke of York is another significant chapter in Lewis’ distinguished and uncompromising career whilst adding to the intriguing output of Karperyd. As with the best experimental pop records, Duke of York, unfolds with repeated listening, revealing infinite charms.
Irisarri’s latest album is not rooted in a particularly happy place, as it was recorded after most of his gear and possessions were stolen during a cross-country move.  The experience ultimately proved to be artistically liberating though: without his usual studio set-up or his backlog of material to work with, Rafael decided to use the occasion as an opportunity for an aesthetic rebirth.  That was the plan, anyway–to my ears, A Fragile Geography is not a particularly radical or revelatory transformation.  It certainly feels a bit more structured, composed, and grainy than before, but is still basically more of the likable and warmly hissing synth-based ambient music that I have grown to expect from Irisarri (albeit now with slightly broader appeal).  Fans of label head Lawrence English or early (read: less dissonant) Tim Hecker will likely find this album appealing, while longtime Irisarri enthusiasts will presumably require no adjustment period at all to appreciate his change of course.
The opening "Displacement" favorably (and unavoidably) calls to mind yet another of my favorite artists: Angelo Badalamenti.  While the resemblance is not at all derivative and "Displacement" is far too understated to recall any of Badalamenti's more iconic pieces, Irisarri does a masterful job of mingling hissing, dreamy beauty with a subtly menacing and disorienting undercurrent that suggests that something is not quite right.  While the piece never quite evolves into anything more, its lushly brooding ambiance is a very pleasant place to linger for four minutes or so.  The next several pieces thankfully get a bit more ambitious though.
The lengthier "Reprisal," for example, enhances an otherwise straightforward drone motif with an inspired array of hollow, whooshing, undulating, and shimmering textures as it gradually snowballs in power and volume.  I especially enjoyed how the more static-like/white noise elements blossomed to take over the foreground as the more melodic elements faded into the distance.  "Empire Systems" is yet another highlight, as a slow-moving drift of chord swells gradually surge in power while increasingly fraying around the edges.  The following "Hiatus" is even more inspired, as Irisarri enhances his usual chord pattern with a nimbus of wobbly, fluttering, and strangled-sounding synth tones.  Sadly, it only lasts for about two minutes though.  The much longer "Persistence" achieves a somewhat similar (if lesser) feat, but its appealingly quivering and burbling tones are regrettably pushed to the background by the piece’s languorous and melancholy melody.
That unfortunate penchant for getting bogged down in melancholy completely takes over the closing "Secretly Wishing for Rain," which is an 8-minute slog of sad piano arpeggios, gloomy synths, and cello from guest Julia Kent.  That type of overt, mopey melodrama leaves me quite cold and is probably the best illustration of the gulf separating Irisarri from the genre's top tier.  Another somewhat exasperating facet of A Fragile Geography is that each piece feels like a single motif extended and embellished until Rafael eventually loses interest and fades out.  It is certainly possible to make great ambient or drone music with that approach (and many artists have done so), but the trick is to not be so transparent about it.  Also, it is perplexing that two of the album’s strongest themes wind up being represented by the shortest songs ("Hiatus" and "Displacement").
All grumbling aside though, Irisarri is absolutely wonderful at detail and texture, which makes a piece like "Reprisal" an extremely compelling headphone listening experience (there is something hidden in there that sounds like a submerged field recording of wolves or whales that is completely lost without them).  Consequently, "Reprisal" gets an enthusiastic, heartfelt, and unqualified recommendation from me.  I just wish the other five pieces had hit similar heights (or at least stuck around longer when they hit them).  Irisarri definitely needs to get better at playing to his strengths.  Also, there should probably be more whales and wolves on future albums (or at least more prominent use of field recordings, as Rafael's use of unusual/buried textures is probably what most differentiates him from the ambient drone herd).  That said, A Fragile Geography is still at least half of a very good album and marks a promising step forward for Irisarri.  I suspect that his best work is still ahead of him.
 
Threshold Archives has just released eight Coil CDs.
Read about it here.
"Sheathed in some of the best album artwork of 2015, Mika Vainio and Franck Vigroux reveal the buzzing and psyched-out electronic sculptures of Peau froide, léger soleil on Shapednoise's Cosmo Rhythmatic label.
The latest and arguably most powerful in a long line of collaborations between the Finnish producer and his peers aesthetically finds him closest to the crushing electronics + processed guitar equations of Life (… It Eats You Up) (2011) or Kilo (2013), but also with a couple of brilliant runs into vocodered, sidereal electronics that really set this record apart.
Three years in the making, following a live collaboration in Paris 2012, Peau froide, léger soleil is an exercise in sensitive intensity and spatial scale, seamlessly mapping Vigroux's alchemical guitar process into Vainio's free swaggering structures and tonal extremities.
From the deep freeze intro and craggy peaks of opener "Deux," they take in the ice palace designs of "Mémoire," which first reveals the strange voices that come to haunt the rest of the record, emerging from the buzzsaw blasts and subbass waves of "Souffles" like the ghost of Bruce Haack, or creeping like hyaline spectres from the microtonal gloam of Ravages."
However, if you're after out-and-out Vainio wreckage, they excel at that too with later trax such as the white-out guitar storm of Parabole," and certainly in the finishing move of funked-up electro bass riffs and banking amp buzz entitled "Le crâne tambour."
Effectively it's the heaviest you'll hear from this icy and bloodied corner of the field this year, and surely marks the Cosmo Rhythmatic label as one to watch."
-Via Boomkat
AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER NOW! RELEASED FOR CASSETTE STORE DAY ON OCTOBER 17th.
Last year's reissue of the first 6 of Potter's tapes for CSD proved to be very popular, so we are re-releasing his last 3 ICR tapes, Recent History 1 & 2 and See and also 3 'new' tapes, Hiss Story 1 & 2 and Are We Nearly There Yet?, which collect various unreleased, compilation & remixed tracks from the same era. All have artwork by Jonathan Coleclough and are professionally duplicated on chrome tape.
This is what Boomkat says :
"Following last year's instantly sold-out set, Colin Potter's ICR label piece together six tapes of sought-after, unreleased and remixed material from his late '80s phase, just as he was really getting to grips with his gear..
After topping our reissue best-of list in 2014 with the last batch, he's likely to repeat the trick with this collection, staking out more spacious, celestial dimensions and subtly elevated production/engineering values.
This lot look to 1989-1990 (the last set scanned 1980-1982) with two volumes of Recent History touching on a lush, floating new age sound full of diaphanous synths and vaulted reverb settings thru to experimental, recursive guitarscapes and Escher-esque sequencer tessellations that spiral off in dizzying fractals.
By contrast, See (1990) is a pure, unbroken vision of widescreen ambient sound-scaping recalling the sweeping nocturnal flightpath of Goodiepal's Havet - which was written in the same year - travelling from sublime to darker ambient tones which would come to define the tail end of that decade.
But, for collectors and Potter fiends, the last three tapes are perhaps most invaluable, covering the hidden points of his least well-known period, from the pulsing industrial dance music of "Know More" to the blood-curdling darkness of "No Good" in the Are We Nearly There Yet? tape, beside two volumes of dead hard-to-find compilation cuts and obscurities collected as Hiss Story."
More information can be found here.
Having recently partnered with Bill Kouligas to relaunch his Lost Codes imprint as Codes, Visionist takes a defining step forward with the release of his PAN debut album, Safe.
The South London artist born Louis Carnell broke during a period of experimentation in UK music when, with the disintegration of the dubstep scene, emerging producers began looking to juke and Chicago house for inspiration. A pair of EPs on Lit City Trax (and a collaboration with Fatima Al Qadiri) in 2013 and 2014 introduced Visionist’s minimalist take on fractured R&B and liquid grime, establishing him as a leading voice in new-wave UK soundsystem culture.
On Safe, Visionist sculpts and extends that signature into new terrain and makes his most personal statement yet. Distilling his influences down to a sparse palette of manipulated folk, pop and R&B acapellas, icy synths, and metallic drum samples, he plays off ever-present anxiety and his own battle not to let it overwhelm him. “Comfort, protection, salvation—this is what we search for,” he says. “We are taught that a life of no worries is better for us, and therefore we try to create one that is 'Safe.'”
But while safe as a musical concept implies conformity, Safe as an artistic statement is anything but. At a moment when the UK scene, once known for innovation, has settled into rehashing old tropes, Visionist continues to propel his sound into more experimental territory. The album traces the arc of an anxiety attack, from its onset through to recovery. Following the stately discord of brief opener “You Stayed,” the grimy, ballistic assault of “Victim” sends its targets diving into mirrored corners. “I’ve Said” is a brutal, almost militant advance, its sound cutting in and out as though transmitted via shortwave radio. “Too Careful To Care” trades in skittering paranoia, with the soporific “Sleep Luxury” closing out affairs.
More information can be found here.
"This is all for the glory of creation." Harry Bertoia
In the late fifties Harry Bertoia began working on long-form improvised compositions by utilizing pure acoustic tones produced using his own pure metal sound sculptures. Bertoia coined the term "Sonambient" to describe the music of his sculptures and the lush overtones they evoked, renovated a barn on his property deep in the PA woods, and often recorded his nightly sessions in the barn using 4 overhead microphones and a 1/4" tape recorder. Bertoia dedicated the last twenty years of his life to his Sonambient work and in 1970 he released the first Sonambient LP. In 1978, in the final months of his life, he selected recordings from his archive and produced 10 more Sonambient records. He would not live long enough to see these records in person.
2015 is the centennial celebration of the birth of Harry Bertoia on March 10, 1915. To celebrate Harry's life and work Important Records Important Records will release a CD box set containing the complete edition of Bertoia's privately pressed Sonambient LPs.
Harry Bertoia's use of the term "Sonambient" to describe both his sculptures and their sound pre-date the term "ambient" being used to describe a form of music. The origins of his Sonambient sculptures are found in his brilliant, early monotypes. It wasn't until 1960 that he began the exploration of these tonal sculptures and then not until the early seventies that he began recording his lengthy concerts. He ritually played his meditative performances in his post and beam barn on 200 acres in Barto, Pennsylvania up in the hills not far away from his Bally, PA studio. It's the sacred, personal feeling one has in Bertoia's barn that we hope to evoke with the packaging and archival materials accompanying these recordings.
"We live in a new age with sounds never before heard. They can be strident, tranquil, violent, fluctuating, depending on the metal, the size of the rods, or the group of the rods. I always feel more drawn to this barn, the changes are omnipresent and every person has the responsibility to find new ways of making things. This is what forms our character. I cannot say that I am not unchangeable. There is a progression in the world. It is part of my role in life to discover this progression."
Harry Bertoia 1978
The works of Harry Bertoia celebrate the bounty of the good earth; shimmering sheafs of golden wheat stalked in endless rows on 'the fruitful plain'; great crashing cataracts, with crystal-pure and steel hard volutes; or the swift, mystic rushing of myriad-rayed comets against the sky's infinity. To suggest so much, by means so simple, is the mark of a great lyrical poet.
Bertoia's sculptures and his sounds are a conceptual string, or literal vibrations, that weave together all of his work. You see the shape of the sound sculptures appear in his mono-prints and suddenly even his famous chairs resonate with sounds when you pluck at them or run a pencil down the lines. Through Sonambient, Bertoia's lifetime of work resonates, echoes, bubbles with overtones and comes alive.
Harry's single greatest piece of art is the totality of his life which is nearly impossible to measure but somehow easy to feel.
The Complete Sonambient Collection will be released on Nov 27, 2015 on Important Records.
Surprisingly Sentimental Something is the first vinyl album release from Richard Chartier’s less aesthetically academic, but brilliantly ambiguous Pinkcourtesyphone project. The music, with all its 1950s and '60s kitsch trappings and imagery, is no less complex and just as rich and beautiful as his self-titled work. Regardless of the format, these three compositions continue PCP’s penchant for generating hazy landscapes of frigid tones and obtuse worlds of sound.
It almost seems that, on comparison, Sentimental Something is an even more disconnected, cold sounding record from a project that has fully embraced that sound and aesthetic.A piece such as the side-long "Fabric Illusion/High on Neuroticism" does this, but also with an additional sense of intensity.Heavy, rattling bass appears throughout, countering the panning, spectral expanses of sound and noise.Everything seems to be engulfed in a (pink) fog of intensity before Chartier scales the piece back to a more restrained and depressive mood, leaving lingering melodies and a tasteful amount of dissonant crackle.
"Tears of Modernism" (featuring frequent collaborator Evelina Domnitch on theremin) first begins with an understated passage of droning electronics, but it soon builds to a piece of similar heaviness to "Fabric Illusion."It retains the same lost-in-the-mist ambiguity and isolation as well, but there is a darker, further reaching sense of heaviness to it.Haunting bits of melody drift through the vapor, which just adds an additional haunting layer to the already ghostly mood generated.
The fog lightens some on "Casual Encounter/Formal Encounter," allowing Chartier to bring string-like melodies to the forefront, along with an uncharacteristic bit of pseudo percussion to add an additional layer of variation.Throughout it has a slowly meandering feel to the piece (which I mean as a compliment) before the mood is upset by some shrill, phantasmagorical outbursts of noises that pierce through.It is only in the closing minutes that the female dialog sample, a staple of the Pinkcourtesyphone aesthetic, appears.
Richard Chartier has been prolific as PCP since its inception, even more so than the work he puts out under his own name.The project may have appeared almost fully formed with 2012's Foley Folly Folio, but the distinct style and intentional sonic ennui have become more and more polished with each release.The aesthetic and atmosphere may differ between PCP and his main project, but his ability to work from the most skeletal of sounds to compose something so multifaceted and beautifully nuanced is peerless.
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Michael Hann’s work as Marreck has always kept one foot on the dance floor, and the other in uglier, noisier realms. Computerized beats and programmed synthesizer leads abound, but always under a distinctly dissonant, corroded cloud of production that makes his work stand out distinctly. For his new vinyl EP, Yuda, he shifts that balance more towards the aforementioned ugly side of his work, but never fully abandons his techno inclinations on these five increasingly chaotic compositions.
The descent into dissonance begins from the most conventional piece on here:the muffled, but thumping "Uco."The components are nothing unique:deep bassy kick drums and synth lead melodies. Hann, however, muffles and filters them to generate an oppressive, distant quality to the music.It does not sound like the music is being piped in from a few buildings over, but it does have a similar sense of space to it.The ambiance of "Bagun" is similar, but a few steps further into the noisy descent.A sold thudding rhythm again acts as the backbone, as Hann weaves in slowly surging, white noise drenched electronics, slowly pushing things further and further into entropy.
By the journey’s midpoint, "Prakoso," the bass rhythm becomes an unrelenting molten wall of noise, as spiny FM percussion skitters atop.It adds a harsh and metallic quality to the sound, which continues to surge as the piece becomes thicker with added layers of sound, but retaining the same structure.The expansion in sonic depth paired with the taut and restrained construction results in an unrelenting bit of tension throughout the piece."Eka" has Hann working with a traditional synthetic kick drum beat again, but programmed so rapidly and distorted to more accurately resemble a submachine gun than something to dance to.Crashing, junky noises are abruptly mixed in to jarring effect, as less abrasive synth drones only slightly offset the noise.
Things intentionally fall apart at the concluding "Rama."Propelled by a decaying, gurgling keyboard lead, expansive electronics resonate over a jerky, wet rhythm.Again Hann keeps the structure simple, based on only a few repeating bars, but his blending of additional layers, as well as adding more and more to the mix as the piece goes on, keeps it from becoming too stagnant.Instead it is a tense, but constantly evolving piece of destructive electronics.
From the first to the last piece, Yuda is an excellent encapsulation of Michael Hann's deconstruction (and idiosyncratic reconstruction) of contemporary dance music.Its beginning minutes may seem somewhat conventional and unsurprising, but it does not take long before things are dissolved in unexpected ways, then put back together into erratic structures and unconventional textures that bare no resemblance to where it began.It is this pulling apart into bizarre realms that make this such a unique and fascinating record.
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