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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This odd little multicolored 7" record puts these two relatively young projects together, and demonstrates just how diverse the so called "noise" scene can be. While both mix elements of contemporary drone, Locrian layers and moulds sound into structured chaos, while Katchmare focuses on simple, singular sounds to create an oddly toned piece of noise.
The Locrian track "Drosscape"” first begins with bass drone and modulated guitar feedback, building tension before dark, clanging sounds and processed screams stab sharply into the track, followed by a traditional wall of electronic noise and guitar pedal abuse that straddles the more subtle underpinnings, taking what was once a guitar drone track into harsh noise territory. Just as some headbanging loop-centric elements begin to really dominate the track, it immediately drops to complete silence.
The Katchmare side sticks with stuttering overdriven noises, early on resembling the loping chug of an old lawnmower before amping up into the traditional overdriven harsh noise style, but rather than sustaining the blast, it begins to uncomfortably cut out, fade to silence before roaring back in, or get chopped up into tiny delays of sound that lead me to question when the track was going to actually end.
If I had to pick a side, it'd go to the Locrian one because it has a wider array of sound and a more dramatic build, but Katchmare's track is a good piece of raw noise crunch that sometimes is just needed to aid in digestion and clearing off shelves, so it is by no means ignorable.
Originally released a bit over ten years ago, this third (and final) album from the Sutcliffe Jugend side project had always been one of the lost masterpieces, as far I was concerned. It was the most fully realized work of dark, anger fueled hate rock that the band put out, and ranks up there with the best work of somewhat similar bands like Swans, Godflesh, and Big Black. Time has been kind to the disc, which sounds just as powerful and forceful today as it was upon release, and now it is much more widely available.
Long before starting with Brainwashed, I used to run a personal site that did music reviews, which transitioned to a short-lived webzine. After my review of the first album, Mindshaft, bassist Gary Kean sent me a copy of this album upon release, which was on his Purity label. By far, I received more comments and emails about this disc than anything else I reviewed at the time, mostly asking where I got the album. Finally, Relapse has reissued it with three extra tracks, which are culled from the Completion disc of demos and unreleased tracks.
Bodychoke’s previous albums were great, but still somewhat flawed: Mindshaft was too tentative, and Five Prostitutes was too sprawling and uneven. Cold River Songs, on the other hand, was a fully realized album that incorporated many different elements, yet felt like a cohesive work. The first two tracks alone exemplify this: "Control" opens with a barrage of pure, raw guitar noise that wasn't far removed from the contemporaneous Sutcliffe Jugend work, which segued into cello, then pummeling drums, and screamed vocals from Kevin Tomkins.
The next track, "Cold River Song," is a much longer ten minute piece that opens with some gentle guitar before the drums kick in, the track remaining a contrast of clean guitar and cello, but at the same time blown out noise bass and guitar. Structurally it builds in tension, the calm vocals throughout most of the verses are punctuated with the screamed choruses. It all builds to a crescendo that is first eerily calm, and then unhinged and violent, before closing beautifully.
"Your Submission" is another track that emphasizes this duality: it focuses initially on cello, unconventional guitar sounds over a quiet rhythm and the calmer vocals of Paul Taylor before the track explodes into screams, rapid fire drums, and pure guitar noise. The chaos carries over into "Victim," which has a cello lead over guitar squall and tribal drumming.
The penultimate track (on the original album) "Ideal Home" is perhaps the most significant departure here. Not only does it remain a slow, reserved track driven by cello and bass, but also represents the most drastic differences lyrically. Most of the album is thematically linked to general themes of misogyny and murder of the libertinage sort, but rather than similar bands (noise or otherwise) singular focus, here it is the insecurities and weaknesses of the fictional criminal(s) that are the topic. Original album closer "Aftermath" is another dramatic, mostly instrumental piece that meshes careful restraint with dissonant squall to great effect, but remains second to the 16 minute feedback behemoth "The Red Sea," that closed Five Prostitutes.
The three bonus tracks here are obviously drawn from the same sessions and would have not been out of place on the original release. "White Light Killer" is a rapid-fire rhythm track lead by distorted bass that blows out into raw noise at the choruses, structurally and conceptually similar to "Control," but it still stands on its own. The level of polish on this demo makes me think it may have been intended for the rumored album on American Recordings (yes, Rick Rubin's label) that was never finished, and the band disintegrated. "Woman Unkind" is a contrast between extremely sparse instrumentation and quiet vocals and sheets of jagged noise guitar, and its thin lo-fi production is a strength rather than a weakness. "Trial" feels like a companion piece to "Victim," its early Killing Joke like drums, distorted bass, and cello mixed with Paul Taylor's screaming vocals.
While the disc is purported to be remastered, I am skeptical. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing, because the original issue sounded, and still sounds great. The bonus tracks have a general roughness to them, which is not surprising given they were originally demos. Relapse's presentation, however, leaves something to be desired. The inclusion of the full lyrics is a definite bonus, and it is always reassuring to know that my interpretation of the words wasn't too far off, but the art design smacks too much of trying to market it as "metal" and “extreme." The faux crime scene black and white photography and bold, block fonts aren't as pleasing as the original pressing's black and white cover painting and sparse layout.
It's nitpicky, but my love for this album would no doubt lead me to pick out flaws. For the average person, none of this will matter, because the music is the most important element, and that is entirely spot-on. The more important thing is that this album is once again seeing the light of day, and hopefully it will not remain as unknown and unappreciated for the next ten years.
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A single track live collaboration between the two New York composers, this was recorded in Portugal last year and focuses on the duo's interest in the composite of piano and digital music, both in the sense of laptop processing piano, and as the two working in harmony as different instruments. The result is a beautiful collage of sounds that never sounds like to disparate technologies in competition, but working together in a complex piece of art.
For the performance, both artists sat together at a grand piano, both playing the instrument and their own respective laptops, while Kirschner focused on the keys, Deupree manipulated the strings of the piano, causing it to make uncharacteristic and unnatural tones.The piece opens with soft electronic washes, digital strings, and traditional sounding piano, an ambient electronic sound that is not too far removed from the likes of Tangerine Dream.
Eventually the more electronic elements slink away to put the focus on music box like notes, piano, and electronic chimes, then allowing ambient synth passages and light, crackling static to take the spotlight.This is later met with the sounds of muted piano strings and reversed delays, leading to film-like tension that is never overpowering, but definitely noteworthy.
The sustained passages of tone and twinkling piano dominate the middle portion of the piece, quiet and distant sounds stretching out into the frigid air.Alien noises enter to duet with the piano, gong like synthetic pulses and warm staticy bits round out this part of the performance.This is supplanted by higher end electronic buzzing and more defined, untreated piano playing swelling to the surface to become the focus.
As the piece heads towards its conclusion, a stronger static buzzing noise takes over before the ending, in which the layers of piano and electronics are slowly stripped away, leaving only the most rudimentary tones and light, vinyl-like static elements remaining before dropping to a series of stuttering rhythmic pulses, perhaps the final digital fragments of the sound being drawn out.
Throughout its 36-minute duration, this collaboration shifts and flows, but it stays rather similar throughout.There are no drastic changes, for better or worse.While I personally tend to prefer long form compositions like this to have some elements that completely shock or disorient, I don’t think that would have worked in this setting, which is based more on subtle beauty than dissonant exercises in laptop abuse.
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Harry Smith's 1952 Anthology of American Folk Music has long been considered the Holy Grail of Americana and was an enormous influence on an entire generation of folkies (including John Fahey and Bob Dylan). Art Rosenbaum's Art of Field Recording series also plunges deep into Greil Marcus's "Old, Weird America" but with some inspired and welcome differences. While the impact of Smith's archival work is impossible to repeat, Rosenbaum's work is similarly essential.
Dust-to-Digital
The most immediately striking thing about Art Of Field Recording is the sound quality. Smith's Anthology was compiled entirely (and somewhat illegally) of transfers from scratchy 78s using 1950s technology. While this obviously could not be avoided, it resulted in a great deal of hiss that made Anthology sound more like A Very Important Historical Document than a collection of absolutely great and listenable songs. Rosenbaum's field recordings, on the other hand, are crystal clear, which imbues the tracks with presence and immediacy. Also, the occasional intrusion of outside sounds (such as crickets) inarguably enhances the backwoods magic herein.
The most important difference, however, is the focus. Harry Smith's intent was to preserve great recordings by roots music titans like Mississippi John Hurt, Blind Lemon Jefferson, and The Carter Family. Field Recording shifts the focus to the actual songs themselves: most of the artists represented here are unknown, semi-professional musicians (I believe Scapper Blackwell is the biggest name here). In fact, some of the performers were stumbled upon though what Rosenbaum calls "shotgun" collecting—showing up at a strange town and just asking around to see if there were any old-time musicians around. Furthermore, many of the performers were recorded near the end of their lives (many look downright cadaverous in the accompanying book's photographs). As such, missed notes, rusty and off-key singing, and confused monologues are not at all uncommon. Rather than detract from the songs, they add an endearing element of charm and intimacy to the proceedings. Many tracks evoke the sense of sitting on a porch listening to a drunk grandfather belting out songs he remembers from when he used to work in a train yard.
Rosenbaum's decision to include pre- and post-song banter borders on genius. Now-deceased catfisherman Jack Bean oozes gruff charisma and effortlessly steals the show with his salty proclamations, particularly when he laments that his voice sounds like a "busted bunghole" or expresses concern that women might be corrupted by his off-color lyrics. Other times, the performers provide amusing asides, useful contextualizations, or welcome insight into their character. I was particularly stuck by how some performers were somewhat incoherent and unintelligible when speaking, yet completely clear and focused when launching into a song they probably hadn't sung for thirty years.
The set is divided into four themed CDs : Survey, Religious, Accompanied Songs and Ballads, and Unaccompanied Songs and Ballads. All four are uniformly excellent and intelligently sequenced, but I most enjoyed the unaccompanied songs. The raw, naked acappella performances were often uniquely stirring and a welcome respite from homogenizing modern recording and artifice. The set comes with a 96-page book too, which is both comprehensive and intermittently fascinating (particularly the pictures).
Stylistically, Field Recording covers a lot of ground: country, acoustic blues, hillbilly folk, English ballads, cajun accordian dances, incendiary fiddle showcases, work songs, slave songs, gospel, and many others. The highlights are too numerous to recount- there are very, very few weak tracks in this collection (and even they usually have character). If pressed, however, I'd say my favorite track is Bobby McMillon's "The Devil Song", a rousing sing-along about a man whose wife gets taken to hell, only to be promptly returned (it contains the immortal couplet "I been the devil 'bout all my life, but I never been in hell til I met your wife").
Over the course of 107 songs, Field Recording evokes nearly every mood or emotion a song can elicit: some are spooky, some are joyous, some are sad and beautiful, and some are quite funny. Invariably, however, they all pointedly illustrate that a timeless and well-written song can sound good no matter who is singing it and highlight the sad fact that regional idiosyncracies and musical traditions have largely vanished from our culture. Thankfully, given that Rosenbaum has spent over fifty years tirelessly and lovingly preserving as much as possible, I am sure that we can look forward to future volumes. Dust-to-Digital has not let me down yet.
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The first stateside release by 4AD's Minotaur Shock is a bizarre and frustrating assemblage of disparate elements that cannot happily co-exist (Philip Glass, Frank Zappa, Italian house music, etc.). While often garish and annoying, Amateur Dramatics nevertheless features what is easily one of the best dance tracks to be released in 2008.
David Thomas's career trajectory has been an odd one: Minotaur Shock's first album (Chiff Chaffs and Willow Warblers) was a pleasant and generally well-reviewed foray into the "folktronica" genre. Since then, he has been increasingly weird, self-indulgent, and freewheelingly eclectic. Of course, he has also become much more inventive and skilled as an arranger, but his muse has led him into a stylistic no-man's land that will likely appeal to very few people. As such, Amateur Dramatics was only given a digital release from 4AD and seemed unlikely to be released physically until Audio Dregs stepped in.
The Minotaur Shock website gives a very amusing account of it all (4AD spends "a lot of money on lavish felt-lined gilded box-sets made by nimble-fingered faerie folk who live in the woods," so artists with a limited audience "do not command the same kind of influence over the Powers That Be and their kingdom of jewel-case goblins"). It also features an innovative sliding scale for download pricing based upon factors such as how taxing the track was for his hard drive, how annoying it was to mix, and whether or not the song is danceable.
Purportedly, there is an underlying concept to this album, but Thomas will not reveal what it is. I am hoping that he deliberately set out to musically mimic the heavy-handedness and over-emoting of amateur theater (I base this on the album title, of course). The album's best moments reveal that Thomas has an impressive knack for melody and nuance, so I have to believe that the low points (most of the first half of the album) are willfully annoying and created in a spirit of puckish glee.
The album's centerpiece is "This Plane Is Going To Fall," an achingly beautiful collaboration with vocalist Anna-Lynne Williams. It is absolutely brilliant and easily eclipses the rest of the album. Also, it is unique here both for adhering to a straightforward song structure and for the inclusion of a vocalist. Every single aspect of the song is compelling: William's cooing, breathy vocals are chopped and layered sublimely; the central synth riff is cool and infectious; and intertwining layers of melancholy violins are piled on as the song builds. Collaboration clearly suits Thomas well.
Unfortunately, "Plane" is not representative of the current Minotaur Shock vision. Nevertheless, there are some other excellent and memorable moments buried near the end of the album. "My Burr" couples a warm synth progression with heartbreaking layers of sad violins (Thomas "wanted to create melodies that snaked in and out like dancing cobras, creating patterns with their swaying scaled bodies as their eyes transfixed like sparkling emeralds".). It is also one of the few times on the album where woodwinds are used in a non-jarring manner. "BATS," immediately following, is a dark and lurching industrial piece. Although it intermittently sounds like a video-game soundtrack, both the layers of noise and glitchery billowing up through the mix and the mangled-sounding melody work beautifully. Eventually, the harshness dissipates and the song seamlessly ends on a melodic and robotically rhythmic chorus of sorts.
The remaining tracks are a mixed bag. Sometimes Thomas's kitchen-sink eclecticism works, frequently it results in something that sounds like a neo-classical Fatboy Slim. The track that fills me with the greatest amount of hostility is probably "Accelerated Footage" (although "Am Dram" also makes me grind my teeth). It is based on a Yaz-worthy burbling synth motif, but that is quickly shat upon by an insistent, misbegotten, and ham-fisted saxophone and violin melody that is reminiscent of the most ghastly moments of Philip Glass's 1986 pop fiasco Songs From Liquid Days.
I simply do not understand Thomas's current aesthetic at all- there are many moments of beauty and complexity on this album that are crassly sabotaged by big, dumb dance beats. I am enthusiastically hoping that David loses interest in Italian Disco/House or finds a worthy collaborator to rein him in a bit before his next release. At the very least, he needs to learn that clarinets and techno are not complementary. Minotaur Shock's deeply skewed sensibility, meticulous orchestration, and singular vision has great potential and it would be a shame if lack of self-editing caused the world to stop paying attention.
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Pooling members from inside the Toronto improv scene, Blah Blah 666 remain an iconoclastic outfit. Their chosen name and album title belie their relaxed spontaneity. Starting with a straightforward overture featuring soft vocals and slide guitar, their music quickly gives way to unhinged time signatures, consistently defying my expectations at ever turn. Their solipsistic approach to musical styles reminded me of staying up all night with good friends, and the slap happy feeling that comes from being sleep deprived.
This music is silly and unabashedly so, but like all things humorous the laughter comes as a revelation of truth, and with it, beauty. Buckets of mariachi and haphazard bits of klezmer are strained through a filter that leaves only the barest bones of structure; some of the players build upon it, while others work to break it down. Hawaiian steel guitar and melodica impart exotic tropical flavors while old boards quietly groan in the background.
The band move all over a musical world map, taking me into territory I wasn’t familiar with as they traversed slow to swinging passages. By the end I had thrown out the travel guide I was using and navigated my way by instinct, much as they seemed to be doing. Their sense of direction was as finely honed as their musicianship. Even when I was disoriented by the slapdash arrangements, or overwhelmed by the pervading sense of mania, I never got lost.
“Distracted by the Moon” is a carefree ramble halfway through the album, and the only song with lyrics. They take on the same featherbrained quality of the music. “I’m mistaken for a fool/when I fall down from tripping on my shoes.” I can sympathize. Sirens wail in the background, and some of the instruments are purposefully out of key, but only just so, leaving me enough room to feel disconcerted, but not uncomfortable, as I stumble down the streets with the singer, my eyes glued to the glowing orb hanging there.
There are a few familiar landmarks and guideposts moving through the songs. “La Cucaracha” is one of them. In the hands of Blah Blah 666 it sounds as if the insect has been sprayed with an unhealthy dose of RAID. Dancing frantically, it is about to die. I can hear its legs starting to twitch. Spraying roaches with chemicals has never been more fun.
When the belly hurts, it is hard to breathe, and you start to cry because the laughter has been hitting hard, I know it is time to go to bed. So does this band. The music would easily grate on my nerves if left to run the whole possible 80 minute course of a CD, but at 41 minutes of rollicking fun they know when to stop.
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As much as I enjoy the music of KTL, there is a feeling that having heard one album, you have heard them all. This album bucks this trend to some degree; there is a feeling that that parameters that Stephen O'Malley and Peter Rehberg work within are widening. The darkness that permeates KTL's music is blacker than ever but the music has more gravity, pulling the listener in with more force than KTL have shown before.
Editions Mego (EU) / Daymare Recordings (JP)
As a two piece with such specific ways of playing their instruments, it is difficult to expand the sound of the project. While O’Malley mainly sticks to tremolo-picked guitar playing that resembles an arctic wind more than music he is now pulling in some of the staccato playing that he incorporated in Khanate. Rehberg is also expanding the tones he wrests from his electronics resulting in a more charged atmosphere. As a result, IV is less soundtrack-like than the previous KTL albums which works in the album’s favor (only “Eternal Winter” falls into a traditional KTL style).
Without doubt, “Paratrooper” is one of the most crushing pieces of music. The sputtering synthesiser that opens the piece bring to mind Throbbing Gristle’s meaner side and before long O’Malley’s guitar, shards rather than chords, drags the music into even bleaker places. What makes this so much heavier than anything else KTL have put their name to is the presence of Atsuo from Boris. His drumming adds a huge, bestial pulse to the shrieking assault of O’Malley and Rehberg. It is easy to mistake the clamor for Armageddon.
For those willing to spend a little extra on an import version of the album, the Japanese edition on Daymare Records contains a bonus disc of demos (originally released as a very limited edition CD-R last year). The recordings are, by their very nature, rougher than the ones on the finished album. They do not capture the same sense of dread that the Jim O’Rourke production does on the final product (although they still sound pretty sick). These demos and are worth paying the few extra bucks for especially as the collector prices that the original release goes for are far too expensive.
As I discovered with their soundtrack to The Phantom Carriage, their older style works best as an accompaniment to visuals (and this is one thing that is lacking from the earlier releases). Due to the music on IV behaving less like some form of black metal soundscape, it is a lot stronger than the duo’s previous albums. It feels like a standalone album and not like part of a larger picture and because of this, I am already listening to it a lot more than I have listened to KTL’s other work.
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While Tuareg guitar music continues to gather acclaim through groups like Tinarawen, the wider context of poverty and rebellion in Niger and Mali remains obscured from the outside world. In response, Sublime Frequencies continues its vinyl series documenting Tuareg music in the Nigerian city of Agadez.
As backstories go, Group Bombino's is as hardscrabble as they come. In late 2007, fighting between the government forces and Tuareg rebels cut off northern Niger from the rest of the world. Fearing political violence, Group Bombino leader Omara Moctar went into hiding. The only road to Agadez was mined and visitors have only been allowed entrance to the city by armed escort. Dire as the situation is, it makes assessing Group Bombino's music a difficult task. Tuareg guitar music is political, an expression of the dissatisfaction festering in refugee camps and the impoverished cities bordering the Sahara. I'm sure the message is powerful to Bombino's home audience, but being ignorant of the language and unstudied in the region's history, I can't fully experience that aspect. The roots of this conflict stretch back decades, and it’s impossible to understand it with just liner notes and a few news stories to guide you. Cultural distance shouldn't prevent anyone from listening to this record though, because it's one of Sublime Frequencies' best so far. Even when you put the context aside, Group Bombino is still compelling.
The record is divided into acoustic and electric sides completely different from each in mood and fidelity. The first half was recorded by the band in the desert, and the mournful acoustic pieces preformed are evocative of nomadic solitude. (Even camels can be heard grunting the background.) The songs are gentle but always have a strong rhythmic pulse of chanting vocals and handclaps. The style is called "dry guitar" in the local vernacular, and the name fits well with the dusky, metallic tone of the playing.
The second half of the album was recorded live by Hisham Mayet at a wedding. Listeners acquainted with Sublime Frequencies’ raw, hands off approach will be familiar with the din kicked up here. The guitars are cranked up to full volume, backed with a booming, rubbery bass and furious drumming. The term Tuareg Blues is used sometimes to describe this music, and for Group Bombino it actually makes sense. The extended guitar solos and thick rhythmic chug on "Boughassa" seem impossibly related to '60s blues rock rave-ups by Jimi Hendrix or the Yardbirds. Bombino's playing is on par with the virtuosos of that time, but without the aristocratic pretensions that come with such comparisons.
Thanks to Sublime Frequencies for putting out music that may have just as well vanished from the face of the earth. As I have said elsewhere, it's easy for us to assume that the bulk of the world's music is available through distros, file-sharing groups, and specialty shops. These tools may ease some of the boundaries that politics and distance put up, but the hard work of documenting and releasing music is still needed. Critics sometimes accuse Sublime Frequencies of voyeurism and cultural appropriation, but Mayet shows an obvious affection and respect for Group Bombino and the Tuareg people that transcends such lazy claims. Amongst endless chatter about the failing music industry or the state of arts funding in America, Group Bombino is making music under difficulties harder than you or I will ever experience. They deserve to be heard, war and poverty be damned.
Released in the spring of last year, this album was well received but didn’t get enough lasting credit to make it into the annual retrospectives that followed. Listeners hungry for a new take on loop based ambiance should take notice, since Ecstatic Sunshine bucks the plodding and formless conventions of lesser artists working in the genre.
When they began around 2005, Ecstatic Sunshine first attracted attention by fusing nimble arpeggiated guitar licks with punkish blasts of distorted strumming. The band’s energetic playing aligned with fellow Balitmore artists Dan Deacon and Ponytail. Although they don’t share the hyper-color giddiness of those acts, there is a positivity and vigor to Ecstatic Sunshine. Way doesn’t have the spastic moments of the band’s previous records, but it is still about as light hearted as minimalist guitar composition can get.
“B” gets the album off to a rolling start. Guitarists Dustin Wong and Matthew Papich fire off in unison, and then veer off from each other into shifting counterpoint. The tempo gradually slows, and from there the duo stack up chiming notes and clicking harmonics that twist and resonate as they are multipied and repeated. It all builds into undulating mass that slowly disintigrates until all that’s left are silvery tones shimmering under a tremolo. The second track, “Herrons,” is a single warbling loop that is slowly weathered and dirtied by shifting clouds of hiss and fuzz. Since it lacks the dynamism of the album’s opener, the piece feels more like an interlude than a song, though it’s over seven minutes long. The bright mood returns with the third and last piece, “Perrier.” Crystal clear strumming drifts in and out over a bed of percolating notes, until the guitars gradually morph together for a final triumphant riff that’s repeated again and again until waves of distortion and reverb wash it away.
Last summer, my band had the good fortune to open for Ecstatic Sunshine while they toured behind this record. Just prior to that, Wong had left to play full time in Ponytail, but the group wasn't hobbled at all. Papich had gathered two new members to play samples and drum pads, and they seemed fully integrated into the group. Their music was just as intricate as it had ever been, but more chaotic and heavy. The synthetic percussion gave the spindly guitar a dubbed out quality that was disorienting in the best way possible. Finding out how quickly Ecstatic Sunshine could successfully reinvent themselves is what sold me on the band. As much as I like Way, I’m looking forward to what they will do next even more.
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Apparently the first time around just wasn't good enough. Rune Grammofon, in celebration of another five years of great music, has decided to rerelease another gorgeous hardcover art book with a two CD compilation for perusal accompaniment. Initially planned as a revision of the original and now legendarily hard to track down first edition, the second edition instead scrapes the palette clean and builds from the ground up with a new design layout and art by Kim Hiorthøy and 25 mostly exclusive tracks from many of the label's favorites.
Great music and artwork aside, perhaps the most impressive facet of this collection is in its statement as a physical artifact. It is well recorded that as digitized music increases in accessibility, the market for musical objects diminishes, a trait which founder Rune Kristoffersen speaks to in one of the two interviews present within the book: "if we can't, or if labels, majors or indies, can't release products that people will pay for, we do have a problem." Rather than stand back and complain about it however, Kristoffersen stares the future down with product such as this, whose very tactility is one of its most rewarding aspects. In his own words, "try stealing this thieving bastards."
So just what is it that can't be stolen here? Well for starters, the two CDs are packed with Rune Grammofon allstars, each of which has shared in the creation of the label's legacy as one of the foremost purveyors of independently minded music today. Scorch Trio's "Hys," with its maniacally energized bass, drums and guitar lineup, continues to recast jazz improvisation into post-Hendrixian algorithms while Food and Nils Petter Molvær's "Tukpa," recasts Jon Hassell's treated trumpet environments as skittering washes of boreal light writhing above the arctic tundra. The stark, near ECM piano and drum interplay of In the Country's "Ashes to Ashes" glides gently along as it explores the spaces between Bill Evans, Paul Bley and Claude Debussy.
That each of these pieces can be so divergent in nature andcoexist so gracefully is testament to the label's strength of identity. Susanna and the Magical Orchestra's "When I Am Laid" takes eerily lulling vocals and melds them with spacious synthesizer melodies that are so engulfed in silence that it emerges out of the speakers light as air. That the claustrobic prog rock of Shining's cover of King Crimson's "21st Century Schizoid Man" somehow arrives fittingly is a feat achieved not through similarities of sound but of spirit. Supersilent's "C - 6.1" presents a nearly 15 minute excursion down pseudoindustrial back alleys and smoke laden clock towers as their textural layouts spread themselves outward with restrained improvisational depth.
Of course the music is only half of the picture here. The book that houses it is equally impressive, presenting an abundance of the label's geometrically colorful artwork that has become a signifier of quality for so many over the past ten years. Photographs of band members, interviews, video stills, sleeve art, discographical information and essays by senior Rolling Stone editor David Fricke and Rough Trade founder Geoff Travis all contribute to filling the book with enough informative eye candy to last far beyond the discs' combined two and a half hour. Which means this is going to require multiple listens, which I assure you will be no major sacrifice.
Ultimately, it is this kind of care that the industry needs to display more often, and the collection serves as an important reminder as to the vitality of independent music. It seems no detail was too small in this piece's production, and the result is a breathtaking whole that blurs the lines between music and medium, overview and summation, and manufacturer and artist. And that is quite the statement indeed.
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Loren Chasse is a busy man. A founding member of the famed Jewelled Antler Collective, he also takes part in projects as varied as the delicate dronescapes of Thuja and the woodsy pop of The Blithe Sons, both of which also feature label co-founder Glenn Donaldson. When he sets out on his own though, Chasse opts for the Of moniker, and it is in this habitat that he seems most at ease. Combining ambient subtlety with a dense and immersive drone aesthetic, Chasse creates initimate sonic structures that seem to resonate from the earth itself.
Much of Chasse's unique organicism stems more from his instrumental choice than any definite change in musical procedure. Forgoing the mostly electronic setup favored by most working in the compositional drone field, Of's sound is culled from homemade dulcimers, recorder, harmonium, cymbals, autoharp, singing bowls, drums, field recordings, and even gravel, sand and stones among a host of other sources. Though many are likely heard through electronic equipment—and perhaps even manipulated by way of it—there remains a natural sonic quality to each nuanced hum and clash here that simply can't be achieved through technical mimicry. Indeed, these recordings seem more in line with some prehistoric religious ceremony than with basement zone-out sessions.
Such can be seen on all of the eight tracks here. The opening "Rocks Will Open" may first appear to be much the same as the plethora of like-minded material out there, but Of's strength is in its details, and there are many to be discovered. Soft guitar hums and harp runs sing above tectonic backdrops that monolithically morph, shaping the work at a glacial pace that nevertheless gives the piece momentum, albeit an outward rather than forward one. The same goes for "Trail of Hornfel," whose beginning resonances continue to vibrate in an insular, cave-like setting over the whole of the work's 11 minutes.
Indeed, each piece is equally immersive here, despite the frequent change of setting. The near desert sprawl of "Coal Seams," the placid waterfall of "Violets In the Mountain Have Broken the Rocks" (named from a Tennessee Williams quote), and the oxygen rich skies of the closing "Agate Cups"—each is offered its own space and character that opens before you with patient wonder. Avoiding nearly all of the pitfalls of contemporary drone music, Of offers few answers while still providing enough content and shape to each of the works for the questions to exist. Simply assigning physical landmarks to each piece does not nearly do their intricacy justice.
If anything, there may be too much here for one album. At an hour long, the disc makes for a demanding listen when fully engaging with all of the material. Exhausting? Maybe. But only insofar as to make the album worth returning to. And if it gets too tiring, just listen to the birds; they make for wonderful accompaniment.
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