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.
Get involved: subscribe, review, rate, share with your friends, send images!
The murky depths of low-range tones are like subconscious murmurs. This kind of music speaks in so much depth, more than the imaginary space that an echo brings, or "atmospheres" built with samples and noise. Justin Walter's music is bassy, perplexing and intimate. Lullabies And Nightmares is an album which plays heavily with literal and imagined distances, where contact is always out of reach, always obscured by invariably plump electronic tones and the warmth of his ideas are paired with mechanical rigidity. It helps, too, that he has created a suite of beautiful melodies to mess with.
When the trumpet enters on the title track, it is probably the most distinct tone likely to be heard on the album. Lullabies And Nightmares, like its title suggests, is an argument for the fluid romance of dreams and the narcotic sensations of sleep. Walter knows exactly where that sweet spot lies, placing gorgeous synth patches, live drums, and a consistent bass drone behind walls of watery obfuscation. It plays to the strengths of kosmische music in actual melody, but Justin continuously refuses to cave in to crisp reality. Aside from the title track's comparative definition, this is a nocturnal, reclusive work of art best suited for exploring caves at night or catching fireflies.
This is usually to Walter's advantage, particularly on the first half of the record. "Mind Shapes," "Dream Weaving," and the miniature "Awakening" (perhaps a prelude to the aforementioned "Lullabies And Nightmares") are fantastic moments of music, appropriating some of early electronica's arpeggios and pentatonic melodies with impropriety, turning them into disjointed bursts and loops of something sort of resembling a post-rock jam session (underwater, of course). This mood returns on "The Way Of Five," as a shattered metallic creak illuminates Justin's melodies like rusted ships singing along. "Plastic People," a longer and more conventional moment of clarity that weaves glassy percussion, electric piano blips and mellifluous trumpet into a fully realized design, is the album's late highlight. "I Saw Your Face" ends on more inexact terms, a formless kind of sound art, grasping uncertainly around hissing synths and muddy thumping that might have once been a drum beat.
It is difficult to pull off this kind of vague-yet-warm electronic music so well, but it is also as difficult to be convinced of its depth and complexity. Justin Walter's contributions make for a truly engaging listen, and it is all the more flattering of his virtuosity to know that he improvised these. The fragmented and curious creations of a truly gifted performer, the nicest meditations on a unique theme.
samples:
 
Glenn Jones' music is an omnipresent force. No pretensions or barriers to entry exist in well-executed American primitivism; the baggage is made along with the impression made on the listener. This album is inspired by a host of personal conflicts for Jones, primarily that the recording sessions occurred while he was taking care of his ailing mother in a nursing home in New Jersey. But he never compromises his artistic intent in the midst of trying times, only injecting them with a savvy humanism. The songs he's created are, even in their exact subject matter, timeless and miraculous things.
The songs of My Garden State are all very personal. Nearly all of them are named for local areas in Jersey visited by Jones during his recording sessions, and all of them are self-authored acoustic songs. A Jersey native, he seems to entertain a conviction for self therapy through the sights and sounds of the state, even as landmarks only grow known through sad circumstances. American primitivism, at the same time, usually frames itself from a populist and anonymous character, and the man often tasked with writing up blurbs for John Fahey or lending material to Jack Rose knows that the real, inimitable pure folk has to show individual conflicts as universal and irresolute. So while it's not without its heart—nor would I ever ask for it to be—this music is still in the truest sense folk, and its messages are common and applicable to anyone who has ever had hardships.
"Alcouer Gardens," the retirement home where his mother had received treatment for Alzheimer's disease, is a somber but uplifting guitar melody, spontaneously composed, which wanders alongside sampled thunderstorms. "Going Back To East Montgomery" is a duet with Meg Baird, whose late song contributions on banjo justify its eight minute running time. Likewise, "Like A Sick Eagle Looking At The Sky" and "Bergen County Farewell" court anthemic territory by way of smartly intoned melodies that are neither pure blues nor unabashedly saccharine. These songs are not "catchy" so much as deeply purposeful. It's as if they're always there, in some space or aura, and Jones simply captured them in his strings.
These compositions chronicle travel and the passage of time, the catharses of forward movement (as signified by Glenn's persistent low-register quarter notes), and a naturalistic simplicity that eschews the often contrived inspirations behind a lot of modern guitar music. Jones extracts a common sentiment among anyone familiar with guitar music, the attraction of a journey, and uses it to his own means in expanding his melodies as tools for evoking emotion and preventing them from becoming dilute. This is music untethered by its era, its context or even the family struggles that drove so much of its inception. It just keeps going. Not until "Chimes II" has everything come to a stop, and it has become a cycle, waiting to be heard again.
samples:
This 1982 album was Zoviet France's second release and has come to be known by a few different names over the years, most prominently "Hessian" (an English synonym for burlap).  The reason for that is simple: the original LP was packaged in screen-printed burlap, making it ZF's first foray into the bizarre packaging that they came to be known for in the '80s.  Of course, the music within is also quite bizarre, even by the band's own extremely outré standards.  There are certainly some clear hints of the faux-tribalism and tape loop experiments that would eventually solidify as Zoviet France's aesthetic (for a while anyway), but this enthusiastically primitive affair also features some very unexpected twists, such as absurdist humor, recognizable guitars, howled vocals, and (unbelievably) slap bass.
Red Rhino/Charrm
While three decades admittedly passed between this LP and last year's 7.10.12, it is still somewhat remarkable that roughly the same band is responsible for both, as this clattering, humorous, anything-goes chaos could not possibly be more different than the austere minimal drones of Zoviet France's current work.  The only real constants seem to be a fascination with loops, a deep aversion to anything song-like, a penchant for the cryptic, and Ben Ponton.  I suspect Ben and his fellow conspirators (Robin Storey, Peter Jensen, and Lisa Hale, in this case) are probably a bit embarrassed by this period in their development now, but "Hessian" seems like it was probably a lot of fun to record and it makes for a very interesting snapshot of the group's origins.
The most fascinating pieces for me are naturally the more aberrant ones, such as the opening "Ritual," which shares a lot of common ground with precursors like Throbbing Gristle and contemporaries like Test Dept. and SPK.  After a lengthy introduction of humming machine-like noise and instrumental blurts and squawks, a rumbling, detuned bass bulldozes its way into the proceedings along with an insistent thud-thud-thud beat, a strangled-sounding guitar, and plenty of guttural, wordless howling.  It is impressively heavy, but heavy in a messy, unhinged, "noise rock" kind of way, and its formula is never repeated again.
Equally strange and divergent is the closing "Ji Boys," which combines the album's recurring sample of a thickly accented (Indian?) man saying "ok boys" with "funky" slap bass, bongos, dissonantly chromatic piano, and stabs of processed guitar.  Then, around the halfway point, the bottom drops out and it sounds like a post-punk band jamming underwater with a broken drum machine.  In fact, it is so bizarre, anachronistic, and disjointed that it ambiguously rides the blurry line between "inspired deconstruction" and "a bunch of guys messing around in a studio."  In either case, it either sounds like an inept Pop Group rip-off or a hilarious Pop Group caricature.  Curiously, the group thought enough of it to expand it when the album was eventually reissued on CD in 1990.
As bizarre as "Ji Boys" is, it still does not hold a candle to the weirdness of "Bring Hessa," which is little more than the phrase "bring in chiefs!" repeated obsessively.  It could easily be viewed as mere filler or a throw-away bit of lunacy, but it is uniquely compelling nonetheless: the main voice is so maniacal and Muppet-like that it makes it very difficult for the other vocalists to continue without laughing, creating a hesitation/stutter that initially seems like fear or a choked sob.  Then, around the halfway point, the chant amusingly turns into a frenzied "take out chiefs!" until it finally concludes (with the announcement that the chiefs are now gone, of course).  While it definitely offers absolutely nothing musical nor anything more substantial than that at all, I enjoyed it a lot anyway–-it is fun to catch a glimpse of such a mysterious and generally very serious band acting so ridiculously (and so atypically human).
The remaining three pieces ("Mudbast Boys," "Sem Boys," and "Mounw") are a bit more traditionally "Zoviet France," albeit a bit primitive and rooted in rock instrumentation.  "Mudbast Boys" is essentially a beatless, dubbier version of "Ji Boys" based upon insistently repeating "ok boys" sample, while "Mounw" is a very minimal soundscape built upon little more than a low rumble and some periodic metallic clatter.  "Sem Boys," however, is a fairly effective proto-version of ZF's distinctive faux-exoticism despite being executed in the most low-tech possible way (it basically sounds like ragged chanting, someone playing a bucket or hand-drum, and some distinctly unvirtuosic snatches of violin and flute).
As uneven and unsophisticated as it is, "Hessian" is still a remarkably charming effort due to its sheer enthusiasm and naked experimentalism.  It should probably be avoided by the merely curious, as it is not particularly representative of Zoviet France's aesthetic (nor does it come close to approaching their best work quality-wise), but more serious fans will likely find it to be an entertaining historic curiosity.  I also found it to be perversely inspiring, as the band clearly had a muddy vision, dubious musical ability, and rudimentary equipment, but made a messy, scrappy stab at greatness anyway and kept at it until they cohered into the iconic entity they are remembered as today.  To their credit, they certainly cohered quickly, as the more distinctive and superior Garista was actually recorded the same month (December 1981).
When it was first released in 2008, this massive (and newly reissued) ambient epic met with a rather polarized reception, but has gradually come to be fairly unanimously hailed as a classic.  I am a bit conflicted about that: while it certainly is a fine album, I have seen it favorably compared to Aphex Twin's Selected Ambient Works II, which seems very wrong to me, despite their similarly bleary, haunted feel.  The difference between the two albums is a massive, fundamental one: with Imperial Distortion, Drumm willfully abandons noise, melody, rhythm, and composition to fully embrace the hypnotic power of gently oscillating stasis.  It is an experiment that works beautifully and yields very listenable results, but it is far from the apotheosis of Kevin's work.
As far as "classic" albums go, this one had a remarkably humble and convoluted birth, as it was actually conceived of as a compilation to release in place of a different album (also called Imperial Distortion) that Drumm decided not to release.  Feeling uninspired, he began digging through unused studio scraps that he ultimately assembled into a suite of self-proclaimed "go nowhere tracks" spanning 1995 to 2008, which Dominick Fernow liked enough to release.  Despite Drumm's somewhat dismissive (if accurate) assessment of the material and the lengthy span of time involved, Imperial Distortion weirdly feels like a very coherent and deliberate artistic statement that is basically the complete opposite of what Kevin is generally revered for: rather than being dense, sharp, and brutally dynamic, these six pieces are invariably sparse, lengthy, blurry, and muted.  More colorfully, this is the sound of Kevin Drumm lulling me into an uneasy sleep rather than tearing my goddamn head off.
The most divergent piece is the opening "Gullaine-Barre" (named after a very unpleasant strain of ascending paralysis), which initially sounds like it is built from a distant murky recording of gongs or large bells.  Gradually, however, it coheres into a blurry sustained drone that gently throbs and shimmers for nearly 20 minutes.  That aesthetic of "blurry, sustained drones" then continues unabated for most of the next two hours, at which point Kevin finally diverges a second time (abruptly erupting into a grinding blast of white noise).  Still, within those very narrow stylistic confines, some rather mesmerizing and deeply immersive music occurs.
The trick, of course, lies in the details, as Drumm's hazy drones harmonize and oscillate uncomfortably with other noises to create a subtly swaying pulse and simmering low-level tension.  As someone who can find quite a bit of beauty in both pure sound and the way notes interact, wobble, and bleed together, I am very appreciative of the generous time and space Kevin allows his simple motifs to unfold.  Also, not all of the pieces slavishly follow the "go nowhere" aesthetic, yielding a few understated surprises.  In particular, "More Blood and Guts" and "Romantic Sores" stand out, as both unexpectedly give way to comparatively warm and/or melodic passages after ten or fifteen minutes of lulling me into complacency with their sleepily quavering hum.  The closing "We All Get It in the End" is quite striking as well, but that is entirely due to its sheer brooding menace rather than any sort of twist.
Mostly, however, Imperial Distortion is devoted to minimal, uneasily close harmonies and the subtle pleasures of oscillation, which are very absorbing in their own right and display an impressive ear and knack for restraint on Kevin's part.  While at its core this is basically just another drone album rather than anything particularly revolutionary, Drumm's use of extreme song durations and his textural propensity towards hiss and tape murk still manage to elevate these pieces into something fairly distinctive (think Phill Niblock, but with a healthy dose of blurriness and vague dread).  Given the healthy number of antecedents in this vein, I would definitely stop short of proclaiming Imperial Distortion unique or hailing it as any kind of masterpiece, but it is unquestionably a very good drone album by a very great noise artist.
 
Matthew Bower is best known with his work in the noise rock (more emphasis on the noise) band Skullflower, but closely followed with his formless output as Total. The reason I am mentioning both of these is that this new guise, with partner Samantha Davies, is some sort of mutant hybrid of these two: filth ridden lo-fi feedback with the occasional hint of melody or rhythm that somehow sneaks through. Between these two discs, the duo stick with this blueprint, occasionally drifting fully into one direction or the other, but always resulting in material that screams to be blasted as loud as possible.
The two discs that make up 4 Black Suns & A Sinister Rainbow have their own individual titles, but I can not for the life of me figure out if there is supposed to be any thematic or conceptual unity to each work.Truffled Abyss begins with the two-part punch of "Perfumed Pressure" that comes across like Skullflower after a nuclear blast.Detuned guitars clash and feedback with reckless abandon as some sort of undulating beat lurks beneath the radioactive fallout, attempting to corral the chaos without ever really succeeding in doing so.
"Monstrous Souls" also takes this challenge on, mostly an unidentifiable mass of sound that could be guitar, synth, or electronics, which have a barely perceptible sense of order that is eventually pushed out to leave only dissonance.On "Glassy Penetralia," the opening riff nods back to Bower's more structured works, but within a black metal squall and unstructured noise context.
Perhaps on Werewolf Universe things have a slightly more prominent sense of order and cohesion, but I think that may be a stretch.Both "Chandelier Heat" and "R U Loathsome" build upon loops of guitar noise that bring some semblance of structure and order, but in the loosest sense of the word.The latter especially excels, with the rhythmic bits falling below a slow flowing wall of lava like guitar.The mid-range noise on "Thunderbolt Cumshot Axis" is so gloriously unrestrained that the whole thing manages to cross over from pure chaos to inviting beauty, which is no easy feat.Perhaps the biggest surprise comes on "Fangs of Ego," which is mostly pure, unadulterated Skullflower riffing atop a stuttering, filtered drum machine that keeps everything rather unsettled, so it never fully comes together as the riff monster it could be.
The two albums that make up 4 Black Suns & A Sinister Rainbow are extremely ugly and unpleasant, but in the best possible way.Bower and Davies revel in the nastiest, dirtiest noises they can coax out of their instruments, and with that and the slightest concessions to rhythm, Black Sun Roof! has produced one of those rare noise works that demands to just be played at the loudest level, which I have done much to my neighbors’ chagrin more than once.And all the while I know I had a big, dumb smile on my face at the sheer spectacle of what I was hearing.
samples:
 
As one of the handful of truly innovative artists to spring off from the drone metal template, the trio of Locrian had previously been rather prolific, tweaking and honing their sound to something singular and unique amidst a flurry of singles and split releases. However, other than a few high profile collaborations of late (Mamiffer, Christoph Heemann), they have been rather quiet since 2011's The Clearing. Return to Annihilation, the first new material after signing to Relapse, proves that this time and effort was well spent, perfecting their sound in ways that are both more accessible, but also pushing the more abstract moments they have been working with since the beginning even further.
 
Most pronounced on the Territories album, as well as the collaboration with Horseback, the trio of Terence Hannum, André Foisy and Steven Hess began pushing their noise tinged sound into a more conventionally metal framework, while retaining both their sense dissonance as well as a healthy dose of early 1980s post punk.This is the same band that snuck the chords to "A Forest" into one of their earliest drone works, so this comes as no surprise.
Therefore, Hannum's synth strings, Hess' taut drumming and Foisy's grimy guitar leads on opener "Eternal Return" melding together like a doom laden cast off from New Order's Movement is no surprise.However, it is in its execution that the genius truly lies: each member’s contribution beautifully builds upon the others’, at times resembling one of the best tracks Jesu has never recorded.
The title song also carries this sensibility: a tight synth/drum lead mixed with overdriven low end and distant monastic chants.After a few minutes it all falls away to leave a beautiful electronic drone and Foisy's grinding black metal guitar before reforming as a combination of both.Here that more conventionally musical sensibility is tempered by the best elements of progressive rock, without any of the unnecessary pretense or haughty drama that are best ignored.The prog tendencies are also represented well in the 15 minute closer "Obsolete Elegies," in which up front piano and acoustic guitar are supplanted by dissonant scrapes and far off martial drumming.The '70s keyboard solos and sparse guitar that follow within the piece’s ample duration belies the closing blast of pure pounding metal.
Other moments hearken back to the band’s sparser, more experimental days, such as the pulsing analog synth and drifting guitar of "A Visitation From the Wrath of Heaven" that also builds to a beautifully bombastic climax."Panorama of Mirrors" especially feels like a throwback to their earliest releases, with the blackened guitar, noisy keyboards, and Hannum's tortured screams leading the way through bleakness and haze.A similarly repeating, mantra like sound defines "Exiting the Hall of Vapor and Light," albeit more delicate and nuanced than their older works.
The moments in which Locrian embrace melody, structure, and convention are so perfectly arranged that it feels like the natural direction they should be going in.Previous efforts where they overtly flirted with progressive and krautrock sounds were always some of my favorite works by them, so this culmination is exactly what I had hoped.However, the more accessible sounds are balanced throughout with abstraction and experimentation, recalling their past efforts with an even greater sense of refinement.
samples:
 
Recently, I have been delving deeper and deeper into Esplendor Geométrico's discography and it has become increasingly clear to me that their prime never actually ended.  Arturo Lanz and his varying bandmates have certainly released some comparatively uneven or tame efforts over the course of their three-decade career, but Lanz has never stopped being a rhythmic genius and can still unleash a crushing masterpiece at any time.  One such gem, "Aplicación Insospechada," comes at the end of this intermittently impressive (and woefully underappreciated) 2009 effort.
While there are some Esplendor Geométrico albums that have a clear, distinctive character that sets them apart from the rest of the Spanish industrialists' oeuvre, Pulsión is not one of them.  That is neither a good nor a bad thing, but it certainly makes it challenging to articulate what makes it special.  With few exceptions, nearly every EG album is essentially a collection of incredibly dense, bludgeoning grooves coupled with snatches of dialogue or non-musical chaos.
For this particular effort, those snippets of found audio tend to be extreme right- or left-wing political speeches spanning several different cultures, but they were all chosen for their sound rather than their content.  Deeper meaning (along with melody and nuance) is simply beside the point for Lanz and Saverio Evangelista: those are things that humans care about–EG's aim to be as immensely and hypnotically inhuman as possible.  When they succeed at that, they succeed spectacularly.  Case in point: the aforementioned "Aplicación Insospechada" sounds like a giant factory suddenly became sentient and synchronized itself into a crunching, mechanized, and absolutely earth-shaking groove.
Of course, while the massive, machine-like beat is certainly the most important part of the EG aesthetic, it is not the only part.  Pulsión's finest moments occur when there is a strong synergy between the percussive elements and the more "musical" elements.  "Aplicación Insospechada" absolutely nails it on that count, as its insistent car-compactor crunch is nicely balanced by creepily lilting loop that sounds like chanting children.  Evangelista and Lanz hit upon another perfect combination with the aberrant "Ondas Transparentes," which combines an oddly croaking and distortion-free Latin rhythm with a weirdly shifting and hallucinatory loop of more chanting.
None of the other songs on the album quite hit those same heights, but a few other pieces manage to succeed purely on sheer power and obsessive repetition, most notably "Japo," which boasts an unstoppably heavy beat beneath a recording of a very impassioned Japanese dissident.  "Michi Michi" also works quite well, simply because it throws all attempts at musicality out the window in favor of an absolutely bludgeoning thump buffeted by washes of white noise.
As for the remainder, they are basically business-as-usual for Arturo and Saverio, which is generally a good thing, except for one caveat: while nobody crafts beats as dense, visceral, and mesmerizing as Esplendor Geométrico, their mid-level material definitely starts to yield diminishing returns after while.  That situation seems unavoidable, as Lanz truly lives or dies with his rhythms.  Every song is essentially a frill-free vamp with no real development or anything else to grasp onto–either a groove hits the mark and floors me or it does not (and grows stale very quickly).  That said, this is a very strong effort amidst a remarkably solid catalog and I am not sure any EG album could be much better.  Consequently, this is probably as good an entry to a rather singular and crucial band as any for a newcomer.  Those already familiar with Lanz's work will not want to miss either "Ondas Transparantes" or "Aplicación Insospechada," as they are easily as canonical as anything recorded during the band's '80s/early '90s heyday.
 
Between the final Throbbing Gristle albums and last year's stellar Carter Tutti Void collaboration, Chris and Cosey have been maintaining an atypically high profile as of late, which makes it easy to forget that there has not been a new Carter Tutti album in over five years.  While that situation is not expected to be remedied until sometime in 2014, this very solid 10" single makes for a very welcome teaser in the meantime.
This release takes its unusual title from the manufacturer of a metal lampshade that Delia Derbyshire famously "played" in some of her BBC Radiophonic Workshop work in the '60s.  Now that lampshade has made its triumphant return, as Chris and Cosey managed to track down one of their own after seeing Delia's in a museum exhibit a while back. As far as lampshades go, this one proved to be remarkably versatile as an instrument.  In fact, I never would have guessed it was involved if I had not read about it, as "Coolicon" basically sounds like the middle ground between Carter Tutti and Carter Tutti Void: a trance-y, propulsive quasi-industrial groove with an understated hook augmented mingled with some noisier atmospherics.  It is certainly poppier and more sensual than anything on the Carter Tutti Void album (even though Cosey does not sing at all), but Cosey's lampshade-bowing occasionally provides some ugly and Gristle-worthy metallic grind.
The B-side ("Coolicon-Fusion") is essentially the same piece, yet transformed into something nearly unrecognizable.  It is not so much a dub version as it is a skeletal, slow-motion, ghostly caricature, as all the textures are different and it feels like all of the life and soul has been drained from the piece.  As a consequence, it is inherently less vibrant and instantly gratifying than its previous incarnation, but it is still quite likable in its own throbbing, vaguely menacing way.  At times it even weirdly reminds me of 23 Skidoo or Zoviet France, as the crescendo features some forlorn horn-like sounds and percussive noises that could reasonably described as "sci-fi tribal."
Of course, being a mere single, Coolicon is exasperatingly brief, but it is still an impressively strong, worthy effort.  It is also a fairly ingenious one, as the transformation that the piece undergoes for the nightmarish B-side is truly radical.  Carter and Tutti were presumably quite pleased with the two pieces as well, as this is the first time that they have been inspired to release a single in over 20 years.  I still think it seems like a bit of an odd choice for the duo to release a single with no vocals, but that does not make this release any less enjoyable: Coolicon does a fine job of continuing (and building upon) the momentum from last year's Nik Void collaboration and reaffirms my belief that the duo is probably in the midst of their third of fourth Golden Age.  Also, if anyone has released a better lampshade-inspired song this year, I sure as hell have not heard it yet.
 
To celebrate the 10-year anniversary of the Dekorder label, we have invited some of our dearest friends and artists we admire to contribute new & exclusive recordings to a brand new series of highly limited Hybrid-Vinyl Picture-Discs. So far we have confirmations from Pye Corner Audio, Leyland Kirby, Excepter, sonic boom (of Spacemen 3, Spectrum, E.A.R.), Bill Kouligas (of PAN Records), Vindicatrix, Kemiallysät Ystävät, Ensemble Economique, Alien Radio, Black To Comm and a few lovely surprises to be revealed in the 2nd half of the year. Hybrid-Vinyl is a newly devised combination of a Picture-Disc and a regular vinyl release. The audio will be cut into the black vinyl side to utilize the superior audio quality of classic vinyl (compared to the often weaker-sounding picture disc pressings).
We are planning to do runs of 300 to 500 copies depending on the popularity of the respective artists. There will be no re-press. Ever. The releases will be pressed on 12" Hybrid-Vinyl and contain 15 - 25 minutes of exclusive music.
More information is available here.
•The first critical history of industrial music as a genre
•Draws on interviews with both famous and forgotten musicians, record label owners, DJs, and promoters
•Offers close readings of twenty exemplary works spanning thirty years
"Industrial" is a descriptor that fans and critics have applied to a remarkable variety of music: the oildrum pounding of Einstürzende Neubauten, the processed electronic groans of Throbbing Gristle, the drumloop clatter of Skinny Puppy, and the synthpop songcraft of VNV Nation, to name just a few. But the stylistic breadth and subcultural longevity of industrial music suggests that the common ground here might not be any one particular sound, but instead a network of ideologies. This book traces industrial music's attitudes and practices from their earliest articulations--a hundred years ago--through the genre's mid-1970s formation and its development up to the present and beyond.
Taking cues from radical intellectuals like Antonin Artaud, William S. Burroughs, and Guy Debord, industrial musicians sought to dismantle deep cultural assumptions so thoroughly normalized by media, government, and religion as to seem invisible. More extreme than punk, industrial music revolted against the very ideas of order and reason: it sought to strip away the brainwashing that was identity itself. It aspired to provoke, bewilder, and roar with independence. Of course, whether this revolution succeeded is another question...
Assimilate is the first serious study published on industrial music. Through incisive discussions of musicians, audiences, marketers, cities, and songs, this book traces industrial values, methods, and goals across forty years of technological, political, and artistic change. A scholarly musicologist and a longtime industrial musician, S. Alexander Reed provides deep insight not only into the genre's history but also into its ambiguous relationship with symbols of totalitarianism and evil. Voicing frank criticism and affection alike, this book reveals the challenging and sometimes inspiring ways that industrial music both responds to and shapes the world.
Assimilate is essential reading for anyone who has ever imagined limitless freedom, danced alone in the dark, or longed for more noise.
More information is available here.
Noise, an underground music made through an amalgam of feedback, distortion, and electronic effects, first emerged as a genre in the 1980s, circulating on cassette tapes traded between fans in Japan, Europe, and North America. With its cultivated obscurity, ear-shattering sound, and over-the-top performances, Noise has captured the imagination of a small but passionate transnational audience.
For its scattered listeners, Noise always seems to be new and to come from somewhere else: in North America, it was called "Japanoise." But does Noise really belong to Japan? Is it even music at all? And why has Noise become such a compelling metaphor for the complexities of globalization and participatory media at the turn of the millennium?
In Japanoise, David Novak draws on more than a decade of research in Japan and the United States to trace the "cultural feedback" that generates and sustains Noise. He provides a rich ethnographic account of live performances, the circulation of recordings, and the lives and creative practices of musicians and listeners. He explores the technologies of Noise and the productive distortions of its networks. Capturing the textures of feedback—its sonic and cultural layers and vibrations—Novak describes musical circulation through sound and listening, recording and performance, international exchange, and the social interpretations of media.
"David Novak goes inside the Noise scene and presents an astounding perspective: historically astute, inspired, and completely shell-shocked."—Thurston Moore, Sonic Youth
"Edgy, compelling, and sharply insightful, this is the definitive book on 'Japanoise.' Drawing on his personal involvement in Noise scenes across two continents and over two decades, David Novak takes readers into the experience of Noise: its production and performance through apparati of wires, pedals, amplifiers, and tape loops, through its intensity on the stage and in one's ears and body."—Anne Allison, author of Precarious Japan
"This is a striking book: theoretically exciting, aesthetically intriguing, and well crafted. Japanoise is an extreme case study of modern musical subjectivity that demonstrates how core cultural ideas are formed on the fringe. David Novak's treatment of circulation as embedded in the creative process will shift the debate in ethnomusicology, popular music studies, and global media studies."—Louise Meintjes, author of Sound of Africa! Making Music Zulu in a South African Studio
More information is available here.
