This is a weird kitchen sink sort of record.
Hotter than July. This week's episode has plenty of fresh new music by Marie Davidson, Kim Gordon, Mabe Fratti, Guided By Voices, Holy Tongue meets Shackleton, Softcult, Terence Fixmer, Alan Licht, pigbaby, and Eiko Ishibashi, plus some vault goodies from Bombay S Jayashri and Pete Namlook & Richie Hawtin. Solstice moon in West Midlands, UK photo by James. Get involved: subscribe, review, rate, share with your friends, send images!
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Delivery Room is a bargain-priced sampler of new and upcoming releases from the Leaf Label, and reflects the eclectic, modern aesthetic of label boss Tony Morley. Unfortunately, as is often the case with collections such as these, there is a fair amount of substandard material by bands the label hopes to promote, as well as songs that suffer from the lack of context inherent in a compilation.
The melodies might be vibrant and the arrangements lush, but nothingcan fix the feeling that there's a lot of counterfeit sentiment beingtossed around this album. I'd like to say I felt something whilelistening to this record, but the vocal delivery and the sappy,over-romantic instrumentation simply sounded too much like a bad radiodrama to be interesting. Fakeopens up with the seven minute creeper, "Born." The vocalist soundslike he is trying hard to say something that is emotionally drainingand utterly important, but he comes across sounding like a 10 year oldboy convinced that he's in love. Speaking of 10 year old boys, thelyrics sound as though they're meant to convey all sorts of meanings(it's the delivery of the singer that makes them sound so important)but I'm not sure I understand what he's singing about on "Born." I'mnot sure I know what's going on in any of these ten songs to tell thetruth. Blow Up Hollywood are obviously reaching for some lofty conceptthat will lift them up above other bands and into the realms of"important" and "socially conscious;" one look at their website and itseems like they've got this grand Zen-influenced statement to make.This teenager-symptom (self-importance?) ruins what talent the bandhas. That self-importance isn't just in the singer's head, though,otherwise I might have been able to enjoy the album for its music. Themusic sounds like a half-assed attempt at mixing the grandeur oforchestral music with the glossy sheen of popular rock n' roll radio.There's absolutely no grit anywhere on the record, that's what makes it sound so damned self-important and phony.There's absolutely no sign of anger, no sign of confusion, or any hintthat maybe pain could take part in these sappy meanderings. That slickand prosthetic production accounts for 90% of what's wrong with themusic. There might be room for this somewhere in a bad movie where theboy finds the girl and they fall in love all over again despite thefact that, while she was away, he was busy with about 10 other girls.Right, suddenly jackass is in love and everything's going to be okayand in the end there's going to be a white picket fence, little cryingbastards everywhere, and a dog attacking the mailman in the front yard.Forgive me for being so angry, but when a mediocre album entitled Fakecrosses my path and then tries to play itself off as ananti-establishment or somehow spiritually fulfilling record thateschews all pretense, I tend towards a complete lack of faith in thehonestly rebellious spirit and begin to think that maybe the last 10years of federally sponsored media mergers has completely killed anyreal chance of music inspiring righteous indignation and civildisobedience ever again.- 
I had been wondering when we'd see the first of the post-Sigur Rosreleases to emerge. It's been several years since Iceland's finestwowed listeners just about everywhere and I always imagined that theresult would be an avalanche of artists trying to recreate the feelingof being swept up in the epic, weepy tones of bowed guitars andreverb-drenched organs. Julian Fane, a 21-year old Canadian solo artistis the fist thing I've heard that immediately and unquestionably callsforth that otherworldy music from the north, but he does a lot morethan that. The release is a bit odd for Planet µ, a label that's madeits name more on dancey and not-so-dancey but still beat-centriceclectic electronic artists like Venetian Snares, Jega, Bit_Meddler andso on. Still, there is an undercurrent of strong electronics throughoutSpecial Forcesthat tips Fane's hand as someone familiar enough with the glitch-beatsound of his contemporaries to know how to pique the µ-Ziq fans'interest. The beats certainly don't take center stage though, as theyclick and thump under waves of rich and fuzzy synth tones, manipulatedacoustic instruments, and occassionally Fane's own voice. It's at thispoint that my opinion of the record is decidedly split. For most of thetracks, the wintery strings and crackling percussion work well andprovide moments of real (and not just emulated) beauty. But when Fanesteps in to sing in an unintelligible falsetto, the album tends toderail for me into a place where just sounding like other people'srecords turns in to trying to recreate them. The first two songs withsinging are actually pleasant and well-balanced. While the high-pitchedwhiny vocal style so reminiscent of Thom Yorke and Jónsi Birgissonisn't my favorite, it doesn't detract from the lush soundscapes intowhich Fane plants his voice. However, successive songs with vocalsdeteriorate quickly into what sounds likea parody—this is JimmyFallon's impression of Hopelandic and it's funny, but it's not supposedto be. Thankfully, the vocal tracks are far-outweighed by the rest ofthe album's solid instrumentals. I can certainly forgive the youngcomposer's few vocal missteps on an otherwise excellent debut on whichhe has created another perfect winter soundtrack for thebroken-hearted.
Though I've heard the formula before, it's impossible to disregard this album. Despite being another quiet and minimalist approach to electronic soundscaping, there's something special about the way these songs play themselves out and, in some cases, the integration of just a few key sounds adds up to startling beauty. Lido Lato is a double CD release from Greece's Poeta Negra label.
Greg Dulli has always been able to pull off an entertaining cover nowand then when he takes his traveling band on the road. For their latestrelease, he's decided to record a whole album of songs he didn't write,and, based upon comments on his website, some of the choices might bewholly on dares from friends. It's a refreshing collection, as Dullidoesn't stay just in one genre, or interpret the songs all in the samefashion, which makes for some real gems and a few missteps, in trueDulli tradition. The album opens with a rather mellow number in"Feeling of Gaze," a Hope Sandoval tune that could easily have beensultry with her, but Dulli makes it his melancholy own. Then it's "TooTough to Die," which he also manages to pull off despite occasionalcracks of voice, and the record starts to move into "I can't believehe's a man, and he's still killing these songs by women" territory. Thenext one is the real killer, though: "Hyperballad" is not exactly asong that would seem well-suited to his style, but with the Singersit's a proud, soaring, and glorified take on Björk's tune ofself-destruction. "Hyperballad" is also the first complaint, as themixing on the chorus is almost ruined by the distortion coming throughthe speakers. Somehow, the whole package is not ruined and the songrises above anyway. As does "What Makes You Think You're the One," eventhough Dulli's vocal sounds just a twinge off for the whole song,calling back to "Band of Gold" from the Uptown AvondaleEP. That's part of the reason to admire Dulli and his effort, though,as he doesn't seem concerned with sounding like the best rendition ofthe song ever, just sounding passable and putting out a version of thesong he likes, even though it may tweak the ears a bit. It's all worthit on something like "Real Love" — yes, the Mary J. Blige version — or"Black is the Color of My True Love's Hair," which was released on asingle all its own last year, but its inclusion makes the set completeand a little sweeter. By the time Gershwin's "Summertime" comes around,the album takes a real sharp dark turn. That's Dulli's style exactly,and though these songs may jar here and there they do make a mark. 
With this year's eigth Piehead release the Oregon-based ml havecuriously decided to crank out a full-length homage to the music ofspooky film director and composer, John Carpenter. Many may not knowthat Carpenter often likes to write the music for his films, givingcampy classics like Big Trouble in Little China and Dark Startheir appropriately stiff and synth-heavy backing. ml, on the otherhand, are more known for their tricked out beats and goofy sense ofhumor that place them firmly in the west coast new electronicpsuedo-dance family these days, so while it's not what I expected fromthe former Thine Eyes guys, it's not hard to imagine either. I'm notsure how noble it is to crib someone else's style so deliberately thatit becomes a tribute, but somehow Man Is The Warmest Place To Hidemanages to be both fun and faithful to the source without ever soundingcheap. Well, it's no cheaper than a John Carpenter score so it seems tobe working on that level. The music is all a series of simple themeswith a filmic overtone that makes them moody but not overlycomplicated. While the sounds don't come from a Carpenter film, it'seasy to see them working with one. Most of the timbres are liftedstraight from vintage synths (or vintage synth emulators as may be thecase) and the sound design is intentionally not clever or obtrusive.The few places where the guys resort to more recent sounding filtersand patches actually take the songs out of that full-on Carpenter worldand help bridge the gap between goofy experiment and music that'sactually enjoyable on its own. Ml have never established a firm styleto my ears over the years. They tend to blend in with other acts fromthe Pacific northwest who trade in quirky, laptop-fueledpost-industrial beat making and so it's a little ballsy for them to putsomething like this out that gives most of the stylistic cues up tounseen source material. I'd like to see more people try this sort ofthing, if only to see what talented musicians can do with an artificialbut well-understood set of limitations. The obvious question is: is therecord worth listening to outside of the context of the John Carpenterangle, and I'm not sure about that. I suppose the answer lies in howmuch you like John Carpenter's music. It definitely feels a littlecheesy if you take away the idea that it's an homage, but if you knowgoing in what it's all about, it's quite a fun thing to spin. As itstands though, this is my favorite batch of ml songs to date, and I'mnot sure what that means for the rest of their discography. What itmeans for now is that Piehead scores again with another release we'renot likely to have seen without this special series, which is prettyawesome. 
The latest in a long line of excavated rarities from the golden age ofKrautrock (1968-1975), Damenbart's storied and obscure album finallygets a proper CD reissue on the Psychedelic Pig label. Though thealbum, true to its namesake, was recorded in 1971, it never saw thelight of release until 1989, when it was issued on the DOM Elchklanglabel. The tapes for the legendary unreleased album were given to Dr.P. Li Khan and Christoph Heemann of HNAS in 1987, after beingdiscovered in Spain by a former associate of the band. Damenbart was atrio consisting of Erwin Bauer on synthesizer, organ and guitar; BerndBarth on synthesizer, effects and vocals; and Tina S. on lead vocals.Their sound was unpredictable and mercurial, characterized by thick,amorphous atmospheres formed by layers of droning synths and stacks ofoverdubbed vocals, with intermittent forays into rhythm and frequentleft turns into cavernous, echoplexed noise. Impressionen '71is the literal wet dream-cum-reality for fetishists of Germanprogressive and kosmische, encompassing all the outre' musical elementsthat collectors yearn for. "Innovative Schwingungen" (trans:"Innovative Oscillations") begins with a loop of Tina S. intoning thesong's title, as scattered drums fly around the stereo channels andstacks of oppressive synth and keyboard are compounded, with excessivephasing and metallic flanging lending a consistently drug-damaged airto Damenbart's psychotic invocations. At about the six-minute mark,aggressive blasts of battering-ram noise signal a brutal descent into abarrage of industrial rhythms. It's actually amazing how muchDamenbart's proto-industrial noise has in common with the laterstrategies of 80s underground artists like HNAS and others. In fact,their gothic-tinged synthesizers sound positively anachronistic attimes, forcing me to wonder if Damenbart were somehow able to get holdof prototypes of technology that wouldn't be on the market for at leasta decade hence. "Blumen im Haar" ("Flowers in Hair") uses synthesizedpanpipes, flute, gently strummed guitar and a galaxy of productiongimmicks to create a sinister fireside magickal rite in Germany's BlackForest. "Marihuanabrothers" is positively terrifying: a nine-minutewall of amorphous noise with undifferentiated blasts of mindbendingdistortion. In addition to the four long tracks of the original LP, theCD also includes four bonus tracks unearthed from the same recordingsessions. "Space Invocation" finds the band in full Tangerine Dreammode, and "Baum der Erkenntis" is a twisted, chaotic explosion ofmulti-tracked insanity. Impressionen '71 certainly earns itsreputation as one of Krautrock's long-lost gems, not least because thewhole thing is a very ingenious hoax perpetrated by Heemann and Khan.HNAS are, in fact, the true musicians behind the album, and theycreated everything from photos and biographies of the band, toextensive press notes, in an attempt to put one over on unsuspectingKraut enthusiasts. Way to go, guys. 
The California of the 1960s was a breeding ground for eccentric characters: psychedelic prophets, cult leaders, crank scientists, charlatans, fringe artists, bizarre self-taught musicians and psychotic burnouts. Some individuals, it seems, were able embody all of these archetypes at once; and of these, at least one managed to record and release an album. Bobby Brown's 1972 LP The Enlightening Beam of Axonda is a holy grail for collectors of rare psych, and one of the most idiosyncratic works to emerge from the West Coast petri-dish of psychedelics and self-motivated outsiders.
