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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One day earlier this year, No Age released five separate pieces of vinyl on five different labels. Thankfully, Weirdo Rippers collects some of the blissful and spiky highlights on one of my favorite records of 2007.
No Age are singing drummer Dean Spunt and guitarist Randy Randall. If they are just another band from LA then I am a bakewell tart. They have made an album to cherish. Starting with a couple of minutes of sirenic guitar-buzz and crashing waves, "Every Artist Needs A Tragedy" erupts into a cartoonish thrash and wail joyfully reminscent of Big In Japan's "Suicide A Go Go." This is obviously a track to start a gig and the jolt from hypnotic goosebump to full-on release makes me want to see this band and soon. "Boy Void" follows with a more metallic, clanging, rush of spunky power.
A slightly resigned feeling of nostalgia for 1977 crept over me, but No Age are not retreading a retro path. The looped feedback, stomping, and harmonic moans of "I Wanna Sleep" has a hypnotic quality oddly redolent of Matching Mole, but gravitating to an agitated crescendo that the 1973 radicals could only have attained by discovering amphetamines and/or skateboarding mid-song. "My Life's Alright Without You" seems to jumps back and forth between two songs like a distorted two-minute version of The Fiery Furnaces' entire Blueberry Boat album. Economy be praised.
In days gone by "Everybody's Down" might have been on thousands of jukeboxes. It is a simple burst of throbbing excitement, as lean as a cigarette. "Sunspots" follows, as sweet and trippy as the title suggests; lush waves seem propelled by an aching bass, if only it were five times as long. At this point, Weirdo Rippers goes beyond the contrast of alternating between styles and merges them. I hesitate to suggest that No Age have invented a new sub-genre; but if they haven't, they still might. The sublime "Loosen This Job" triumphs in blending garage aggression, stuttering static, and lush distortion, to create a sound that exceeds the sum of those parts. Sound can be a religious experience and here is an opportunity to worship, even as the line "Why are there so many records in my life" raises a smile. "Neck Escaper" starts with a looping sparkling guitar, punctuated by ticking, thudding drums, before crashing through the gears with a layer of charged fuzz and brilliant off-kilter vocals. Two minutes of listening I'll never regret.
From a crawling pace, eventually "Dead Plane" takes The Ramones to a more distorted, trancelike, and dumber place than ever before. On "Semi-Sorted" the duo use looped feedback, crunching guitars, cavernous thumps and cascading drumrolls to create an ecstatic garage/gamelan storm from the center of which Spunt calmly chants several lines, including "hope is just a word that you avoid". "Escarpement" reprises the sea that opened the album, but the waves and bleeps of sound suggest a craft going underwater on a new journey.
There is nothing in the DIY aesthetic which stipulates that energy must overwhelm all else. No Age take care to ensure that composition and melody are not sacrified. The balance between rawness and sophistication is just about perfect. The album art shows a building called The Smell, an all-ages grassroots space supporting underground art and music. Spunt and Randall have played and curated other shows there. Weirdo Rippers reminds me less of actual cigarette smoke, storage units, leaning against walls, ruining a favorite shirt, squinting to see through a bug-splattered windscreen, exhaustion, happiness, or what Don van Vliet has called "breaking up the catatonic state"; than more of paintings and photographs of those images. Again, the balance between the creation and destruction of hypnosis is adept. No Age are going to be offered a better studio, get new clothes, interviews, gushing reviews of their next record from critics who missed this one, offers of collaboration and all the rest. I hope this is not their only few minutes of mystery and raw brilliance.
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Durtro Jnana issues a remastered, repackaged edition of this hard-to-find album by Current 93, widely acknowledged as one of their finest. Released after the breakthrough apocalyptic folk masterpiece Thunder Perfect Mind, but before the maximalist phantasmagoria of The Inmost Light trilogy, Of Ruine strikes a perfect balance between melody and pscyhedelic experimentation, between lyrical clarity and impenetrable esoterica.
According to David Keenan, author of England's Hidden Reverse, this album is Current 93's best, and listening to it again all these years later, it's hard to disagree. Partly explaining the album's success is its efficient length and linear, narrative trajectory. The liner notes instruct the listener that the album "is to be regarded as one piece," with the track separations representing chapters or sections. Compared to the sprawling double-album that preceded it, Of Ruine is refreshing in its slimness, each track bleeding into the next in a very organic way. Although each track has its own unique melody and atmosphere, the compositional palette across the album remains consistent and minimal: Cashmore's fingerpicked guitar and bass, filled out with Stapleton's psychedelic drones. Only the occasional sprikling of bells or a brief percussive introduction interrupts the album's striking simplicity. Tibet's vocals are occasional joined by Phoebe Cheshire, who opens the album by reading a peculiar quote from British cat artist Louis Wain, a surreal and poetic description of a kitten playing with a ball.
For this album, Tibet and Cashmore drew heavily upon medieval music, directly adapting or drawing inspiration from a suite of liturgical, consort and funeral pieces by composers such as Anthony Holborne, William Lawes and Calum Ruadh. This gives the album a courtliness and melodic coherence that stands out in Current 93's considerable oevre. The production on the album is also first-rate, highlighting each resonant pluck of the guitars, with a canny use of echo and reverb that punctuates the text.
The text itself is one of David Tibet's best, combining the familiar use of mystical Christian metaphors with personal autobiography, which is expanded to encompass England's history, specifically the death of absolute monarchy. For all of its historical and poetic aspirations however, Tibet does not run aground and become the victim of his own complexity and intelligence. To the contrary, the lyrics of this album are probably second only to All the Pretty Little Horses in terms of clarity and relatability. The loose narrative arc relates a tale of existential wandering, a fall into the abyss of melancholy and guilt, and finally a reclamation of innocence and a chance for salvation. This is perhaps a well-worn narrative in the annals of Christian confession, from St. Augustine all the way to Tammy Faye Baker, but this familiarity accounts for its universal nature.
This is probably the last great Current 93 album that desperately needed a reissue: for years the World Serpent edition of the LP and CD have been quite scarce, trading hands for inflated prices of eBay and GEMM. This affordable digipack CD edition on Durtro Jnana is allegedly remastered, although aside from a bit of a volume increase, I could not detect much of a change from the old CD and LP editions in my collection. One big change is the album art, and unfortunately, this is a change very much for the worse. Although the cover is a bit more attractive, the lyrics and liner notes are a real hack job. Some typographical errors were corrected, but I almost couldn't tell, because the booklet is all but unreadable. Instead of the white-on-royal-blue layout of the old booklet, the background has been replaced by what looks to be handwritten text on tea-stained parchment, over which the lyrics are printed in white font. This renders the lyrics extraordinarily difficult to decipher, and for music that is so driven by the strength of text, this is a tragic mistake.
Still, it is wonderful to have this album finally back in print. Even with the artwork, newer fans of Current 93 have ample reason to rejoice. This album not only fills in the missing link between its better-known bookends, but it is also a striking masterpiece of subtlety and restrained beauty.
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With 2003's Leave Luck To Heaven album and Backstroke, its subsequent companion EP, Matthew Dear unveiled unexpected pop nuggets discovered amidst the gurgling, glitchy rhythms. Including his own effected vocals offered a welcoming doorway for curious novices to enter and pretentious purists, if they so chose, to leave. His best release yet, Asa Breed rewards those who opted to stay.
Rejecting the somewhat malleable rules of techno while simultaneously embracing its aesthetics, Dear makes a successful and, yes, natural shift from producer to songwriter with these 13 quirky compositions. Though arguably the most appropriate term for Asa Breed, synthpop too often implies plasticity: an inherent lack of substance or musical credibility. Countless new wave artists are derided by those who, given the opportunity, would have gleefully adored them during their heyday, much in the same way that traditional musicians are wont to defensively dismiss electronic musicians. While Dear could hardly be charged with emulating The Human League or Heaven 17, many of these songs owe a great deal to their moment in pop music history.
Yet, Dear rises above the teeming glut of accessible electronica noodlers by espousing eclecticism and a respect for what catches the ear. "Midnight Lovers" features impassioned singing over acoustic guitar strums and a plodding bare bones beat, while, conversely, opener "Fleece On Brain" blossoms with interweaving classic and progressive melodies and an unnaturally deep, near spoken vocal familiar to fans of the aforementioned releases. Those who have caught Dear's delightful DJ sets over the years will enjoy peppy danceable cuts like "Neighborhoods" and the Prince-like electrofunk of "Shy". "Death To Feelers" takes a simple plonked Artificial Intelligence period bell loop, lays it over some broken percussion, and creates something equally exotic and familiar.
Previously released on 10" vinyl, "Deserter" exudes coruscating clarity, the applied and amplified fusion of post-punk single and post-IDM anthem. While not quite as brooding as today's indie darlings, Dear's passive yet catchy delivery seems sincere seeping through the dissonant atmospheres, reverberating bleeps, and Stephen Morris-inspired drums. Without question, Asa Breed showcases an exceptional artist at a remarkable point in his career. Whether it is the springboard for greater success or the brink of catastrophe remains unknown.
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While it is not quite a return to form for Rasputina, Oh Perilous World is a step back in the right direction. I know that the overly goth trappings of the group might not be everyone's cup of tea but I have always had a soft spot for Melora Creager's group. This sixth album sees Rasputina move further from the dark chamber music of their earlier releases. The songs are linked by a rough concept which makes the album feel, for better and for worse, like an eccentric Broadway musical.
Creager's songs are all based on the world's recent troubled history but transposing the events back to 1816, tying them in with a story of a Floridian queen who goes to war in a blimp. It is not the world’s greatest plot but it at least leads to some nice songs. "1816, The Year without a Summer" is a grand introduction to the album and some clunky lyrics aside, heralds a return to form for Rasputina. The album's strength and at times, also its weakness, is Creager's acting via singing. For most of the album it works well. "Child Soldier Rebellion" takes on the stories of Africa's child militia and adds in bizarre imagery of airships. Instead of cheapening the harrowing images of child soldiers, it reinforces the horror of the situation. Unfortunately Creager sometimes has too hard tried to work the concept into a song and it all goes a little Andrew Lloyd Webber such as on (the thankfully short) "Old Yellowcake Breaking News."
Although the cello is still the primary instrument employed by the group, Rasputina are moving further and further away from the Victorian chamber group that they started as. Mixing more styles and influences with each album has led to mixed results. Each of their most recent albums (and Oh Perilous World is no exception) has been patchy: cracks appearing especially where there is a more straightforward rock approach to the sound. One particular peeve I have with the music here is Jonathan TeBeest's metronomic drumming. While he provides a robust rhythmical base, he lacks expression. Luckily cellos are naturally very expressive and they counteract his somewhat clinical drumming.
Overall, Oh Perilous World is not the best album released by Rasputina but it is not terrible by any means. I accept there are only so many spooky goth albums you can do before imploding but I wonder how much steam there is left in Rasputina at this point in their career. Granted, a lot of the songs included here are fairly strong compared to those on their last album, Frustration Plantation, but the cracks that have appeared in the last few years have not been filled. The group flounders too often on these last couple of albums to make me have faith in them for much longer.
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Multi-instrumentalist Mattias Gustavsson of Dungen enlists a few kindred spirits to help him create a joyous album celebrating the wonders of nature. Despite my initial wariness of its sunny outlook, this album turned out to be surprisingly well-rounded. It has stylistic changes, beautiful arrangements, and excellent singing in equal measure and yet still manages to take enough chances to keep it unpredictable.
Although they share an occasional stylistic signpost with Dungen, Life On Earth! is its own creature. The group's most Dungen-sounding track is the opener, which surprised me considering it's called "Life on Earth." I was taken aback by the opening flute solo, but as it builds in intensity and the anticipation grows, the rush of instruments that follows in its wake is that much more of a balm. The next song, "Sell Your Soul to Me," convinced me to do just that. Amazing harmonies, a relaxing tempo, and Eastern drones oscillating in the background combined for blissful effect, further aided by the brief but fiery freak-out that erupts in the middle.
Another big difference from Dungen is that Gustavsson sings in English. He has great control over his voice and is able to sing convincingly over a loud band or lead an acoustic song with equal captivation. Additionally, the treatment of vocals on this album respects and utilizes the voice as an instrument in a way that a lot of rock music doesn't anymore. A good example of this is "City on the Sea," with its tender main vocal overtaken by an increasing number of voices weaving through the mix like spirits.
Sometimes the focus can shift within a song quite drastically. "Life Turns Fast" begins as a blistering rocker that's eventually smothered by wordless singing. From here, the song collapses into a percussive maelstrom, which is then further deconstructed by effects. Even the mellow songs aren't lacking for complexity. While the harmonies at the beginning and end of "You Are There" may reveal the band's unabashed admiration for the Beatles' "Sun King," the starkly epic excursion in its middle indicates a celestial body altogether alien. And on the otherwise light and fragile "Barefoot on Tiptoe," quiet microtonal violins add subtle abrasion to lend the track a textural integrity found lacking in some of the dopier examples of optimistic music in recent history.
The instruments and arrangements are constantly evolving all over this album, yet they're blended with such a master touch that the shifts feel natural rather than jarring, even when the group interjects noisy electronic instruments. The production detail makes these gorgeous songs something special. The album is a fun ride the whole way through: a harmless but satisfying way to derange the senses.
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A few months back, while reviewing Pole's recent album, I commented that ~scape's relevance was diminishing in tandem with the tragic creative downfall of its once-trailblazing founder. However, perhaps I spoke a bit prematurely, given the latest unique and luxurious sounds from this dubsonic bulwark for the otherwise sagging imprint.
Depending on who you ask, Montreal's Scott Monteith represents either the tail end of ~scape's mind-altering first wave or the hopeful beginning of its much less memorable second. Stefan Betke's label first hit the scene when dub techno rode a feverish high, producing near-classic releases from artists like Kit Clayton and Jan Jelinek, but it later floundered with motley hit-or-miss offerings that departed, at times dramatically, from its archetypal style. Deadbeat, however, maintained a certain consistency, long after most of his labelmates grew weary of such post-Jamaican trappings. Grounded in dub's naturally spacious environs, Journeyman's Annual takes his sound to exciting places both old and new.
Opener "Lost Luggage" commences with swirling atmospheres, echoing snares, and sparse instrumentation that seems just a few inches from dubstep, until a gorgeous lead melody appears that leaves little doubt that Monteith has been listening to artists like Kode9 and Loefah. Similarly, deep and groovy "Melbourne Round Midnight" eases through with a percussive one-drop plonk and evolving currents of intricate sound design. While an entire album in this chilled digi-dub vein would undoubtedly be well received, the rest of the disc shows the artist instead making progressive strides with dancehall. He recruits Jah Cutta from his native Canada for the rowdy and raunchy "Gimme A Little Slack," a single-worthy cut that would sound killer over a proper soundsystem. With the sound clash in mind, Monteith versions the track for "Gimme A Little Dub," fleshing out the original riddim a bit with some signature bleeps and glitchy clicks. Recalling Adrian Sherwood's excellent 2006 solo album, "Where Has My Love Gone" and "Turbulence" build basic yet infectious techno structures around its island rhythm, generating a pleasant hybrid sound.
Hardly a purist, Monteith eagerly and methodically blends styles without hesitation. "Refund Me" has the grimey Bubbz spitting verses a over a crunchy Jamaican loop of overcooked electronics while Moral Undulations contributes his anti-capitalist spoken word poetry to the minimal yet firm "Deep In Country." The album finishes strong with a bonus remix of the ever-eclectic Saul Williams' "Black Stacey," remodeling the opinionated rapper's confessional original into an offbeat yet oddly tenacious composition and verifying the cogency of Deadbeat as a viable and valuable producer.
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One of the original Factory bands returns after a 21 year silence with a new album that captures the classic post-punk feel with modern day trappings. While some elements of nostalgia from that "classic" age creeps in, it still feels fresh, current, and fascinating.
Part-Primitv manages to up where the previous material left off, which is no small feat given the long break the band had. S25 aren’t afraid to stick with what worked for them in the past, but do not come across as being stuck in history or unwilling to try new things. The angular, yet catchy, post punk is here ("Gene," "Cry") as are electronic based tracks ("Roma," "Power Base"). Some of the nostalgia isn't quite as welcome, however. “Dream” (one of two tracks featuring vocals from late S25 member Jenny Cassidy) is almost TOO deeply rooted in its techno pulse beat and club synthesizers, could be about any nameless late '80s/early '90s techno pop band. It's a good track, but it does sort of stick out as a time capsule of an age many would like to forget.
Other tracks take the vintage trappings and recontextualize them into a completely different beast, such as the New Edition R&B synths and hip-hop drum machines that are the building blocks to the punk pop of "Better Make Your Mind Up." Some parallels can also be drawn to early contemporaries The Fall, specifically the garage drums and crunchy bass-centric tracks like "Can't Let Go" and "Nick." Sometimes the influences are almost disturbingly blatant, like the bass line lifted explicitly from Joy Division's "Transmission" for "Gene" (though in this case meshed with a rockabilly guitar riff that makes us dance differently than "to the radio"). The more conventional pop tracks, like the analog synths and acid house tinges of "Poppy Fields" show what New Order should have done after Technique—all day-glow neon and Ibiza beach parties—while the electronic strings, acoustic guitar, and '60’s pop vocals of "She's So Pretty" are pure foot tapping saccharine.
Maybe due to the fact that the core members remained the same from the early days of the band, Section 25 were able to rise above the unenviable task of writing, recording and releasing material after 21 years apart. Part-Primitiv is hopefully not just a reunion album, but the first installment of a rejuvenated career.
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Four German composers (Stefan Funck, Gregory Buttner, Asmus Tietchens and Nicolai Stephan) had been meeting in Room 318 for years, but the room had a problem. The heating system didn't work, and made odd noises. Surely a distraction, but with artists like these, they made the natural decision: use the odd noises of the radiators and make an album out of them.
The compilation demonstrates the unique styles of the four artists: even though they all utilized the same five minutes of source material ("Ausgangsmaterial," the final track on the disc), each shaped it into their own different and unique work, making sure that none sound like the other. Stefan Funck's four short pieces differ vastly from one to another, from the minimal slow burn power electronics of "Version Paris-Dakar" (like Whitehouse's "Told" without the misogynist vocals) to what could be initially a cover of Throbbing Gristle's "IBM" done with electric guitar feedback ("Version Vier Hauser"). Buttner's massive contribution, the 14 minute "Heiz" is swathed in reverb and the processed sounds of water dripping, which builds in layers over time, but still retains a distant, subtle tenor that could be a field recording of alien life somewhere deep in the cosmos.
Nicolai Stephan's "Ziehung" is not nearly as complex as the others, based around the sound of a stuttering tape and reversed delays. It's interesting but feels somewhat amateurish compared to the other tracks, and even more so considering it follows avant garde legend Asmus Tietchens' brilliant contribution, "Keine Warme," which is three minutes of rhythmic rattling and noise processed into melody before dropping off into a wind chamber, then coming back in a similarly musical, but with an entirely different sonic pallet for seven more minutes. For this type of music's complexity and obliqueness, Tietchens' piece is extremely accessible and listenable.
As aforementioned, the source material is included as an appendix on the disc, and while we can safely assume it is not something that will make it into heavy rotation, it is good to hear what exactly was used as the proverbial seed for this recording. It is exactly what would be expected: the high pitched whistle of a messed up radiator and the deep gurgling and dripping of water being passed through it.
To be perfectly clear, this is chin stroking music, not something to put on while cleaning the house or entertaining guests. With that in mind, however, it does make for an interesting listen if the proper attention can be paid. It makes for a fascinating example of how many variations can be placed on a simple theme, and just how unique artists of a similar ilk can be.
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Having found fame and respect without prostrating himself for the majors, Armstrong's credentialed catalog stretches collectively over two decades with the influential ska punks Operation Ivy, the consistently credible Rancid, and the unexpectedly plausible Transplants. Released on his own Hellcat Records, a vanity imprint of enduring punk indie Epitaph, A Poet's Life takes its cues from ska and rocksteady legends such as Prince Buster and Toots and the Maytals. Featuring labelmates The Aggrolites as his backing band, Armstrong abandons the studio sheen of his Transplants "supergroup" for these ten stripped down tracks. An genuine passion for reggae music can be easily identified on such songs as the uptempo skankworthy single "Into Action" and the dubbed out instrumental "Cold Blooded." Yet, diluted by Armstrong's distinctly grizzled voice and casual streetwise crassness, the album yields an Americanized, Californicated translation of the Caribbean spirit, evident on the cautionary yet reverential "Oh No". Finding joy amid the hardship, a common lyrical device for reggae vocalists, this paean to Los Angeles couldn't have a more authentic voice if penned by anyone else.
Originally slated for gratis digital release (which allegedly is still planned), A Poet's Life was given a chance as a CD/DVD package for those who wanted physical copies. If the 40-year old Armstrong, longtime contributor to indie music, and Hellcat stick to this admirable promise, it will mean a great deal to those of us who value a thriving independent scene that understands, respects, and caters to the listener as opposed to the shareholder.
On October 9, 2007 Robert Wyatt is to release his new album and first for Domino.
