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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While they differ quite a bit in scope, concept, and volume, Carsten Nicolai's Xerrox series is a long-running and intriguing digital parallel to William Basinski's analog experiments in tape decay, taking samples and using custom software to make copy upon copy until the original sounds are deteriorated into unrecognizability.  The theme for this particular volume is "towards space," which leaves the earthbound inspirations of the first two volumes far behind for a nostalgia-soaked fantasia on the science-fiction films and shows that Carsten fondly remembers from his childhood.  Unsurprisingly, that results in an album that sounds an awful lot like a soundtrack, but it is an unexpectedly poignant and curiously neo-classical one.
It is an old music critic trope that artists tend to become less special once they become competent enough at their craft to sound like the artists that they were always trying to emulate.That thought ran through my head a lot as I listened to this album, as I suspect that Nicolai always secretly wanted to be a soundtrack composer, but grudgingly wound up as a successfully conceptual artist/experimental musician instead.As it turns out, he has a knack for the former vocation, as the lush and melancholy faux-strings of album highlights "Xerrox Helm Transphaser" and "Xerrox Isola" call to mind some of Jóhann Jóhannsson’s better work.Elsewhere, however, Carsten veers into sci-fi-damaged heavy drone ("Xerrox Radieuse") or brooding, echoing dark ambient atmosphere ("Xerrox Mesophere").
Despite touching upon so many disparate stylistic veins, the album admirably maintains a consistent "haunted space station" feel that befits one of its primary inspirations: Tarkovsky's Solaris.The only catch is that I do not understand how the resultant music is related at all to the elaborate process used for its creation.  For the most part, Xerrox, Vol. 3 sounds like it could have easily been made with a synthesizer and a laptop, aside from a few especially hissing or sputtering textures–whether a chord was played on a keyboard or borrowed from a McDonald's commercial seems largely irrelevant here.  That does not diminish the album in any way, but it is odd that Carsten elected to make a somewhat straightforward album in such a complicated, concept-heavy way that does not seem to have noticeably informed the outcome.My guess is that he has just made exploiting chance and impersonal technology a life-choice and that he finds the constraint useful.
Another noteworthy aspect to Xerrox, Vol. 3 is that the most conventionally musical moments tend to be the best.I did not expect that.  While pieces like "Xerrox Helm Transphaser" certainly benefit from their gurgling, hissing, and crackling peripheral textures, the primary appeal lies in the warmly melancholy swells of appropriated strings.Carsten is at his best when he finds a strong balance between melodic hooks, texture, and entropy, which he does about a third of the time.The rest of the album is a bit less memorable, but that is primarily because he is aiming for a subdued and mysterious mood rather than due to any clumsiness or lack of good ideas.That makes Xerrox, Vol. 3 somewhat complicated for me, as it is a complete success as a complex and understated work that is alternately sublime, bittersweet, and forlorn.  That makes it a major leap forward for Carsten as a composer.  It also makes it an objective success from start to finish.
Subjectively, however, I have very mixed feelings about it.   I love the bleary, corroded Romanticism of "Xerrox Isola" and quavering beauty of "Xerrox Radieuse," both of which wildly exceeded my expectations.A few other pieces are quite good as well.Overall, however, Xerrox, Vol. 3 seems like a weirdly tame album to me–I like it for what it is, but it is a bit disappointing as a long-awaited Alva Noto album.I desperately wanted to like it more than I did.That said, my personal expectations are not Nicolai’s burden–he naturally made the album that he wanted rather than the album that I wanted.  In a couple of instances, those expectations overlap delightfully, but this is otherwise not the six-years-in-the-making tour de force that I was hoping for. However, I suspect that a lot of other people will rank this very highly within Carsten's discography and I cannot fault them for that at all–I am sure that their ears work fine.  This just is not the direction for me.
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It is increasingly difficult to discuss Alex Cobb's career without invoking the name "Andrew Chalk," as the similarities between the two artists are impossible to miss.  For one, they both run fine record labels and they both make elegant, understated, and quiet albums.  More importantly, they both seem to share a curious drive to endlessly revisit the same stylistic thread in hopes of someday distilling it to absolute perfection.  That being the case, Chantepleure will absolutely not surprise anyone who has picked up any of Cobb's previous albums: it offers more of the same (which is quite good), but it is now a bit more sophisticated and nuanced than it was last time around.
The word "chantepleure" means to sing and cry at the same time, which makes a lot of sense in this case, as this is probably as close to an Alex Cobb "break-up album" as we are ever likely to get.  Cobb's turbulent state manifests itself quite compellingly and uniquely throughout Chantepleure, as his languorous, billowing drifts of treated guitar are almost always haunted by the subtle specter of dissonance, particularly on the opening album highlight "Prayer Ring."  The importance of those buried, slightly curdled notes cannot be overstated, as Cobb's warm, blissed-out tranquility otherwise rides the fine line separating "beautiful" from "dangerously pastoral."Cobb has found a way to artfully infuse his soft-focus dreaminess with just the merest hint of mystery and anguish, which is very tough balance to hit just right.
Cobb's execution is also superior.  On pieces like "Anselin," his shimmering clouds of edgeless, formless guitar heaven feel so natural that they seem like their own living, undulating entity than something coaxed out of an instrument by a human.Alex never lets his work become static or conspicuously composed; rather the fragile individual strands constantly swell, dissipate, wax, and wane to form a complex tapestry of tones, overtones, and shifting harmonies that remains in a deliciously constant state of flux.  That seamless, organic quality is what primarily keeps me coming back to his work.
If Chantepleure has any flaws, they are highly subjective ones.  As mentioned earlier, it is quite a serene album, which is definitely is not for everyone: the album’s side-long closing centerpiece, "Path of Appearance," for example, takes a very long time to betray even a hint of a darker undercurrent.  The other caveat is that Alex's artistry is so dependent on nuance and small-scale dynamic shifts that it can be very hard to get into without sufficient will and patience.  There is no overt power, melody, textural variation, simmering tension, rhythm, or dynamic arc to latch onto with any of these pieces, which would make them very boring in less skilled hands.  In Cobb's hands, however, such obvious "hooks" are absent because he is simply working on a different plane–Chantepleure is absolutely teeming with compelling small-scale harmonic activity, but it takes some focus and attention to detail to reap those rewards.  I always appreciate that in an album.  In its own small way, Chantepleure is a bulwark against an increasingly fast-paced and superficial world, reminding me that there is always hidden beauty in the world if I slow down enough to take notice.
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Witness the latest rebirth of Campbell Kneale. It has happened before, and probably will again. This Wellington, NZ artist is on the forefront of the world noise scene, having cut his teeth for a decade in Birchville Cat Motel and more recently as Our Love Will Destroy the World. Carnivorous Rainbows is electronic music at its most relentless; four tracks of pure, hot skree constantly rebuilding like a viper’s unpredictable strike. Some percussion rattles throughout, a few instruments are arguably perceptible, and a beautiful harmony of intensity creates a gorgeous tapestry of sounds.
You can preview the track "Hades Iron Horizon" on Ba Da Bing's Soundcloud here.
More information can be found here.
In typically fine form, The Acid Mothers Temple and The Melting Pairaiso UFO have delivered another smoker to Important Records. Double LP pressed in an edition of 1000 copies.
Benzaiten is an In C-style homage to the the classic Osamu Kitajima record of the same name. The Acid Mothers Temple covers the title track and reprise using Kitajima's original composition as a departure point to explore the outer realms of AMT territory. Further instrumental explorations reveal textures of the original composition while launching out further into the cosmic domain. Numerous Acid Mothers original tracks are scattered in between. Benzaiten!
More information can be found here.
I had never heard Retribution Body before this album (which is a shame), but Aokigahara immediately got my attention for: 1.) being inspired by Japan's legendarily demon-haunted "suicide forest," and 2.) being released on the hyper-discriminating and oft-dormant Type label.  Also, it is a unique and near-great album.  Matthew Azevedo's singular drone performance/bass tone study has already drawn favorable comparisons to artists like Sunn O))) and Earth, but I actually see it much more in line with more formal electronic composers like Eliane Radigue, as it has a chiseled purity to it that feels very different than amplifier-worship (at times, anyway).  That said, Aokigahara is still quite heavy.
Matthew Azevedo does not have a typical "noise artist" pedigree, as he has a long career as a mastering engineer, as well as an academic background in acoustics research.  Usually I am not terribly interested in a musician's formal credentials (if not actively dismissive), but they are quite relevant in this case, as being knowledgeable about frequencies, mastering, and architectural acoustics is essential for an album devoted almost entirely to exploring the potential of oscillating bass frequencies.  Appropriately, Aokigahara is a site-specific work, as this recording was taken from a 2013 performance at Fisher Recital Hall in Lowell, MA.  Azevedo performed these two pieces using guitars, piano, and host of strategically placed microphones.  Given that origin, I suspect the album is a mere shadow of the actual performance, especially since I do not possess a stereo set-up with killer sub-woofers.  It is still quite an imposing shadow though, particularly when it sticks to just throbbing and oscillating bass tones.
The strongest parts tend to be the simplest, such as opening moments of "Sea of Trees," where Azevedo’s deep bass amorphously throbs, pulses, and plunges in a glacial rhythm.  It calls to mind an ominous spreading blackness, like slow-motion footage of an octopus's ink cloud.  Gradually, it pulls further apart structurally while increasing in power, ultimately evolving into an unexpected minimalist/neo-classical piano recital that sounds like it is happening as the entire world is being torn apart by a black hole.  Or maybe it just sounds like a mad genius playing a final discordant piano concerto in his subterranean lair as his castle collapses above him.  Either way, it is quite a singular aesthetic.
My other favorite part is the opening of "Sea of Stars," in which Azevedo violently disrupts a machine-like hum with jarring crunches and rumbles.  The rest of the piece is a bit more subdued (and better) than "Sea of Trees," intermittently resolving into passages of awesomely deep, rhythmic throb.  Those are the moments that I like best: just simple, pulsing elemental power.  As far as the album is concerned, I wish Azevedo had just stuck to that style of visceral, throbbing minimalism, as the more musical and/or maximalist bits seem like a dilution of what Aokigahara excels at, which is artfully using low-frequency power and oscillation for hypnotic, gut-level waves of force.  That said, I was not at Fisher Recital Hall and I imagine there is probably a lot to be said for the awesome building-leveling, speaker-destroying entropy that Azevedo's crescendos must have unleashed.  Consequently, Aokigahara's minor flaws are more a function of media and context than any sort of compositional failing, as these pieces were not intended to be heard on a record player in someone’s living room or an iPod in a car.  Also, they are only flaws in the sense that they prevent Aokigahara (the album) from being a stone-cold drone masterpiece.  Instead, it is merely a very original and satisfying document of what was almost certainly a stone-cold performance masterpiece.
 
 
Eric Quach has been producing works of experimental guitar and electronic drone for about a decade as thisquietarmy. His first full length album since last year's Rebirths, Anthems for Catharsis has as much weight and heaviness as its dramatic title would imply. A perfect balance of dissonance and beauty, the six songs elegantly drift from darkness to lightness, often within the confines of a single piece.
Quach's work on this record draws from nearly every genre that could be associated with the word "rock."Multitracked guitars stretch out in every direction; mixed with (or processed to sound like) synthesizers, all the while drum programming keeps things moving in a strict, yet memorable rhythm.Some of the bleakest moments appear on the opening "Ruminations":deep sustained guitar noise and a distant sound that sounds like monstrous banging on a metal door ensure the mood is anything but light.
Darkness abounds on "Masquerade" as well, via big, cavernous drums and heavy guitar squalls.Compared to many other points on the record there is a more dominant, forceful sound, but it comes in a slower, dirge-laden package.Even with this force, there are long, beautiful stretches of melody that result in a song with more depth than most heavy songs such as this would have.
The other pieces, however, tend to journey from dark to light passages within their self-contained duration.The slow and majestic "From Darkness Redux" is a gauzy mass of sustained guitar melodies and almost synth-like passages, buoyed by a forceful underlying rhythm.The sound is a perfect mix of dour and uplifting:a precarious balance done exceptionally well.The complex rhythms and layered melodies of "Accommodator" result in a similar structure, but with heavier drama and transitioning from dungeon darkness into soaring, beautiful heights.
The album’s final composition, "Closure," is the most fully realized and complex work on an extremely strong album.Beginning from a vast space of droning feedback and plinking noises via guitar, Quach builds the piece up, adding in what sounds like electronics and bent guitar sounds, resulting in a richer and very powerful mix.Finally, he piles on glistening, expansive tone to a powerful climax, ultimately stripping things down to end on a beautifully understated note.
Anthems for Catharsis is yet another masterwork from Eric Quach's thisquietarmy project.His ability to balance extreme moods is unparalleled, and this album beautifully drifts from both sides.Gorgeous melodies, metronomic rhythms, and complex atmospheres abound, but perhaps its strongest asset is the sense of composition.Rather than just collections of sounds or noises, these feel like actual songs, with a distinct flow and development, resulting in a brilliant record.
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For years, Netherworld's Alessandro Tedeschi has been curating a label that has embraced the cold, frigid minimalism of electronic music. Now via a new sub-label imprint, Iceberg, he has changed the template a bit. While Glacial Movements was a fitting name for the slow drifts of expansive sound, Iceberg fits this debut as a more kinetic, aggressive, and in this case, beat oriented sound.
Abstract and sparse electronics still heavily feature in Tedeschi's sound throughout the five lengthy pieces that make up Zastrugi.However, while his previous works as Netherworld resulted largely in quiet tones and massive spaces, here there is more than just the inclusion of electronic rhythms.As a whole, there is a perceptible sense of depth to the album that makes it all the more engaging;A sense of space and almost architectural like structure to how almost tangible elements of the mix can be.
On a piece such as "Sérac," spoken word recordings are mixed with a heavy, deep thudding passage of percussion.The second half has him mixing in a collage of harsher, noisier sounds that never push the envelope too far, but is a distinctly different, and rawer edge to it than his wind-swept previous work.The up-front forceful sound also features heavily on "Dry Andes," where an overdriven kick drum thump is pushed loud enough in the mix to almost be painful.The remainder may be echoing noises, clattering distortion and synth expanses, but it does not emphasize subtlety.
A piece such as "Mapsuk" might not be as harsh as some of the others here, but it also does not stay as minimalist as his previous work was.Dense, foghorn like bursts of tone appear, then are transformed into sonar-like pings and deep, cavernous beats.There is a lot of variety throughout, via unidentifiable and broken tones that make up the composition.Tedeschi buries the punchy kick drum far off in the distance on "Bergie Seltzer," with an oddly created white noise approximation for a snare drum adding additional accents.The second half is a bit noisier, but in a light and tasteful way. The concluding "Uikka" has the addition of what sounds like fragmented female vocals with a deep 909 kick.Something that potentially could be a sampled electric guitareven appears in the closing minutes to close the album on a harsher and more aggressive note.
The Glacial Movements label has been rekindling the short-lived isolationist sound movement since its inception, and now it seems that Iceberg is going to revive the minimalist techno sound that followed it.While I would have preferred a greater variation on the rhythms (the ones here stick mostly to the 4/4 kick variety), there is still more than enough diversity on Zastrugi to keep it engaging throughout its entire duration.
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Young God Records is releasing a Deluxe 3 CD edition of SWANS debut album FILTH May 26 in North America; Mute releases this package in all other territories.
For the inaugural release in their new Folio sub-imprint, Touch has paired Mika Vainio with photographer Joséphine Michel for a joint photography and music project heavily focused on the abstract nature sound and its impact on the other senses and mediums. With heavy use of white exposure on the photographs, and the heavily treated use of white noise on the CD, it culminates in a very strong synthesis of audio and visual.
Compared to his recent albums, Vainio's audio contributions to this project are more abstract and deconstructed than his busier, often rhythm tinged work.He utilizes expansive passages of silence (white space) amongst blasts of noise and strange frequencies that sound anything but identifiable."Fade from Black," for example, features Mika melding the large passages of silence with heavy, almost imperceptibly low frequencies tones and glassy resonations.
At the conclusion of the album, "White Out," is less rooted in silence but features the same subwoofer destroying bass frequencies.A rising and falling electronic hum from what sounds like processed white noise stays consistent throughout the piece.Towards the end, bits of what sounds like actual melody appear and result in him creating the most traditionally musical sounding piece on the disc.
"Missing a Border" is a noisier excursion, with bits of what almost sounds like a conventional synthesizer heavily processed and demolished.Even though it is one of the more kinetic and noisier pieces, it still never becomes too overwhelming or aggressive, barring the overly shrill ultrasonic bits that sharply cut through.Bleak and moody are the best ways to describe "Notes On the Exposure," a slowly expanding piece of midrange digital noise that is less of a dominating sound.
It is on "Lines of a Curve" that the sound I most associate with Vainio’s body of work.Sequences of pitch bent clicks and pops scatter about, resulting in the loosest semblance of rhythms.Much of the piece is made up of crackly textures, with buzzing noise and silence blended in, and oddly disorienting Doppler effect heavy passages of sound.
Michel’s photography, sourced from a digital camcorder, may differ in its technological nature from Vainio’s analog instruments, but the presentation complements it perfectly.Natural and man-made structures feature heavily in her work, as do candid photographs of people in industrial spaces.While critiquing photography is not at all my forte, her heavily white-drenched digital stills, with odd color artifacting, and often overlaid with found patterns and textures, look as Vainio’s music sounds.
As the Touch label continues into its fourth decade of activity, Halfway to White is a contrast to its early days.While before the label would issue compilations on cassettes paired with small run magazines, now they are working in the media of high quality digital recordings and beautifully bound, art edition quality books.Vainio's and Michel's work compliment each other splendidly on here, and the result is a fully realized collaboration between two distinct and exceptional artists.
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Since returning to the world of music, ACL's Elden M. has been quite prolific, releasing a batch of new cassettes under his previous noise-associated moniker, while also taking on the world of rhythm-based electronic music as Avellan Cross. Although issued as Allegory Chapel Ltd., GNOSIS: Themes for Rituals Sacred & Profane draws from both of his major projects. Dissonance appears more in a compositional sense, but his use of undistorted synths is largely not something that can be danced to.
As insinuated by the title, the running theme of ritual; religious and otherwise, appears peppered throughout these four songs.Once again exemplifying his adeptness and composition and creativity, the symbolism is never heavy-handed or blunt.The twinkling synths that appear all over "Machine," mixed with a taped voice that is somewhere between psychology lecture and self-help presentation seem to encapsulate the rituals associated with new age beliefs.
"Solar Rite (For Suspension)" is the other more electronically direct piece on this cassette, and one closer to his work as Avellan Cross.Lead at first by a simple thudding kick beat and wet, heavily phased synth sequences, he morphs it into something almost danceable with added keyboards and snare drum programming.Between the title and the sound, there is a definite neo-pagan ritualistic sensibility to be heard, but wonderfully understated.
The other two pieces are a bit less conventional in sound and instrumentation, but Elden M. never allows it to drift into formless chaos."Sephiroth/Enochian Calls" features more obscured voice samples, but more of a dark and distorted low end synth backing.With that backing, buzzing nasal noises and snippets of Gregorian chant, it has a classical sensibility to it, and throughout the whole piece there is a slow descent into madness, as the overall piece becomes more and more disorienting and oblique.
On the final work, "Mata Jewels (Surah Al Alaq)," he utilizes what sounds like Islamic prayer vocals at a couple different points, all underscored by subtle and tasteful electronics.Based upon the title, the mood leans more towards the sacred than the profane, at least as far as presentation goes.I was very happy when I saw that Elden M. was reentering the world of experimental music with his two major projects, and each bit I have heard has simply solidified this excitement.Each release has lived up to my highest hopes and sounded completely unexpected, yet never has lacked his impeccable sense of structure and composition.
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Blues: The Dark Paintings of Mark Rothko is one of Loren Connors' most cherished and sought after albums. Originally released in a handmade edition of 200 or so copies on Connors' own St. Joan imprint in January 1990 under the name Guitar Roberts -- Blues has been unavailable in any form until now.
At time of its release, Connors was still an inscrutable guitarist whose matchless and alien rendering of the blues was just gaining recognition despite more than a dozen solo and collaborative releases since 1978. Connors' classic, song-based In Pittsburgh had only been available for three months when Blues welcomed the new decade with its reformation of the blues as minimalist lines and tone; a compound of influences spanning Louisiana guitarist Robert Pete Williams to painter Mark Rothko.
"Moving with the slow, stately weirdom we expect of Connors' late '80s sound, the music is all shards, all pokes in the eye, as though Rothko's gray scale had exploded, sending shrapnelized paint rocketing through your brain," music historian Byron Coley writes in the liner notes of this reissue. "Just as Connors' notes ricochet hauntedly through its recesses."
For this reissue, engineer Taylor Deupree restored the audio to Connors' specifications of how these seven instrumentals were intended to sound. Cover art is an untitled 1969 Rothko work -- a painting that influenced the album. The original LP jacket is replicated as a glossy inner sleeve. New liner notes by Coley chart Connors' development and the influence Rothko had on him as a guitarist.
More information can be found here.
