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Floating silently through space approximately 1.4 billion km from Earth are the rings of Saturn. Composed primarily of ice particles, they appear as simple concentric circles similar to the grooves in a record. Thanks to the intricate play of moons, magnetic fields, and gravity, their structure is actually far more complex, fraught with braids and knots and unexpected waves of debris. Christoph Heemann's Rings also glide and ripple through the ether, but the space in which they float is both inner and outer, and closer to home than Saturn.
The Rings of Saturn gestated in Christoph Heemann's brain for 11 years before seeing the light of day, a fact attested by the many fragmentary samples and juxtaposed sounds that populate both its sides. Among the ambiguous wisps of drone and low-end swells are numerous environmental and musical recordings, which include the chiming of church bells and bird songs, a bass solo, a television game show theme, the bustle of a busy street, and even an aria. The latter, "Lascia ch'io pianga" from Handel's Rinaldo, appears early on the record and illuminates the design hiding within Heemann's seemingly disconnected edits.
Rinaldo is a patchwork opera, stitched together with songs and ideas Handel had written years before it was commissioned, yet it tells a coherent story and is celebrated among his greatest accomplishments. The Rings of Saturn has that same motley constitution, but it doesn't tell a story the way Rinaldo does; instead, it points toward philosophical and abstract concepts. In the buzz of lawnmowers and the barking of distant dogs Christoph uncovers the quiet moods and secret thoughts tucked away in the corners of the human psyche; he transforms universal sounds from public places into particular and private spaces within the folds of the mind.
Christoph doesn't just produce cinematic candy for the ears, he replicates places, and all the thoughts and ideas that come with them; he finds the locations where personal and public experiences meet and then he straddles that line and dwells there, meditating on the richness of their collision. Thanks to a stellar mixing job, he even captures the wind blowing the trees and the fading buzz of cars rumbling distantly down the road, among numerous other small sounds, each of which further the sensation of worldly and psychological immersion characteristic of the entire record. It's important to keep the volume up in order to catch all the little details. Doing so makes the immersion that much more convincing, and it helps the marching band Heemann recorded boom and blow the way it would were it really passing by on the street.
Field recordings provide the essential gravity for Rings, but processed audio like the kind both Mirror and H.N.A.S. have produced resound prominently in the mix as well. The most striking examples appear in the second and fifth pieces; the former is an icy and elegant bass solo accompanied by glistening synthetic waves and the latter is a monumental wash of glacial bellows and metallic whirls. Amidst these secluded sounds and communal happenings are comedic morsels of audio and bizarre shards of sound bent psychedelically into fun-house shapes. These studio recordings both mimic and cut up the quiet, mental density of Heemann's environmental ambience, but they also emphasize collage as Heemann's primary technique.
On The Rings of Saturn, that technique is refined and tempered into perfect shape. By blurring his many penchants together and submitting them to subtle edits, he has produced one of the very best records released under his given name. It is easily his most listenable and enjoyable album since the Lebenserinnerungen Eines Lepidopterologen collection, but it also feels more substantial and considerate. Still, the elegant weightlessness of its character, the way it hovers quietly through a room, is perhaps its greatest virtue. That might also be the reason Christoph decided to name these recordings after the halo around Saturn. Besides their shared beauty, both orbit a massive hub, which is remote and mysterious. One hub is shrouded in violent gas storms and the cold of space, the other by skin and bones. Heemann teases out the contents of the latter, and what he finds is immensely beautiful.
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I discovered Rachel Evan's music in a somewhat roundabout way, as I stumbled into some music videos that she directed while I was searching for something else on Vimeo.  As luck would have it, the first one that I watched happened to be one for her own project and I was intrigued enough by her blurred, melancholy multimedia vision to immediately track down this vinyl reissue of a long-unavailable 2010 cassette.  Notably, Brad Rose has described that cassette as one of the best demos that Digitalis has ever received.  It seems like a lot of people agree with him, as the first printing of this record sold-out before most of us were even aware that it existed (it has since been reprinted though).
One noteworthy aspect of this reissue is that it leaves off one of the six songs from the original cassette: "The Alchemical Dream," a piece which sounds like the beginnings of a particularly ghostly Aphex Twin remix.  While not a bad song, it doesn't quite match the mood of the rest of the album, so scrapping it was a good idea.  Removing an album's weak spots for a reissue is a much, much better idea than bloating it with bonus tracks that weren't good enough to be included the first time around–I hope this practice catches on in a big way (even though it was probably motivated solely by time constraints here).  Another key aspect about this release is that it has one of the most apt titles ever: music does not get much more soft-focus, drifting, and blissed-out than this. This record inarguably seeps.
Evans began her musical career, rather perversly, as a singer-songwriter, a vocation that she successfully eradicated all vestiges of here: her vocals and lyrics are reverb-ed into oblivion and these five pieces are not structured in anything approaching a traditional song-like way (and she certainly never picks up a guitar).  Instead, she constructs her soundscapes from her own multi-tracked, heavily processed, and unintelligible vocals.  Unintelligible in a good way, of course, as they swoop and whisper dreamily over an array of subtle synthesizer pulses and drones.  That pairing sounds quite sublime in the twinkling and meditative opener "Clairvoyance," which is one of the album’s two clear highlights.  The other is the breathy and gently throbbing "Telepathy," which manages to sound both drugged and sexy in all the right ways.
I also enjoyed the lazily burbling "Auto Suggestion," but the other two songs did not connect with me much at all (particularly the 12-minute pastoral krautsynth epic "Magnetism").  Also, as much as I enjoyed the bulk of this record, it never truly grabbed me: it feels like there is something important missing.  Seeping Through the Veil of the Unconscious is pleasant and inspired, but as not revelatory as the buzz surrounding it suggests.  I think that elusive element might be "personality," but that sounds like a more withering statement than it actually is.  Heavy reverb certainly sounds spectral and cool, but it also has a distinct tendency to strip most of the character from vocals: something else needs to fill that void.  Rachel's excellent videos solve that problem beautifully, but her music definitely needs something else if it is going to hold up well on its own.  Of course, it is possible that she has already realized that, as the one song that I've heard from her recent split double-cassette with her husband (Nova Scotian Arms) boasts a pretty great understated hook that weirdly reminds me of Clock DVA.  Regardless, Evans definitely has gotten the tough part out of the way: she has forged a very likable aesthetic all her own and made the world notice.  Now she just needs to finish perfecting it.
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This husband-and-wife duo has been lurking around the cassette underground and amassing an enthusiastic following for several years, but their work has always been a bit too abstract and lo-fi to make a big impression on me.  That has now changed, as 936 is a massive leap forward, artfully shaping the band's noisy, experimental impulses and long-standing love of dub into a batch of killer, bass-heavy, hook-filled songs.  I am absolutely obsessed with this album.
Interestingly, Peaking Lights' first full album (2009's Imaginary Falcons) already had basically all of the elements in place that make 936 so great: Indra Dunis' deadpan melodic vocals, structured songs, strong bass lines, cool instrumental hooks, fluttering electronic weirdness, etc.  The only catch was that they were seldom all in place at the same time (and that the album sounded like it was recorded at the bottom of a damn well).  Essentially, the only thing that has changed is that Dunis and Aaron Coyes have merely found a more optimal way to present their great ideas.
One of the great truths in music is that experimentalism is much more palatable when a song has a good beat, a revelation that Dunis and Coyes seem to have taken to heart.  Aside from the ambient-dragged-through-the-mud instrumental "Synthy" and the wistfully swaying "Key Sparrow," every single song boasts a fat, propulsive bass line and a charmingly ramshackle drum machine beat (or an utterly ravaged live drumbeat). Both tend to be very simple, but very insistent and effective.  One song ("All the Sun That Shines") betrays an obvious reggae influence, but the duo otherwise do a pretty remarkable job in distilling the best elements of Jamaican music into their own unique aesthetic.  At the very least, the music tends to be punky and under-produced in a way that no reggae albums ever are.
Also important is the fact that Aaron and Indra have grown quite a bit as songwriters.  936 is absolutely packed full of great, understated hooks and strong, sultry vocals.  Indra has some serious presence.  Coyes, for his part, displays an impressive intuitive understanding of how to balance rough, damaged, and low-budget sounds with surprisingly deft delay-heavy guitar hooks and muscular bass playing.  Songs this catchy and soulful do not generally come out of the underground–this album sounds like a great lost new wave record slathered in grime and subtly hallucinatory weirdness.  Everything flows nicely without sacrificing any bite or grittiness.  This isn't a clever pastiche or retro-nod, but an inspired and brilliantly executed synthesis: these are sounds that were meant to be together.
Aside from "Marshmallow Yellow," which seems a bit listless to me, I am completely in love with every song on this album.  I probably seem a bit evangelical or over-effusive, but everyone that I have talked to about this album has had a very similar take: 936 is something quite singular and likely to be one the best albums of the year.  My only grievance is that the vinyl version omits two pieces, one of which is the final song, "Summertime."  For the record, "Summertime" is probably the absolute best song on the album.  That leaves me utterly baffled, as I can't imagine 936 ending any other way.  That caveat aside, this is essential.
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The cover art of Craft Spells' debut resembles a blurred close-up of one of the flowers adorning the sleeve of Power, Corruption and Lies. While this album is distinctly less stadium-sized than New Order's first of many masterpieces, it is no less riddled with reverb, nostalgia and vibrant hooks.
Craft Spells is essentially one man, Justin Paul Vallesteros, who spent the winter months of 2009-10 in his bedroom working on the dreamy songs that adorn Idle Labor. The album evokes both the warmth of bouncy Balearic pop and the irresistible glow of mid-'80s New Order. Justin's songs have a distinctly handcrafted feel to them, yet he has pop smarts—it's easy to tell he has sanded down any possible rough edges on these songs, streamlined their synth and guitar melodies, and submerged them in bright, hazy production. Most of his lyrics are riddled with the nervous joy and excitement (and, as the album progresses, the uncertain ache) of newfound romance: "As we walked into the night / you kissed me and it felt right / all the lights follow closely behind / 'cause you and I will hold out 'til the morning light." Like many of my favorite lyrics, they often sound worthless on paper, but work well in context because they are so instantly relatable.
Idle Labor may not hit on anything groundbreaking, but I'm hardly bothered—I haven't heard '80s-styled new romanticism this evocative in some time. I want to see how Craft Spells evolve in the coming years (especially with a full touring band), but for now, this is a solid debut that I'll be playing often as summer approaches. Its best songs, most notably the massively catchy "After the Moment," are shot through with the starry-eyed bliss that Sumner & Co. perfected long ago—and all the better for it.
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The last year has seen many of hip hop's current biggest stars—Kanye West, Rick Ross, Drake—releasing lavish, star-studded, overcooked albums. In a perfect world, perhaps somebody like J Rocc could reverse this trend. His first collection of original music on Stones Throw is an effective antidote to the opulence and ego trips that too often infect mainstream hip hop.
For a DJ, turntablist, and producer with over two decades of experience under his belt, J Rocc doesn't command a lot of public attention. He cut his teeth with Orange County turntable crew The World Famous Beat Junkies, which he founded in 1992. The Beat Junkies released three volumes of music in the '90s and have backed and performed alongside Jurassic 5, Dilated Peoples, Cypress Hill and Peanut Butter Wolf, among others. He has served as DJ for both Madlib and J Dilla over the years. Naturally, he also teamed with both as the unheralded third member of Jaylib, their acclaimed collaboration that resulted in Champion Sound, one of independent hip hop's finest album-length statements.
J Rocc's latest release is not a DJ mix, a beats compilation or a mixtape—rather, it's his first full-length album of original music. Some Cold Rock Stuf should not surprise those familiar with the Stones Throw aesthetic of laid-back, primarily instrumental hip hop that is so obviously smoked out, it nearly conjures up the scent of a burning joint while it's playing. This is not a far cry from Madlib's modus operandi, but J Rocc keeps his album leaner and more focused than the slew of Medicine Show LPs and mixes that were released last year. To his credit, J Rocc has created a cohesive album that holds my attention front to back.
Some Cold Rock Stuf is packed with instrumental hip-hop breaks and beats that are strewn with soul, funk, jazz and world music samples. The album flows beautifully due to J Rocc's use of call-out hooks between several songs ("Yo yo yo yo, that was fresh—but bust a sloooow beat!") and its smart sequencing, with five short cuts that draw me in before it transitions into longer, more developed songs on the flipside. There's a good deal of variety between and within tracks, my favorite of which, "Chasing the Sun," even announces its intentions before it starts: "[J Rocc] thinks that an album should always have at least one slow [...] quiet moment, and this song is that. If you're not in that sort of a mood, you can always take it off." (I actually took his advice and skipped it the first time, to my detriment.)
Notably, Stones Throw has also packaged a "mystery disc" of untitled J Rocc material with Some Cold Rock Stuf—the mystery being that one of three possible bonus discs is included at random with each copy of the album. Mine runs 17 minutes, and it keeps the album's vibe rolling with ten brief tracks that seem like sketches from J Rocc's notebook, ideas that he could have fleshed out and included on the album had he developed them a bit more.
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Korean born artist Nam June Paik is widely credited as the founder ofvideo art and for over 40 years his work and performances have crossedpaths with the Fluxus group and such experimental luminaries as JohnCage, Karlheinz Stockhausen and Joseph Beuys. "Works" is the first CDrelease of Paik's music and it contains 5 tracks spanning 21 years andranging from 20 seconds to nearly 29 minutes. The first, "PreparedPiano for Merce Cunningham" from 1977, is the lengthiest and is muchmore atmospheric than melodic. Paik (rhymes with 'cake') improvises onand moves about a de-tuned piano, the majority of the piece composed ofdampened lower register notes with an eerie timbre that resembles thatof gently struck steel drums. From the 1958-61 period, "Hommage A JohnCage", "Simple" and "Etude for Pianoforte" are all short hand splicedtape collages. 'Samples' of varying length - prepared piano, sped-upsongs, crying babies, Paik screaming - seem to be randomly, yetskillfully, juxtaposed. "Duett Paik/Takis" is just that, about 26minutes worth of Paik improvising on piano while Greek kinetic artistTakis performs on his sculptures. By 'perform' I mean sporadicallyslamming pieces of metal while Paik softly, non verbally hums/sings andquietly plays a pretty but sad song, never breaking concentrationdespite the very jarring interruptions. It makes for a very strangeeffect in that an austere beauty is forced to cohabit a space withindustrial noise, neither apparently mindful of the other. Oddlyenough, for the final 6 minutes Takis audibly bows out and Paikswitches to what I'm guessing is a harpsichord for a much brighterconclusion. While the 3 shorter pieces are yet another reminder thatsomeone else has already done most everything that's being done todaymany years ago, the 2 longer pieces are truly, curiously compellingworks of music/art that bear repeated listening.
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The life expectancy of a good record label with a strong identity isapproximately ten years. Warp has certainly experienced a substantialamout of success but with the mismanagement and poor decision-makingthat resulted in this particular release, their days are trulynumbered, if not completely over. The word on the street is that Warpwas interested in Cex, a fine musician of outstanding merit andincredible talents. Not only does he do a superb job of both originaland derivative cut-up fuckery, but he's an amazing entertainer.Unfortunately when Warp finally saw young Mr. Kidwell perform (mostspecifically rap), they pulled their offer. Four Tet was approached byWarp as well this past year, but after a mysterious Warp field trip toNYC, that offer was pulled too. Incidentally, the latest Four Tetfull-lengther, 'Pause' came out on Domino and is not only alreadystrongly poised for top ten critics and fans choices worldwide (forbest release this year), but Nike has even paid for music to be used intheir advertisements in the USA. So what did Warp end up sinking theirmoney into? The superstar power of Vincent fucking Gallo—you know, thatguy who was a model for some clothing company and directed/acted in"Buffalo 66"? [Reality check, boys: to test the true mark of a cash-cowsuperstar, ask your mom who they are.] At most this disc is a reallysad attempt at retrospective late 1960's Velvet Underground demos witha weak man-bitch shamelessly trying to emulate Jimmy Scott. The albumhas undeniably horrific production, untuned guitars and dreadfullyrics. What the fuck is up with words like "honey bunny my baby girlfriend / sweet heart my sugar girl friend...oh darling you're mydarling"??? At 39, Gallo's writings skills are exponentially worse thansomebody like Ben Lee's circa 16 years old. Unfortunately unlike albumsby William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy, this disc isn't even patheticallyhumorous enough to be considered irony. It's not even sincere enough tobe a "Warp release for girls." It's plainly an embarassment on allparties involved. At this point, the best Warp can hope for is to selltheir company and become absorbed into theA&M/Island/DefJam/Mercury group, ditch their managing staff andcall it a day. I'll bet every penny in my pocket that at least when theinevitable happens, Gallo's 'When' will surely never be pressed again.
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The new EP from Mira Calix comes with 2 tracks. One by Mira Calixherself, and one Andrea Parker remix from her first album. The MiraCalix track is divided into four parts, and starts out with roughmachinery sounds and a dark static flowing from side to side. A sawwave and beautiful voice then coats these sounds, accompanied by a slowclassical piano melody. The machinery and static morph into a complexrhythm at the very top of the sound range, with a low bass beat in thecenter. The soft voices make sounds that compliment the saw-wave synthmelody very nicely. They warmed my heart. After the beat ends, a flutemelody and a dirty resonance (much like a storm or crickets) arrives.This is coupled by sounds of flapping water, like a seal clapping.Weird stuff. This track is very, very, very peaceful, and could bringme up when I'm at my lowest low. Parker's remix is darker and more beatoriented, and while it's ok, it doesn't evolve over the course of thetrack and gets old.
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Vote Robot are Canadian duo Scott August and Kevin Rivard and "In MeormNA" is their second album, first on CD, for Scratch Recordings.Thirteen mostly 1 to 3 minute tracks, all with seemingly non-sensicaltitles, provide about 33 minutes total of sparse glitch-flow. A littlesticker on the jewel case proudly declares "NO laptops, sequencers,samplers, drumboxes, etc." so I'm assuming these are improvised pieces.What's more pretentious - declaring what you do use or what you don'tuse to make music? Judging from the disc's cute and cuddly animalthemed artwork, I don't think Vote Robot take themselves all thatseriously, unlike, say, the Rastermusic posse. The sound palette isvaried but maintains an anonymity. It sounds like line noises, foreverechoing input/output pops, dismembered tones/drones/notes, morse codeblips, the gentle shuffling of small objects, etc. It's very warm andeasygoing and Oval-like at times, only more 'musical' and, ultimately,listenable. A few tracks are a tad noisier than the rest but certainlynot enough to disrupt the pleasantness of it all.
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When I heard talk about this, I was rather excited. It seemed to bepart of a collaborative effort — perhaps with four contributors allbasing music around selected Hebrew prayers. Arthur Baker was allegedlyat the helm of this project, with a superstar team which includedengineer Steve Albini, and a completion to be mastered at Abbey Road.But what happened in the meantime? Some plug must have been pulledsomewhere and us, the consumers are left with this $6 remnant whichmimics a dangling participle. Mogwai's one-track single here stretchesabout twenty minutes, and if you've seen them live at all in the lastyear, you've heard it already — it's the very last track they've beendoing in concert — you know, the one that gave me hearing damage in myleft ear in Boston and set the PA on fire in Baltimore. The song isinstrumental and starts off quiet and peaceful, with a repeated themeand builds and builds and builds, to a blurry, gritty climax. Strangelyenough, however, there seems to be so much compression performed onthis in the mastering process that it feels like it came in on the samevolume it goes out in. It's not -bad- per se and it sure as hell rocksout, yet on it's own, I'm rather disappointed. I feel it's sort ofmissing something. This song would be great at the end of this year's"Rock Action" LP or on a compilation with four other remotely anthemic20 minute-long pieces. I'm going to suggest this item only for the bigfans who can't live without a recording of their concert finale.
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The common misconception about punk is that no one knew how to play.Truth is, many a band were solid from the start and became all the moreaccomplished with time. A good example is the turbulent, many membered,up and down, off and on again run of The Damned (which I'm a longtimefan of). And here we are a quarter century later, five years after thelast album, with 13 new studio tunes. Finally, something new to add tothe live set lists. Alongside vocalist Dave Vanian, fellow foundingmember Captain Sensible is finally back in the fold. Vanian's richvoice sounds as good as ever as he indulges in his gothic silver screenfantasies while the good Captain indulges in his own Floyd meetsHendrix guitar stylings. Monty Oxy Moron adds plenty of keys andbassist Patricia Morrison (Vanian's wife, ex-Gun Club and Sisters ofMercy) and new and improved drummer Pinch provide a strong rhythmsection with backing vocals by all. "Grave Disorder" not only soundsfresh and new, it sounds like The Damned - that colorful mix of sillyfun, romantic horror, melodic pop and punk rock. They sound great andevery track is thumbs up. Lyrically they once again take the piss outof politicians, including barely elected Bush in "W", and religiousfanatics, as well as internet junkies, John Lennon and Michael Jackson."Democracy?" and "Would You Be So Hot (If You Weren't Dead?)" areinstant classics with irresistible melodies. "Song.com" features somemean organ soloing and "Absinthe" some theremin atmosphere by Vanian."Amen" winds down nicely with several minutes of beach side samples andsynth. Captain's "Neverland", originally from his '96 solo album "MadCows & Englishmen", is re-recorded with Vanian on vocals. "Beautyof The Beast" is a classic Vanian piano ballad circa "Phantasmagoria",a fitting conclusion. It was worth the wait! Get the gold logo embosseddigipack version with 12 page lyric insert if you can. The Damned areon tour in the States through early November then on to the UK for therest of the year.
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