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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Recorded inside a 100-year-old Washington state church, this duo of Japanese residents Corey Fuller and Tomoyoshi Date, utilizes the natural reverberations and ambience of the space in which it was recorded to craft a melancholy, emotional work that uses electronic and acoustic instruments together seamlessly.
Recorded after a tumultuous year in both artists' lives, exacerbated by the Tokyo earthquake and subsequent nuclear concerns, Shizuku clearly is a work tinted with a sense of sadness and depression, though in a powerful, creative way.It is instead an essential piece that fleshes out this album perfectly.
"Rokuu" opens with surges of water and soft synthesizer tones, with the addition of field recording elements that, when combined, create a familiar, yet unidentifiable world of sound.While the first half of the piece is characterized by abstract passages, the latter is more familiar, bringing in acoustic and electric guitar, along with cello, creating a more conventional outro.
The cello reappears within "Aikou," and with the clear piano notes mixed with clinking improvised sounds and electronic textures to become something else entirely.Never clearly musical nor abstract, it is instead a unique hybrid of the two.The use of piano becomes a recurring theme, leading the slow, mournful "Saika" and the more textural "Kie."
Additionally, oddly clipped guitar notes appear with drawn out tones on "Guuzai," with distant, echoed percussive noises and unidentifiable field recordings.While the sustained tones are the focus, the distant percussive sounds and ambient sounds balance things out nicely.
The one misstep, which I don’t even think qualifies as one, is the use of spoken word on "Seiya" by the poet Tadahito Ichinoseki.While it is entirely in Japanese (a language I do not speak nor understand), his careful, deliberate method of speaking conveys an emotion that is beyond language.However, the use of voice is such a drastic change compared to the subtle melodies and mysterious sounds that surround it, causing it to stand out noticeably.It's just very unexpected within the context of the album, but not something I'd consider to be a mistake at all.
The blend of electronic and organic sounds on Shizuku is a compelling one, and the use of natural reverb and spaces makes it all the more powerful.While it has a bleak, sad overcast to it, it adds to the mood and emotion conveyed. Pensive, yet compelling, it is a wonderful combination.
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Carsten Nicolai's latest album returns to the themes and concepts that he explored on 2008’s Unitxt (which has been reissued in a limited, artist edition to mark the release of the new album). Combining the ideas of a universal language, repetition and the relationship between data and sound, Nicolai has come up with a stunning collection of electronic music that bridges another one of the gaps between audio and visual art.
The opening piece, "Uni C," acts as a template for Nicolai’s approach throughout Univrs as he runs through about four or five themes in six minutes without the piece ever sounding fractured or forced. What strikes me most about this and the other pieces on Univrs is the speed at which the individual components move. It is not like Nicolai has turned his hand to gabba rave but many of the rhythms are built out of minute pulses. Crackles, pops and clicks move by so quickly that they barely pass the threshold for being a sensory input at the time. It is only their lingering after-image that actually gets processed by my brain. The result is that Univrs seems lighter than air as every component seems to have no real mass to it but like subatomic particles, they all interact to form a tangible whole.
Anne-James Chaton makes a guest appearance on "Uni Acronym" where he recites a list of three letter acronyms in alphabetical order. This ties in with Chaton’s own work which focuses on the rhythms underlying language; his staccato delivery forming a shape for Nicolai to hang his sounds on. Chaton forces the music to his beat, reinforcing the idea that underneath all this data and abstraction there is a human heart.
This human element is not so well defined elsewhere; the erratic, mechanical throb of "Uni Deform" builds on the foundations that Autechre laid on "Second Bad Vibel" from their Anvil Vapre EP. However, Nicolai uses this foundation only as a surface to break apart any traditional musical structures and any notion of tonality. Where Autechre were ground-breaking, Nicolai is atom-smashing. When the album closes with "Uni Pro," it easy to see the parallels Alva Noto has with the sounds explored during Warp Records’ glory days but like any good experimenter, he stands on the shoulders of giants to see further and prepares his own shoulders for the feet of the next great explorer.
This metaphorical human pyramid may point further from music than expected as Univrs is intended to be experienced as a piece of visual art as well as a normal album. Like Nicolai’s collaboration with Ryoji Ikeda earlier this year, the sounds on Univrs were picked out based on their appearance when visualised on particular scientific apparatus. In this case, the weapon of choice is a uniscope (the title of the album brings together the terms "universe" and "uniscope version"). There is a CD/DVD edition planned for release but unfortunately I am only able to experience Univrs in one sensory modality. I will be dropping my pennies in the Raster-Noton coffers to get my hands on the DVD as soon as possible.
The way Nicolai has almost reverse engineered music based on working through an abstracted visual system is impressive, especially considering how focussed and powerful the music sounds. Whether the marriage of sound and vision is as impressive remains to be seen (and heard) but as a standalone piece of audio art, Univrs is incredible.
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Industrial Records’ reissue series begins with the album that set the tone for a short but potent career. The group’s first album (mischievously titled in order to make people go looking for a non-existent First Annual Report) is a master class in subversive anti-music that still packs a punch. Remastered and released as an LP and also in an expanded CD edition; all the gory details have been put into sharp focus, reanimating the still warm corpse of Throbbing Gristle’s glory days.
As I was not born during Throbbing Gristle’s initial activity, I can only imagine how stark and perhaps even boring the album cover for The Second Annual Report looked nestled in between other releases of that time. No graphics and no fancy typography, just a sticker with the barest of information on it. The dour, business-like nature of the sleeve is all the more surprising considering one member of the group was part of the Hypgnosis design firm. However, the simple design reflected the purpose of the album: this was industrial music made in an industrial way for industrial people. The Second Annual Report was meant to look like a normal dossier or file from an ordinary company rather than a piece of revolutionary music history.
While Throbbing Gristle had already released their debut single, "United/Zyklon B Zombie," The Second Annual Report reflected what the band were attempting to do in their live performances more than studio experimentations of the single. Most of the cuts on the A-side were taken from live shows, several versions of "Slug Bait" and "Maggot Death" forming the first half of the album. It goes without saying that within the repetitions of these pieces, there was huge variation as they used the basic ideas of each piece to springboard into terra incognita. The horror, the humor and the hullabaloo all coming together to make a form of atonal racket that has often been copied but never did it sound so vital. The schlock of "Slug Bait" jumps between the viscerally disgusting to the absurdly funny. However, the over-the-top weirdness of the first two versions of "Slug Bait" is countered by the version from Brighton where the group sample a disturbing interview of a child molester and murderer.
This dichotomy between the tongue-in-cheek moments and incredibly dark subject matter sums up everything that is enthralling about Throbbing Gristle, and the reason this album still resonates with listeners today. Yes, some of the material and imagery is rich pickings for an easy shock factor but by dressing it all up in a pseudo-industrial package and throwing campy Carry On… style humor into the mix, Throbbing Gristle highlighted the double standards, hypocrisy and corruption at the heart of British society. If they were the wreckers of civilization, it was only because civilization was a harsh reality that needed wrecking.
The B-side of the album was given over to the group’s soundtrack to After Cease to Exist, a grainy film made during the COUM Transmission days featuring Chris Carter getting castrated (which made his child with Cosey Fanni Tutti a few years later quite the miracle!). The piece lacks the violence of the first half of the album, at odds with the imagery that it was meant to accompany. It is one of Throbbing Gristle’s dreamier moments, especially in the early years.
The CD reissue of The Second Annual Report features an extra disc of bonus material including the tracks from the debut single (much like the original CD reissue) and selections from live shows from the same time period. None of this material is new but I imagine the live material will be unheard for many people considering the price and rarity of any previous live releases (not all these cuts were available outside the early live tapes, live compilation CDs or the various versions of TG24). The live material is fantastic but having got all these recordings already, I would have preferred to have seen some more exclusive extras (such as other studio cuts, if they exist) or a DVD of After Cease to Exist.
It is not the extras that matter when it comes to this reissue series, it is the fact that these albums have been given a long overdue facelift by Chris Carter and are widely available again. While Throbbing Gristle may never have the cultural caché of the likes of The Velvet Underground or Kraftwerk, I honestly believe they were responsible for an equally important shift in music and, as such, the chance to re-evaluate them in the best possible way is a welcome experience.
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Twenty years into Tom and Christina Carter's rich partnership, it has become next to impossible to identify outside reference points in their work. Charalambides exists in its own universe—insular, curtains drawn. Exile, their first release in four years, begins with "Autumn Leaves," a wordless prelude of Tom's austere guitar playing, setting the tone for the band's most laser-focused album since 2004's Joy Shapes.
Exile is a stunning album, one of Tom and Christina's best in a deep discography filled with contenders. It is also their most sparse, repetitive, and lyrically heavy work in recent memory. Themes of death and loss abound, from the suggestive song titles—"Desecrated," "Before You Go," "Into the Earth"—down to Christina's seemingly stream-of-consciousness lyrics. Just a few minutes into the album, on "Desecrated," she intones, "I am not on the side of the living," sounding exasperated, broken. Later on, she abstractly dances around what sounds like someone's passing: "She had to calm herself down / by becoming more ill / by becoming lethargic, one might say / by becoming extremely immovable." Perhaps in denial, she reassures herself, offering up an explanation for the inevitable: "It's hard to get good help these days."
Like much of Charalambides' work, Exile truly shines when its songs sprawl out, disregarding any notions of acceptable length. "Words Inside" is a prime example, based around a reverberating guitar line that repeats for 15 minutes, steady as a clock's hand, while Tom wails on his guitar over the top. As usual, Tom plays a sort of snarly, fractured blues, uniquely his own—at first controlled, then less predictable—nearly flying off the rails by the song's finale. Christina's words are mostly unintelligible, except for in brief flashes: "Touching / touch deep inside / the words inside / alone." This is dark, heady stuff, packed with improvised repetition, designed for total surrender and concentration—not easy listening, even by Charalambides' previous standards.
Christina's words aren't any lighter on side B, but at times, Tom's improvisational, snaky melodies become a touch less assertive. When he picks individual notes, they are sparse, muted. "Wanted to Talk" does away with all excess instrumentation, with Tom playing a simple, six-note figure on acoustic guitar ad infinitum, while Christina confesses to herself, "I've tried so many things tonight / but I didn't try to talk / I didn't try / and now it's time to say goodnight." Not every song remains so hushed: "Before You Go" nosedives into a stormy drone of guitar feedback and harmonics—an approach Tom hinted at with the warm, enveloping drone of "Desecrated" a few songs earlier. Here, though, an oppressive wall of feedback creeps forward into the mix like a rising tide, swallowing up Christina's voice until all that remains is a ghostly echo: "Before you go… before you go."
"Into the Earth" is Exile's centerpiece, functioning as a monumental showcase for Christina's voice. Finally at peace with her sense of loss, which she seemed to deal with earlier through a sense of detachment, Christina accepts the reality at hand: "And you have to go inside / into the earth, into the earth." A few minutes in, Tom's brilliant guitar playing takes over when Christina can seemingly no longer find words, echoing her vocal melody in counterpoint. It's a heart-stopping moment, one of the most beautiful and moving in Charalambides' body of work, and—dare I say it—the best 12 minutes of music I have heard all year.
Closer "Pity Pity Me" settles into what initially seems like a quarter-hour of piano, tape hiss and uncomfortable silence. Christina sings in an uncomfortably high, strained register (think PJ Harvey's White Chalk): "Pity pity me / pity me, I say / pity me, my darling / carry me away." Before the song fades, Tom launches into a storm of gritty, heavy feedback and left-field blues picking. It's a strong end to a very strong contender for the year's best album, from one of the most consistent groups of the last 20 years. Exile is essential listening for anyone with a taste for creative, challenging music that rewards repeated spins and complete immersion.
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Paul Gough's latest album borrows its title from a line in Russell Hoban's Riddley Walker, a dystopian novel where humanity regresses to a primitive, semi-literate state in the aftermath of a nuclear holocaust.  That reference seemed perfectly apt to Gough, as The Oansome Orbit drew much inspiration from meditations on loss, isolation, and disconnection.  Fertile themes for great art, certainly, but it was already pretty much a foregone conclusion that a new Pimmon album would be a noteworthy event: Gough has been making wonderfully complex and distinctive abstract soundscapes for more than a decade now and he only seems to get better with age.
As much as I enjoyed Pimmon's last album (2009's Smudge Another Yesterday), I was a bit frustrated by how fleeting and far between the sublimely melodic parts were.  Fortunately, that minor exasperation was largely balanced-out by the fact that Gough is one of the exacting and texturally creative producers currently working in abstract electronic music.  After hearing The Oansome Orbit, it almost seems like Paul heard my thoughts and purposely set out to spite me.  Aside from the billowing and shimmering drone of the opening "Passing, Never To Be Held," Gough makes very few concessions to conventional melodicism.  Instead, Pimmon now sounds more distinctly Pimmon-esque.
As it turns out, I was laboring under the misconception that Gough still had a bit of room to improve as a composer, whereas he was probably thinking that he could stand to jettison most similarities to other drone artists and go deeper and farther.  He was right and that's exactly what he did.  As a result, The Oansome Orbit sacrifices quite a bit in the way of accessibility and immediate gratification, but it is ultimately better art for it.  Paul hasn't made a good drone album–he's created a prickly, multilayered aural narrative.  It requires a bit of openness and focus to fully appreciate, but it is worth it (especially on headphones, where every detail of Gough's vibrant soundworld is audible).
The album is best appreciated as an immersive and cumulatively powerful whole, but there are naturally some individual moments that stand out.  In fact, the whole album is littered with unexpectedly transfixing passages, as Paul seems to have a deep aversion to both stasis and predictability (especially for someone working roughly within the drone genre).  The most striking stand-alone piece, however, is the woozy and warped "Arcangel In Reverse," which sounds like an angelic and blissed-out drone piece being slowly eaten by a tape player.  The lengthy and cryptically titled "Düülbludgers" is also attention-grabbing, but for very different reasons: it gradually escalates into an interlude of grinding cacophony before ending with an equally dissonant coda of clashing tones.
Such harshness is a definite anomaly though, as the pervasive mood is closer to free-floating melancholy (or something a bit more complex).  Regardless of its disposition, The Oansome Orbit is ultimately a constantly shifting and disorienting vista of sharply defined crackles, shudders, throbs, and corroded melodies hidden by an undulating mist of hiss and decay.  Which, I suppose, is exactly what Gough set out to achieve artistically.
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This is the long-awaited reissue of Mehdi Ameziane's incredibly scarce 2007 solo debut, which was previously only available as a self-released CDr edition of just 30.  Naturally, both Twinsistermoon and Natural Snow Buildings have evolved and blurred together quite a bit over the last four years, but at the time of its original release, these raw, fragile, and eerie pieces were a dramatic departure from the less distinctive drone/post-rock that Mehdi and Solange Gularte had been releasing.  While I definitely believe that Mehdi's work has only become stronger over the ensuing years, this remains a unique and mesmerizing highlight in his voluminous discography.
I have no idea what triggered it, but the years 2006 and 2007 were an incredibly fertile creative period for Natural Snow Buildings.  For one, they released a brilliant double album that many still consider to be their greatest work, The Dance of The Moon and The Sun.  Then, both Mehdi and Solange released stunning and wildly different solo albums (Solange's being Isengrind's Golestan).  There were always unusual threads running through NSB's sound, but up until that point, it was very easy to see close similarities to other artists like Tarentel, Godspeed You Black Emperor!, Stars of the Lid, and Windy and Carl. Both the hallucinatory pagan drone of Golestan and the haunting childlike folk of When Stars Glide Though Solid had no such clear reference points or precedents though: from 2007 onward, no one else sounded like Natural Snow Buildings.  Even since then, the "Natural Snow Buildings aesthetic" has seemed to be largely based upon perfecting and blending those two disparate threads (and they have been doing it extremely successfully).  It was a career-defining period.
The simplest way to describe Mehdi's sound for much of When Stars Glide Through Solid is "field recordings of a choir of undead children singing around a campfire," a rather singular vision best expressed in pieces like "Ojibway Ghost Trail Song" and "Momuzo."  Ameziane covers a lot of other stylistic territory as well, but tape hiss, sparse acoustic guitar accompaniment, soft childlike/feminine vocals, and an otherwordly sense of temporal dislocation are fairly omnipresent throughout.  While a number of the vocal pieces are quite strong ("To Breathe Underwater," in particular), my favorite moments tend to be the more abstract ones.  The opening "I Wish I Could Drown The World In Reverberation," for example, beautifully interweaves shimmering layers of shoe-gazing guitar, spectral wordless vocals, and quasi-tribal percussion into something that easily could been a highlight on The Dance of The Moon And The Sun.  The brilliant title piece also recalls Ameziane's work with Gularte, but goes even further: it seems far more in line with future masterpieces like Waves of the Random Sea...or something like a boisterous funeral parade for an imagined culture from several hundred years in the past.
I suspect that this album would have completely floored me if I had heard it when it was originally released, as I am quite used to Mehdi's strain of ghostly folk at this stage.  I miss having fresh ears.  Also, I can't help but compare everything he releases to the amazing ...And Then Feel The Ashes.  Despite that daunting mixture of familiarity and unfairly high expectation, however, I still managed to find quite a lot to love here.  This isn't the best Twinsistermoon album to start with, due to its somewhat primitive recording quality, but the content is absolutely essential for those already converted (particularly those who prefer Mehdi's more song-like side).
(Note: The vinyl version of this reissue includes one full side of bonus material, much of which is as good as the actual album.  Also, Solange's new artwork for the inner gatefold is among her best.)
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Robert Haigh 'Strange and Secret Things' CD
Siren Records : Siren 020
Release date : (30 October 2011)
'Strange and Secret Things' is the third and final part of Robert Haigh’s piano solo
trilogy for Siren Records that started with 'Notes and Crossings' (2009) and
'Anonymous Lights' (2010).
In his quest to expand his solo piano expression, Robert employs two distinct yet
complimentary approaches to piano composition. The first is based on shifting
patterns - repetitive structures with minimal development. The second is a more
organic approach which evolves out of unmediated improvisation.
Along the way, Robert has created compositions that are vital, exposed,
melancholic, minimal and open-ended that never stray too far away from a unique
melodic sensibility.
'Strange and Secret Things', comprised of 17 tracks, is a further continuation of the
journey explored in the first two parts. It is the most intimate and powerful of the
trilogy - with a wider palette of light and shade, emotion, texture and atmosphere.
This album is a must for anyone who has enjoyed the first two parts of the trilogy
and his older legendary recordings on Le Rey Records. It will appeal to those who
have an affinity with the piano language of Satie, Glass, Budd, Cage, Max Richter
etc.
The album was mastered by Denis Blackham at Skye Mastering. As with the first
two parts the CD comes with a limited edition hand-made miniature jacket sleeve
+ Japanese Obi designed by Faraway Press.
Just as I begin to become burned out on Kawabata Makoto and the rest of his musical family, some flash of genius on their part pulls me back in. Most often, this is in the form of a live performance that sets me up for another year or so of worship. In this case, it is a reissue of a long out of print and glorious live album. Documenting the group during a tour of America and Europe in 1999, the classic line-up tear through time and space with some of the finest psychedelic rock to grace any stage at any point.
One problem I have always had with most Acid Mothers Temple releases is that they usually fail to capture how blisteringly brilliant they are live. Too many of the studio albums sound flat and in disarray compared to their lysergic stage presence. So whenever I come across a live recording, I buy it without checking reviews or sound samples as, more often than not, I get as close to the real deal on disc as possible. Live in Occident has been one live album that has eluded me for many years. Originally released as a double LP in 2000, it has been given a CD reissue on Brazil’s consistently excellent Essence Music label. The band has remastered this version themselves and, according to them at least, is a big improvement on the mastering job done on the vinyl version. I certainly cannot say it sounds bad at all as it fully captures the chaotic and intense depth of the AMT live sound. The album begins with a textbook opening manoeuvre, drifting Hawkwind-esque synths suddenly exploding, supernova-like, into a live jam that takes off at the speed of light.
The main draws on Live in Occident for the dedicated Acid Mothers Temple fan (who presumably does not already own this) are the pieces that do not appear anywhere else. "Astrological Overdrive" sounds pretty much like the title suggests as the band fuse a driving rhythm through a wormhole to find what psychedelic rock would be like in an alternative dimension. The other rarity is "Blue Velvet Blues" which nods to Angelo Badalamenti’s '50s-inspired soundtracks for David Lynch while remaining very much under the reins of Makoto and his merry band of minstrels. "Blue Velvet Blues" is just about the highlight for me; it is a hard contest to call but because it does not fit the usual Acid Mothers Temple formula as easily as the others, I definitely think it is a lost classic that should have survived longer in their live sets.
Elsewhere, there are equally stunning renditions of Acid Mother staples like "Speed Guru" and "Pink Lady Lemonade." The latter never fails to bring a smile to my face and the group deliver it magnificently here. The song never sounds anything less than fresh, which is presumably why they return to it so frequently as the simple guitar refrain is so evocative and so beguiling that it truly seems to cast a spell over performers and listeners alike. I think that Acid Mothers Temple’s continued success is down to pieces like this and their ability to take what could become a saccharine "hit" (in the loosest sense of the term) and transform it every night into something so magical.
Live in Occident is without doubt one of the best Acid Mothers Temple live recordings out there and is up there with my two favourite releases by the group (Live in Japan and Anthem of the Space). That this album has not been reissued sooner is a mystery but, then again, there are so many out of print albums by the various incarnations of Acid Mothers Temple and its various spin-offs that are also criminally out of print. It would be nice to see other gems like getting the reissue treatment (especially if Essence Music are involved considering they did a fantastic job here, right down to the solid mini double gatefold sleeve).
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Amid a string of releases from Kompakt this fall—including Total 12 and albums from Gui Boratto and Walls—comes the label's crown jewel of 2011, Axel Willner's third full-length as the Field. Looping State of Mind holds up to Willner's impressive back catalog, and features several of his most fully realized songs to date.
Like many Kompakt fans riding the minimal techno label's wave of hype in the mid 2000s, I was a bit burned out by 2007. Kompakt hadn't put out a record I'd truly clung to since Superpitcher's moody mix CD, Today, in summer 2005. Total 6 passed by my ears without fanfare. It was a welcome wake-up call, then, to stumble into Axel Willner's debut as the Field in spring 2007, a slow-burning compilation of previously-released singles alongside a handful of new tracks. From Here We Go Sublime was full of trance-inducing rhythms, nodding toward house and techno as much as ambient; samples of Kate Bush, Lionel Richie and the Flamingos that were recognizable but highly reconfigured; and a rhythmic pulse that didn’t cater to the dance floor so much as the human heart.
Four years later, now on his third album, Willner's music remains as distinctive as when he made appearances on Total 6 and Pop Ambient 2007. Looping State of Mind brings Willner's sound into a state of further refinement, recalling his past work while gently pushing into new territory. For instance, "Is This Power" opens with a skipping sample that soon falls into place with the song's rhythm, which is augmented by a bouncy bass line reminiscent of New Order and imperfect, live drums. (Willner plays live with a full band, so it's refreshing to hear that incorporated into his studio work on occasion.) The album's title is a reflection of Willner's working method: Looping State of Mind is built on—you guessed it—loops, and my enjoyment of each track often lives or dies by the loop at hand, especially when each borders on 10 minutes of repetition. One track ("Then It's White") falls flat under its heavy-handed piano chords, while the rest are effortlessly listenable—not a bad batting average.
Looping State of Mind builds to its twin peaks with "Arpeggiated Love" and the title track. The former radiates with slow-building beauty as Willner patiently weaves layers of sound together: chimes, twinkles, echoing voices, and hazy drone over a relentlessly thumping beat. Not to be outdone, "Looping State of Mind" leans toward vintage shoegaze as much as techno or trance, evolving into a massive slice of blurry, smeared dance music that plays like a sedated cousin of the Chemical Brothers' "Swoon," from 2010's secretly excellent Further. These two tracks are on par with the Field's best work over the years—the angel-sigh vocals of "Kappsta," the high-BPM oscillations of "Everday" and "Over the Ice," the propulsive ecstasy of "Leave It." Listened to in full, Looping State of Mind is Kompakt's best release this year, and a fine addition to Willner's body of work.
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This companion release to this year's stellar Ravedeath, 1972 draws back the curtain to unveil what Tim Hecker compositions sound like before they are properly ravaged, carved up, and reassembled.  As it turns out, they still sound remarkably good: some depth and power is understandably lost, but the increased clarity and intimacy makes that seem like a perfectly acceptable sacrifice.  Naturally, the target audience for Dropped Pianos is primarily those who already know and love Hecker's work, but these stripped-down piano sketches are strong enough to transcend their skeletal status and stand on their own.
I don't know quite what I expected from this album, but I can honestly say that it never occurred to me that Tim Hecker had already composed a number of sublime piano compositions before he and Ben Frost ever set foot in that Reykjavik cathedral to start recording.  I am well aware that Tim Hecker albums feature actual instruments and that they have to originate somewhere, but he is just not the sort of artist that I ever pictured frowning in front of a piano, struggling to find the right chord.  I was also struck by the amount of assurance, drive, and destruction that must have been required to make Ravedeath.  While some of these sketches can be recognized in drastically altered form on the finished album (like "Sketch 2" in "Piano Drop," I think), quite a few cannot.  It seems so alien to me that someone can create a shimmeringly beautiful piano miniature like "Sketch Three," then cheerfully tear it apart, bury it, or opt not to use it all.  Most people would have stopped at that stage and been very happy, but Hecker just saw it as a mere starting point.  I'm glad he knew what he was doing.
Once I was done obsessing about Hecker's creative process, however, I still found quite a bit to like.  It wouldn't be far from the mark to say that Dropped Pianos sounds like Harold Budd covering a Tim Hecker album, as these pieces are very minimal, slow-moving, and slathered with reverb (there is still conspicuous processing here, just not anywhere near as much as usual).  Such a glib statement would be a bit a disservice though, as this still sounds distinctly Hecker-esque: it just happens to be a fragile, pure, and almost sacred-sounding side of his art that has previously been well-hidden by his brilliance as a producer.  In fact, those restless urges to ruin, obscure, and texturize everything actually resurface in the swelling and lurching final sketch, as the piano is increasingly enveloped by distortion and sizzle as it progresses.  The added processing doesn't necessarily make it any stronger than the other pieces, but it brings some welcome variety and unpredictability to the album and reminds me exactly who I am listening to.
I'm pretty thrilled that Hecker decided to make these recordings available, as these pieces are too quietly beautiful to only be heard in corroded and mangled form.  This is a very likable album and I suspect I'll be listening to it again many times in the future.  Also, I think it definitely deepened my appreciation for what Hecker does and how he goes about doing it.  That said, I readily concede that Tim's original instincts regarding this material were correct: Dropped Pianos is a pleasant and elucidating diversion, but it is nowhere near as satisfying as his more complex finished work.
Samples can be found here.
It took me an embarrassingly long time to finally grasp exactly what was so special about Nathan Amundson's work, as it is very easy to lump Rivulets in with '90s slowcore bands like Codeine after a casual listen.  That "casual" part was my mistake, as work like this demands complete attention to reveal its true depth. We're Fucked took five years to fully gestate and it sounds like it, as Amundson painstakingly distilled his songs to their very essence, leaving only naked honesty and restrained, but unflinching intensity.  The best moments are quietly devastating in a way that would be impossible if the songs were any less stark and glacial, as Nathan makes damn sure I don't miss a single word.
On a fundamental level, many songs on We're Fucked almost have more in common with haiku than they do with contemporary indie rock music.  For one, Amundson's lyrics are very minimal and poetic in both approach and structure, especially shorter pieces like "Interstate" and "I Am."  That similarity goes much deeper than just lyrics though, as Nathan does not constrain himself to expected songwriting conventions: there is rarely an effort to craft distinct, repeating verses or choruses and songs generally end whenever Nathan is done delivering the lyrics.  Many times that means that a song is over in less than two minutes.  For many artists, that would be a bad move, but Amundson is sufficiently gripping and melodic to make it seem entirely appropriate.  I guess that works because many of these songs would be just as powerful as a capella pieces: the music is good, but it serves more as a backdrop rather than as the focus (at least in most cases).
Nathan's perfectionism and extreme self-awareness serve him well here, as hushed poetic musings such as these could easily fall prey to melodrama or tiresome navel-gazing, but they don't.  There is not a false note to be found anywhere.  While there is an undeniable darkness and sensitivity in these pieces ("I'm a sheep among all you fucking wolves"), Amundson's world-weariness feels very honest, earned, and matter-of-fact. Of course, it also helps that Rivulets can unleash a simmering fury when they put their mind to it, as the trio does in "No Talking."  However, the heaviest song on the album–the previously referenced "Sheep Among Wolves"– doesn't need anything more than Nathan's voice and a lazily strummed acoustic guitar to rip my heart out.
It is a bit surprising that this album chronologically follows 2006's more conventionally musical and filled-out You Are My Home.  We're Fucked actually seems far more like a logical progression from 2003's darker Debridement, which suits me just fine: that was an excellent album.  This one is too, as there are a few songs here that easily rank among the best that Amundson has ever written.  Also, it takes some serious guts to write songs this naked, spare, and minimalistic.
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