Staubgold
As the dust of Mille Plateaux's collapse settles, it's easy to forgetabout the number of great releases from the label's more experimentaloff-shoot Ritornell that will also be lost. And though I'm not surethat Staubgold is game for a larger reissue series of that label's lostgems, they have certainly chosen one of the best for this singlerepress, complete with redone artwork. Black Moths was Roberts' last "solo" record before 2003's beautiful Be Mine Tonight. It was recorded shortly after a couple rather computer-centric discs (All Cracked Medias and Moth Park)which found Roberts exploring his usual set-up of prepared guitar,hi-hat-heavy percussion, and plunked piano to alienating extremes,instruments deftly chopped and pasted into mock mini-explosions, acoalescence of chiming, shredded sound bits with instrumentalidentities and roles filled only at a bare minimum and movements withina piece arriving in anxious, feigned, and too-often meaninglesssuccession. The "meta-language" Roberts describes himself as creatingon these releases, while unique, can also be frustrating as it providesno easy information about the direction of a particular piece. Often asong's entire progression consists of repetitious, segmented bursts inwhich the interaction and improvisation of the instruments are boxedwithin simple, stunted meditations on a single tonal or textural idea.Roberts' smoky, even ragged playing style, steeped in years of droningimprov with his first group Thela, seems an immediate signifier oflonely and fragile territories, but the religious structuring of theseearlier releases makes for a bizarre conflict of interest as anytangible mood is erased by the calculated and incessant playings off-ofor into a cryptic formal diagram. For Black Moths, Roberts has notgiven up on the high-concept of his early works; rather, he chooses toup the ante by forcing more elements of traditional rock or"song"-styled composition into his already idea-heavy mix. The "BlackMoths," consisting of Matt Valentine, Tim Barnes (of Tower Recordings)and cellist Charles Curtis are not a support band assembled toindulge any new-found sweetness in Roberts' sensibility. They appear asif in the imagined realm of the Spiders from Mars, brought together atRoberts' whim to carry his ideas into rock (or at least free-folk)parody. The "grand cinema" of the title puts the players on stage,weaving rock moves into the reams of static glitch, cello groan, andbillowing guitar squall that unfold out and out, in increasinglyforeign structure over the 40 minutes. Roberts sings over a few of thetrack divisions (marking only pauses along a solid body of shifting andcycling sounds), one time breaking desperately into Eno's "Cindy TellsMe," another bursting with the glammy refrain, "How they adoooore you!"Barnes' percussion and Valentine's bass manage also to sound almostmanic, amazing given the album's formal restraints, which struggle toguide everything toward a sprawling digital submergence where "natural"cracks and pauses are prematurely filled, and new, unsuspected gapsopened. Black Moth's theatrical component does little more thanadd another layer to Roberts' unique sonic amalgam, but it is enough tomake this disc one of his most accessible and most complex, preparingwell for Be Mine Tonight where the artist's bizarrecompositional structures find just the right counterpoint in fragilesong-craft and production detailed enough to make the music sound trulyotherworldly.
As the dust of Mille Plateaux's collapse settles, it's easy to forgetabout the number of great releases from the label's more experimentaloff-shoot Ritornell that will also be lost. And though I'm not surethat Staubgold is game for a larger reissue series of that label's lostgems, they have certainly chosen one of the best for this singlerepress, complete with redone artwork. Black Moths was Roberts' last "solo" record before 2003's beautiful Be Mine Tonight. It was recorded shortly after a couple rather computer-centric discs (All Cracked Medias and Moth Park)which found Roberts exploring his usual set-up of prepared guitar,hi-hat-heavy percussion, and plunked piano to alienating extremes,instruments deftly chopped and pasted into mock mini-explosions, acoalescence of chiming, shredded sound bits with instrumentalidentities and roles filled only at a bare minimum and movements withina piece arriving in anxious, feigned, and too-often meaninglesssuccession. The "meta-language" Roberts describes himself as creatingon these releases, while unique, can also be frustrating as it providesno easy information about the direction of a particular piece. Often asong's entire progression consists of repetitious, segmented bursts inwhich the interaction and improvisation of the instruments are boxedwithin simple, stunted meditations on a single tonal or textural idea.Roberts' smoky, even ragged playing style, steeped in years of droningimprov with his first group Thela, seems an immediate signifier oflonely and fragile territories, but the religious structuring of theseearlier releases makes for a bizarre conflict of interest as anytangible mood is erased by the calculated and incessant playings off-ofor into a cryptic formal diagram. For Black Moths, Roberts has notgiven up on the high-concept of his early works; rather, he chooses toup the ante by forcing more elements of traditional rock or"song"-styled composition into his already idea-heavy mix. The "BlackMoths," consisting of Matt Valentine, Tim Barnes (of Tower Recordings)and cellist Charles Curtis are not a support band assembled toindulge any new-found sweetness in Roberts' sensibility. They appear asif in the imagined realm of the Spiders from Mars, brought together atRoberts' whim to carry his ideas into rock (or at least free-folk)parody. The "grand cinema" of the title puts the players on stage,weaving rock moves into the reams of static glitch, cello groan, andbillowing guitar squall that unfold out and out, in increasinglyforeign structure over the 40 minutes. Roberts sings over a few of thetrack divisions (marking only pauses along a solid body of shifting andcycling sounds), one time breaking desperately into Eno's "Cindy TellsMe," another bursting with the glammy refrain, "How they adoooore you!"Barnes' percussion and Valentine's bass manage also to sound almostmanic, amazing given the album's formal restraints, which struggle toguide everything toward a sprawling digital submergence where "natural"cracks and pauses are prematurely filled, and new, unsuspected gapsopened. Black Moth's theatrical component does little more thanadd another layer to Roberts' unique sonic amalgam, but it is enough tomake this disc one of his most accessible and most complex, preparingwell for Be Mine Tonight where the artist's bizarrecompositional structures find just the right counterpoint in fragilesong-craft and production detailed enough to make the music sound trulyotherworldly. 
As much as we diss Warp for making bad decisions, they have perfected the right techniques that make them a strong label with a strong identity. Most importantly: present the music in a direct and uncluttered way, with a conscious attention to an appealing design, making sure it is never overpowering: essentially allowing for the music to retain its importance over design. It's essentially what they've done for their first various artist video collection. Warp Vision isn't breaking new grounds nor is it the first of its kind (see: Ninja Tune or Matador), but what it does is collect a wide selection of the music videos that Warp has had something to do with over the years. It has no noticeable Easter Eggs, nor any audio commentary. The menu choices are to play all the videos or select them alphabetically, see the credits and see some images. Noticably absent are videos for Autechre's "Basscadet," Tricky Disco's "Tricky Disco" and "Housefly," anything from Vincent Gallo (THANK GOD), as well as !!! and Tortoise (but then again, they were licensed from US labels so Warp probably doesn't even own the rights to the videos). What is included are everybody's favorite Aphex videos with people running around with his ugly ass face on, Chris Cunningham's brilliant video for Squarepusher's "Come On My Selector" and the Chris Cunningham-wanna be, LFO's "Freak" directed by Daniel Levi (gotta love those fiery young Asian girls), plus videos from Prefuse, Antipop, the inexcusable Jimi Tenor, and many more. I'm pleased to finally be able to see videos for Sweet Exorcist (even if it's a lot of primitive graphics and a Pong! game) and LFO's classic "LFO" and the brilliant "Tied Up." Videos like Broadcast's "Papercuts" are just so visually colorful that it reminds me how much nicer it is to see on a full screen as opposed to a tiny little streaming computer image. A couple Warp TV commercials are included for shits and giggles along with a bonus CD of eleven audio mosaics of various tunes from the Warp vaults mixed by Buddy Pearce and Zilla. The CD is forgettable for the most part, but the DVD has its moments that will please different people depending on their tastes. With any luck 4AD and Mute will take a hint and do something similar. (And if you record execs are actually reading: don't leave anything out next time!)
From the newly formed label, Reduced Phat, comes this anti-compilation,various artists release that announces the label's intent with gusto. Isay "anti-compilation" because unlike most label comps that throw ineverything that's passable that washes up on their shores, the ReducedPhat manifesto calls for paying attention only to the very cream of thecrop of possible artists and releases that are all struggling to beheard. Featuring two tracks and two remixes a piece from Enduser,Edgey, and Subsektor, the disc feels more like a fun exchange between aVIP group of like-minded artists than a collection of random anddisconnected tracks from whomever happens to be out there. Startingwith Enduser's unabashed homage to Lush, 2%quickly kicks into high gear and doesn't relent for five and a halftracks until a break in Edgey's "Indigna" calms things down for laughs.Enduser brings his road-tested production to the mix with his twosplintered originals and remixes for his partners that eviscerate andthen reconstruct their grooves with demented jungle abandon. Subsektoroffers up the most straightforward take on hard drum n bass, but histracks are no less confrontational. Edgey's superb reworking of "DeathVest" into a hard stomping mid-tempo piece is probably my favoritetrack, but Enduser's treatment of Subsektor's "The Breed" is equallyfun and shows once again why Enduser is the master at mashed up drum nbass madness. Clocking in at just over an hour for 12 tracks, 2%provides all the essential breaks and bass without cluttering the mixwith disposable or throw-away tracks. Edgey brings the weirdness,Enduser fractures the beats, and Subsektor provides the hooks and itall works without ever sounding like too much. As much as I liked the Carboncompilation that approached breakbeat music with a similar sensibility,this record feels more coherent and less kitchen sink. Whenever a newlabel jumps into the game of releasing records into a market that isincreasingly unfriendly to physical CDs and untested products andbrands, I get a little nervous. When the releases are as good as thisone though, I can only hope enough people take notice to make theenterprise the success it deserves to be.
The last thing the world needs now is another avant-leaning Japanese psychedelic rock band, especially one with a name as silly and long-winded as Green Milk From the Planet Orange. Their name, besides being a serious impediment to success, sounds like it could be an unpublished manuscript by Dr. Seuss, one of those later works his editor refused to publish because it contained overt drug references. The album is called He's Crying "Look," a cruel juvenile chant which dredged up a whole reservoir of buried childhood trauma that I'd rather not go into right now.
This is the debut full-length album for Whitelodge, a trio ensconced deep in Florida's panhandle, an area known for mosquitoes, extreme humidity and torrential rains, an area recently attacked by a series of forceful hurricanes. These extremes of nature seem to have exerted an influence on Whitelodge's music, moving as it does through seasonal movements: the hazy, psychedelic buzzing of summer insects, the golden autumnal harvest, the skeletal frost of winter; and the rebirth of pastoral springtime.
As I watched Throbbing Gristle perform for the first time in over twodecades, many thoughts rushed through my head. The one which is mostrelevant to this review is that I believe the most popular aggressive,noisy acts who get heralded for their "experimentalism" actuallyexploit the most simple tactics. While the audience on the floor wasthrilled to be there, loving every minute of TG's set from the (false!)start, it was the beats that drove them nuts. People love beats andthey love repetition. They love to sing along when they know the wordsthat are coming up and they love to pound fists into the air and dance.Wolf Eyes' signing to Sub Pop isn't all that strange given they'veperhaps got a lot more commercial potential than other friends/comradessuch as Black Dice and Animal Collective, since they embrace beats tosuch a blistering degree. The disc opens with the brief cacophonousintro "Dead in a Boat," an all-out white noise to the wall hate fest,then launches into their feel good hit of the summer, the pouding andpulsing "Stabbed In the Face." After another short beat-less piece, thegroup come back with "Village Oblivia," another fists in the air dancefest. Another brief track bridges the album to the next full-realizedsong, "Rattlesnake Shake," and this time it's as if Wolf Eyes arescoring a brutally vicious nightmare. The low rumble is like anoversized military aircraft piercing the night, eager to unleashdestruction. At high enough volumes I'm sure the hum is enough to shakewax from the ears. Don't expect to be singing along with Wolf Eyestunes easily, however, as the occasional vocal appearances are putthrough the same junk pile of machines that create the rest of thegritty audio sludge on their records. The album sort of ends with thealmost party jam of "Black Vomit." Here, the full, rich sound of noisescoupled with abrasive vocals easily makes nearly every singlepost-post-post-post industrial "musician" (picture black pants withtons of zippers) look like a pussy. Wolf Eyes have done something manybands have tried to achieve but fell short: make something evil enoughto irritate parents (just as soon as they've finally accepted metal andhip hop) and both dirty and sexy enough for the ultimate release. 
A kaleidoscope of influences, sounds, languages, and dynamics comprisethe rich set of tools available to New York City's Asobi Seksu. Theband finds themselves awash in this clash of intentions with theability to sort through the competitive and contradictory urges todevelop a consonant sound that is more than the sum of its parts.Singer Yuki Chikudate injects each song with a unique tone, at timesdistinctly assertive or adorably dreamy while oscillating betweenEnglish and Japanese in search of the perfect way to express thefeeling of the song. The band emerges from this melting pot ofattitudes as a less oblique My Bloody Valentine, sharing that group'spenchant for vibrant aural fireworks amidst dreamy melodies. Thesoaring stabs of guitar in "Sooner" demonstrate that this similarity isnot just in the name of the song. The band launches off into those jagswhile managing to weave in a delicate clarity in the verses, the band'sown personality taking hold in these calm breaks from the squalls."Stay" is a slow, aching duet between Yuki and guitarist James Hannathat unfolds itself slowly and methodically. It's an intimate moment ontape as they breathlessly coo amidst a milieu of starry, reverb soakedchords. The pristine manner that makes the song fit for a polite slowdance is dashed away as they guitars begin to climb and blur out into afuzzy wash of vivid sound, amplifying the indistinct intensity of theprivate moment before plummeting back into the grips of sensual acuity."I'm Happy But You Don't Like Me" eschews the dramatics of shoegazingfor a more direct synthesis of contemporary indie rock and Japanesepop. The song doesn't fail to snare the ear, turning the languagebarrier into a weapon against itself as they syllabic melodiescontribute greatly to the song's memorability. Hanna takes the leadvocals on "Let Them Wait" and the album closer, "Before We Fall,"managing to hold his own against Chikudate's relentlessly endearingpresence. The pair of songs make a great case for the viability ofAsobi Seksu, another indicator of the band's ability to approach theirmusic from a number of different angles, dexterously employingvariations on their sound, structure, and delivery to create a productthat is never predictable. 
I'm sitting here laughing my ass off at this record. It's 17 minutes,23 tracks in length, completely out of a control, and absolutelyhilarious. I've heard lots of thrash and smash musicians and I enjoy alot of their music, but every record I've heard that is bound anddetermined to rip through thirty songs in under half an hour have acertain attitude that doesn't warrant laughter. Fat Day are a bitdifferent; in between the 20 and 30 second songs on this disc arestrange eight-bit Nintendo sonatas. These little doodles of electronicbuzzery and near-organ origin provide little bits of relief from thedrum-banging, guitar-eating, vocal lacerations that are the rest of thealbum. It is, at times, impossible not to laugh at how silly this allis. Despite the fact that there are five tracks between the openingorgan piece and the second bit of relief on the album, it sounds asthough there is one song playing and it just happens to be riddled withsudden bleats of compositional hyperactivity and vomiting energy. I'mtrying to imagine what this band must look like on stage and all I cansee is the image of a head exploding or a cow being run over by amonster truck. Unf! Unf!isn't a particularly heavy album; there are certainly denser, morerhythmically tight songs out there. Fat Day, however, take that musicalnastiness and transform it into a spurt of energy so outrageous that itcan't be considered anything more than slap-stick. This is massivelyentertaining slap-stick, though. I've listened to this short and sweetrecord about five times in a row now and I haven't gotten sick of it.The honks and squeaks of the organ-like pieces always highlight somekind of insufficiency that reminds me of circus clowns or freak showsand the grating guitar, drum, and voice pieces always rock out in asatisfyingly primal way. I'm not sure how, but some of these tunes havegotten stuck in my head and I find myself half-gyrating in an attemptto reproduce the rhythms and half-melodies on some of the songs. If Ihad the ability to stop smiling and laughing while listening to therecord then I might actually attempt to bark along some of the lyrics,but it's just more fun to sit back and watch the insanity progress allby itself. - 
Don't be fooled by the appearance of New Order nor the word "mixes" inthe title of this record. These are essentially two reinterpretationsof two of New Order's most important songs "Confusion" and "BlueMonday" by fellow Mancunians 808 State. What could easily be correct onthe cover, however, is that these date back to 1988, a time in which808 State was synching their Roland 808, 909 and 303 together, lettingthe machines take center stage. As far as my ears can tell, there areabsolutely no sounds from New Order's recording used in the process,and that's probably a good thing, as the songs have been remixed andremixed and remixed and remixed to the point of violent nausea. 808State's versions to me sound like cover tunes, where Graham Massey andcompany are practicing with equipment or approaches that were new tothem after years of playing rock music as Biting Tongues. There's acouple possible reasons these didn't surface on a widescale levelsixteen years ago: the group might not have been confident enough withthe recordings at the time; New Order's international stardom couldhave demanded much more money than 808 State could afford; the vocalsmight not have been quite what the 12" acid house market demanded (that"yeah" sample in "Blue Monday" and the "Confusion" sample both grate onthe nerves after a few minutes); or there was already a saturatedmarket of New Order remixes kicking around. Now, sixteen years later,the songs are certainly more "vintage" (or as LCD Soundsytem would putit "borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered 80s"). Both versions arepure and blissful, with a bare minimal amount of vocals included. Theybear little resemblance to the original versions, aside fromrecognizable bass lines, and act as a strong precursor to the nextvault release of 808 State on Rephlex, Prebuild, (a collection of the songs which pre-date Newbuild). For people expecting the wailing sax and melodic mastery from albums like Ninety and Ex:el,this 12" will probably be a disappointment, but for those looking forhynotic acid house techno and don't mind New Order will probably find amild amount of joy within the grooves.
K.U.D.O. from Unkle, Kan Takagi of Major Force and Yoshimi P-We of TheBoredoms/OOIOO together make up J.O.Y., the group behind this eccentricnew single on DFA. J.O.Y.'s "Sunplus" is a percussive samba danceexcursion, a wacked-out psychedelic version of the theme song to George of the Jungle.Sharing the brightly-colored, hyperkinetic qualities of J-Pop superstargroup Puffy AmiYumi, J.O.Y. incorporate a dizzying assemblage ofeclectic instrumentation—xylophones, steel drum, synthesized handclapsand a room full of bells and percussion—to achieve their unique sound."Sunplus" would not sound out of place on Yamatsuka Eye'sshort-attention-span DJ Pica Pica Pica mix CD, with its hyperactiveatmosphere and manic rhythms. DFA's remix takes up Side B of this 45RPM single, brilliantly reworking the song into a more jagged,aggressive dance-punk track. By filtering out some of the anarchicclatter of J.O.Y.'s original, Murphy and Goldsworthy streamline thetrack and add some forward momentum, highlighting Yoshimi's punkishvocals and upping the cowbell quotient by several degrees. Togetherwith the earlier EYE Remix of Black Dice's "Endless Happiness" (on theB-Side of the Cone Toaster single), DFA has put out some of the most joyously unclassifiable Japanese experimental pop since Asa Chang & Junray's Song Chang. 
