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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In all honestly Michael Yonkers is from Minnesota, but that is beside the point, the label and Little Claw are Michiganders, so that's a fair enough lead-in. Yonkers is elderly by rock standards (one year younger than Bruce Gilbert) but is still churning out dirty, dissonant rock. The A side of this vinyl consists of two of his contributions, both are similar in their metronomic disco drum machine pulse, metaliic grinding (and home-made) guitar riffs. While "I Think" features vocals that are almost in line with ZZ Top, "The Drain" is pure instrumental sludge. It's not hard to see this as an antecedent of Big Black or Wolf Eyes.
The flip-side is Little Claw doing "Ice Age," hypnotic cyclical guitar riffs augmented with female vocals and oh-so-quiet drumming that just bursts forth towards the end. Both sides sound as clean as the waiting room of a back alley abortion clinic, but I don't think it could sound the same any other way.
The 21st century has been quite good to the dark prince of reggae, with labels such Basic Replay, Blood And Fire, Pressure Sounds, and Trojan all jostling with one another to bring his visionary work back into print. Based on the vital Rasta Communication album, this reissued dub set shows precisely why the late artist's catalog undeniably warrants such attention.
In the arts, dying before one's time commonly inflates his or her legacy disproportionate to actual contribution. In the case of reggae producer and vocalist Keith Hudson, who by 1984 (only in his late 30s) succumbed to cancer, nothing could be further from the truth. While he enjoyed Jamaican chart success early in his career for Big Youth and Ken Boothe, to name just a few, the music scene there never fully embraced his uniquely deep and gothic sound. Nonetheless, Hudson persevered with so many potent cuts for a number of his own imprints, the 7" singles from which continue to be highly desirable to collectors today. Virgin, which signed Hudson to a multi-album deal in the 70s, wanted to turn him into the next Bob Marley, though his work mined far murkier depths in significant contrast to that legendary singer’s sunnier style. While the thematically constructed Pick A Dub ranks as the pinnacle of his dub releases, Brand is possibly the most worthy contender for that title. Also known as The Joint, this album was peculiarly released in advance of its corresponding vocal set, the aforementioned Rasta Communication, still available from its original label Greensleeves. Therefore, Brand could alternatively be treated as a standalone album of subspace bass and subterranean echo, flecked with delectable bits of Hudson's arresting vocal.
The album kicks off with Hudson mournfully crooning about absent parentage on "Image Dub," whose walking bassline, restrained percussion, and wizened guitar and piano embellishments hold together the strained, weighty atmosphere spiraling above. "National Item" and "National Anthem," both dubs of "Rasta Country," present parallel options for the choosy selector, the latter of these more emaciated than actually versioned. The highlight of an already formidable album, "Felt The Strain Dub" takes an anthemic snippet of vocal and layers it over dripping melodic keys and a few perfectly timed snare hits. Compared to the rest of this set, "Musicology Dub" appears deceptively bright, as does "Highter Hights" which features a killer melodica melody and the welcome toasts of deejay President Shorty.
The decent booklet that accompanies this release offers a neat history lesson as well as quick guide for those familiar with Rasta Communication, indicating which versions come from tracks off that release. In addition, two heretofore unreleased vocal tracks separate this version from Pressure Sounds' previous reissue. Regrettably, several of Hudson's full lengths remain unavailable, including Torch Of Freedom (the hardest of hardcore New Order fans will know "Turn the Heater On") and later albums like Steaming Jungle. Continued healthy competition from reggae reissue labels will hopefully fill in these noticeable gaps. In the meantime, Brand should tide over devotees as well as introduce curious newcomers to the heavy overcast sounds of this dub dissident.
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The result of a collaboration between two of the UK's finest collage composers is at turns kitschy and whimsical, disorienting and satirical: a suite of kitchen-sink plunderphonic pop tunes that recall the best moments of classic collagists such as Orchid Spangiafora, John Oswald and Die Trip Computer Die.
Vickie Bennett's People Like Us has always tended towards camp: cut-ups of cartoon noises, educational records from the 1950s, advertisements for Lycra Spandex, corny library music and generic soundtrack pieces ironically recalling a bygone era. So far, Ergo Phizmiz's strategy has been much the same, although his soundworld often takes in organic forms and original instrumentation, such as the brass band that enlivens many of his recent performances. Together, Bennett and Phizmiz create a Frankensteinian assemblage of strange cultural and temporal hybrids: mutilated oom-pah, demented intonarumori, Dixieland jazz blurts and slapstick noises. This much would have been expected, but what wasn't expected was that each of these loony patchworks would be massaged into fully-fledged, structured pop songs, complete with vocals by Bennett and Phizmiz.
Vocal plunderphonic pop does have precedents, but PLU and Ergo Phizmiz create something altogether unique on Perpetuum Mobile, occupying a stubborn middle place between avant-garde sound sculpture and populist pastiche. The opener "Ghosts Before Breakfast" is a case in point, a jaunty sing-along combining flatulent horns with Harry Partch-esque junk percussion, cuckoo clocks and digital fuckery. Over this joyous mess, helium-voiced falsettos sing: "I'd like some dinner, cause I missed my breakfast/I'm ever so hungry, and it's such a sunny day." It doesn't make much sense, but it's undeniably infectious, the layers of loops and samples creating a shambolic din that nonetheless coalesces into timeless pop songcraft. "Social Dancing" samples what sounds like recordings of indigenous children singing, matching the vocals up with Loony Tunes fanfares and retro Hawaiian jazz probably recorded for a 1950s tourist LP. The result is hilarious, but also fascinating: far more than the sum of its parts. It begs to be deconstructed and analyzed, even as it becomes clear that this analysis would reveal no logic behind its construction, beyond a painterly sense of composition.
Although PLU have been at this for years, the techniques of plunderphonia have, in recent years, become quite ubiquitous, especially in the world of HipHop and dance music. There are many recent plunderphonic acts operating under the guise of the mashup DJ or turntablist, using recycled loops from pop music and vintage LPs to produce collages that juxtapose the familiar with the surprising. The difference between these newer acts and Perpetuum Mobile, however, is that Bennett and Phizmiz seem genuinely uninterested in reproducing familiar pop cultural tropes, and instead seek to find ways to approach familiar sounds and musical modes laterally, highlighting not just their absurdity, but often their hidden political dimensions as well. "Air Hostess" repurposes goofy lounge music, splicing in Nelson Riddle's theme to Lolita, gradually ratcheting up the frenetic pace of the track with samples of bachelor pad mambo and 1950s MOR string records. The result is the kind of kitschy patchwork one might expect, but with an added undercurrent of dread, an atmosphere that emerges from the outmoded status of useless and vapid pop culture signifiers that have lost all meaning, if indeed they had any to begin with.
There is so much going on across the 18 tracks making up Perpetuum Mobile that it would be impossible to touch on everything, but suffice to say that this collaborative album is one of the best of its breed: full of audacious, kaleidescopic pop assemblages that slyly comment on the ephemeral nature of music as commodity.
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"Krautrock" would be the most appropriate description for the sound TWoHD make, though their Germanic descent is unlikely, and Wisconsin is pretty far from Europe. But they do take the approach that Can did with regards to recording to the next logical step. Instead of just taking sessions of improvisation and melding them into "tracks," they composed the album in different locations, and then pieced it together into coherent works. The result is very different experience than these ears are used to
The entire disc is covered in a haze of reverb that gives the vibe of '90s shoegaze bands, but maybe not so much in content as atmosphere. The four members of TWoHD play a variety of instruments throughout, creating tracks that differ greatly from one another, but with a similar feel throughout. Strings and lush synths are prominent on songs like "Ascension And" and "A Muted Street Song," but the latter is augmented with live drums and heavily processed percussion as well. Even with the vast instrumentation, a song like "Waterpath St." drifts in an ambient space of bass drone with metallic scrapes.
Unconventional instrumentation plays a role throughout as well, such as the human snapping/slapping percussion in "Two Aged Windows," and the molten cassette tape hiss of "Her Static Will." The album ends on an odd note with the slow, simplistic percussion of "Sun Court" mixed with orchestra hits and crashes, not unlike a lo-fi symphony. There is a very calm, relaxed feeling throughout the entire album, though some elements of darkness creep in, like the subtle synth dread in "Her Static Will" and the bleakness of "Waterpath St."
The most difficult aspect of this album is just how dense it is. The massive amounts of multitracking and instrumentation make it difficult to discern exactly what is going on at times. It is never overly muddled or muddy, but my tastes are for more sparseness. The density does, however, contribute to a very prominent atmosphere throughout
Land Patterns is not a work that can be easily described at all using any genre definitions or terms. There are elements of jazz, electronic, alternative rock, and classical here for sure. In that regard, it is not unlike an even more unconventional Fridge with an even greater amount of instrumentation mixed in. As a debut, it is extremely strong and diverse and hopefully marks the beginning of a long career.
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Bearing a sound ideal for the next sentimental Michel Gondry or Zach Braff film, this proficient artist's second album suckles at the fleshy yet noticeably sagging teat of '90s shoegaze while concurrently seeking a way out of the trappings of that tempting template.
My first experiences with this curious little subgenre came during my teens when the disaffected young ladies I surrounded myself with turned me on to groups like Mazzy Star and Cranes. Axiomatically different from the grunge and metal I was then deeply infatuated with, these and other like-minded artists occasionally found their way into my listening, particularly during those depressive late-night hours of adolescent confusion. My appreciation for this music grew deeper when later, while still blissfully underage, I began to frequent certain New York City goth clubs, where I both heard and saw live performances from many acts in the Projekt stable. While those days are long gone, I still find time every now and again to enjoy a few of these sonic thrills and chills from my own restlessly pensive youth. Violet, Alexander Chen's new album as Boy In Static, recalls for me this strange time with an authenticity that gives me pause.
Opener "First Love" emerges like a sunrise slowly revealed in those hazy meaningful early morning minutes that most people hardly ever find cause to witness. This style sets a precarious tone for these ten tracks, as if the feelings evoked at that time have somehow been frozen or considerably slowed into a bleary-eyed fugue. "Where It Ends," the designated single, falls comfortably in line not with some of the most recognizable tunes in the subgenre, but also with the electronically derived highlights of acts like The Postal Service. Here, contemplating either the dusk of day or of man, Chen sings of a past love that he longs to reclaim over a tenebrous post-punk bassline and desperately muted programmed percussion. His delicately poetic and sometimes cryptic lyrics, while not very clear in delivery, suit not just the far out music, but also his light, effeminate voice. It is reasonable to suspect that the words to sublime tracks like "December" and "Leave You Blind" were scribbled reflectively just as the undaunted dawn began to rise.
Naturally, the main problem that Boy In Static faces is that shoegaze and dream pop have not evolved much over the past decade, resulting in a crop of painfully similar artists eager to absorb their influences while never quite breaking free of them. Although I'm willing to concede that Chen does it better than most, I suspect that he is still looking for a new curve in the road, one less crowded that his current location. Even if he doesn't quite realize that himself, Chen's music subconsciously exudes unrest that will hopefully be resolved in future recordings. Still, those who dig on sensitive, edgy music will find Violet an unobjectionable and welcome, as well as more than a few directionless teenagers.
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This reissue (from 1983) is something of a gem. Virna Lindt's music is a blend of fashion and espionage as perfect as if she were the love-child of Emma Peel from The Avengers and Ilya Kuryakin from The Man From U.N.C.L.E.The illusion that Virna Lindt perpetrates is circular: Swedish translation student pretending to be a jet-set model revealed as a spy masquerading as a singer (and so on). Visually, her fabulous appeal is that of a Gerry & Sylvia Anderson prototype action doll come to life and gone undercover, maybe one of the Angel fighter pilots from the Captain Scarlet series. All that would be mere pap if the music didn't add up to more than an exercise in style. But, after a quarter of a century, the simple integrity of the arrangements and her unruffled vocal style deserve to be brought in from the cold.
Paradoxically, "Attention Stockholm," the story of a secret agent who has disappeared, announced Virna Lindt to the world (she topped the independent charts in the UK); her lovely but distant face adorned the music papers. The track still sounds smart, urgent, and alluring. Puns on the words "cologne" and "scent" are particularly sweet, but a creeping frantic edge keeps a great single in balance. The title track to Shiver proves that few things work as well as a mysterious beauty muttering in a foreign tongue. The track makes great use of an echo halfway between a gunshot and the sound of a glacier cracking.
"Pillow Talk" exudes an aroma which brings to mind the exploits of the John Profumo Affair, when the erotic stink of Christine Keeler and Mandy Rice-Davies brought several government ministers to their knees in more ways than one. Lindt proclaims that she doesn't believe in love (or) lies anymore, but anyone hearing her coo "All the president's men won't come between us" is likely to join the line of her admirers no matter what secrets she might extract. The restrained use of a sound that is more whip than handclap adds to the atmosphere. "Swedish Modern" is all reversed tapes and references to the Scandanavian furniture that was popular in the UK when Shiver was first released. "I Beat the System" could be mistaken for the continental piano-playing pen-pal of the Waterboys’ "A Girl Called Johnny", while "The Dossier on Virna Lindt" is a leisurely stroll through deserted streets reading her answers to a teen-magazine questionnaire ( "Leisure activities: Sabotage and sin" ).
The short instrumental "Episode One" begins with frozen synth emerging like a boat from fog until another bubbling layer adds an element of emotion, suggesting arrival or departure. The track was originally the perfect B-side for the "Attention Stockholm" 7" single from 1981. Although I personally find "Underwater Boy" as syrupy as real disco, it predicts the homage that is Air's Moon Safari by a couple of decades. In the bonus section, this CD reissue includes an ever-so-slightly warped cover of "The Windmills of Your Mind" from the soundtrack of The Thomas Crown Affair.
On Shiver, Virna Lindt takes one idea to a perfect conclusion with tremendous grace and a good humor that never goes over-the-top. Co-conspirator Tot Taylor (who just happened to be a record producer) is said to have met her on a train and responded to her desire to make music that was "like Hitchcock with a rock and roll beat"; though presumably, if her desire had been to rob a bank, he would likely have found some guns and a book on safecracking pretty quickly. Taylor and Lindt remixed and repackaged the album in 1997, and it sounds as playfully aloof as ever, Lindt's icy mystique unthawed by time. Shiver harks back to a fun time when tiny labels like The Compact Organisation looked like they could rule the world of pop. If only,...
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This collects for the first time in ten years the band's two EPs: 1995's Fight Songs and 1996's Marshmallows. The results on this record are curious, occasionally interesting, but more often than not frustrating. Brian McMahan's second act following his turn in the massively influential Slint, The For Carnation took that band's adept usage of open space and tension and attempted to apply them to low-key acoustic arrangements.
Unfortunately, it is impossible not to draw comparisons between the two groups. Slint was and remains successful because their studied tension and release applied well to a rock band dynamic. Additionally, McMahan's vocals in that band, half way between a whisper and an off-key holler, were successful because they conveyed all the fear, doubt, and naiveté that was evident in the music. The For Carnation, on the other hand, suffers from the fact that the songs are often half-formed and uninteresting. Music this intimate requires dynamics, and despite appearances from such post-rock luminaries such as David Pajo, Doug McCombs, and John Herndon, the songs fail to go anywhere interesting. This isn’t a total dismissal.
A few bright spots emerge from the repetitive chord sequences and staid drumming. "On the Swing" is a poignant ballad with softly brushed drums and gently plucked guitar that features some of McMahan's best singing. "Salo" is pleasant enough, but at almost seven minutes long tries my patience and ultimately finds me hitting the skip button. Unfortunately, for every time the group seemed to find their footing, they lose with another rote post-rock track like "I Wear the Gold." The wisdom of reissuing records from a band that released roughly an album and a half of, at best, mediocre material is lost on me. I'm left wondering "does every 1990s indie band need a reissue?"
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On this very brief pink/red marbled vinyl 7", the two artists collaborate on a rather subtle work with both sides showing a very distinct character. "Properties" is all stuttering electronics, field recordings, and other near-impossible to place sounds. Squeaks, bangs, and a bit of guitar abuse sound like damaged childhood toys put out to pasture in a suburban parking lot to deliver their dying breaths. The flipside, "Ribbons" is somewhat more conventional, based around guitar textures, electronic tones, and field recordings of birds and insects. It's a bizarre set of recordings, but very compelling in their oddity and definitely worth checking out.
