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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Myth of the Love Electrique is another scorcher from these ridiculously prolific psych masters. While navigating their massive catalog can be an intimidating endeavor, this album is notable for being the debut of their newest band member: Kitagawa Hao. He fills the void left by the departure of Cotton Casino a few years back. Kitagawa's presence doesn't dominate the recording by any means, but her contributions nicely complement the swirling chaos the group generates.
Comprised of four lengthy tracks, the album explodes with a start: "The Man from Giacobinid Meteor Comet." Kawabata Makoto's guitar quickly becomes a tangle of screams, a frenzied surge that drags the band along with it. The rhythm section is ferocious. Bassist Tsuyama Atsushi frequently ventures out to the stratosphere, but he also knows when to hold back or to provide a vaguely melodic foundation. Likewise, the amount of energy drummer Shimura Koji dedicates to his performance is a lesson in endurance. Divided into three movements, this track eventually cools down and then glides to a drone landing, alighting the listener breathlessly upon calmer ground.
Kitagawa's voice makes its first appearance on "Five Dimensional Nightmare," floating over a bouzouki arrangement that sounds like singing glass. This one is divided into three sections like the previous track, but starts airy and then goes into a drone as Tsuyama briefly takes over the vocals. From here, strings are tortured like fingernails on a blackboard before a guitar and Higashi Hiroshi’s water drop electronics restore balance.
As much as I loved the two previous tracks, the band forges ahead into something different on "Love Electrique." Kitagawa's presence is most felt on this track. Her voice streaks across the mix as blistering guitars and freaky electronics blast all over the place. Over the course of 20 minutes, it hits several different moods and textures on a truly transcendent journey.
Of the four tracks, only the live staple "Pink Lady Lemonade (May I Drink You Once Again?)" may seem a little redundant. Kitagawa, however, breathes new life into this standard by bringing her vocals to the fore over the entire track, as if restoring an element that previously had been missing. It's hard to call it a definitive version because so many other excellent versions already exist, but it is a great one in its own right. For fans who may be weary of this song after all of its appearances over the years, it is easy enough to stop the disc after gorging on the first hour of music, and it is still a welcome dessert if the mood should strike.
Acid Mothers Temple always manages to find a breath of fresh air at the most opportune times, and this is no exception. While remaining a tight unit, bringing Kitagawa into the fold adds another dimension to their chaotic sprawl without having to sacrifice any of their strengths on this incendiary album.
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I cannot make heads or tails of Stefan Betke anymore. Completely removed from the original color-coded trilogy that helped define the digi-dub sound, his latest indistinct album of moody experimental electronica lacks the spark of his past classics, landing the artist among a glut of current producers operating in the same post-IDM doldrums.
I don't consider it unfair to hold Pole's current output to the standard set by his breathtaking beginnings released on a PIAS sub-label nearly a decade ago and then subsequently with Matador. To do otherwise would be senseless, especially since Betke has opted to maintain his most famous moniker despite his outright abandonment of the crackling echo chamber and haunting tones prepared on 1, 2, and 3. This disappointing decision is certainly within his rights, and if an artist's legacy is to be ruined then the most worthy entity to do so should be the artist himself.
While not necessarily a bad album, the easily forgettable Steingarten is hardly going to lift Pole out of the creative mire he landed himself in with his banal second trio of releases for Mute. While I have no confirmation that Pole was explicitly dropped from that label, I have my suspicions, especially considering this new full-length is self-released on ~scape, an imprint diminishing in relevance much like the artist who founded it. If Mute had indeed been given a crack at Betke's latest, I highly doubt that tepid tracks like "Schöner Land" or "Jungs" made the record a particularly desirable acquisition. "Düsseldorf" at least tries to generate some excitement with its clubby 4/4 beat offering a little hope, though its comparatively short length shows an artist out-of-touch with the dancefloor. Truth be told, Pole's strengths never were on in that particular arena, which in turn makes this misguided attempt all the more dismaying. Still, Steingarten strangely fails to capitalize on his previously demonstrated assets in crafting midtempo and downtempo productions, though "Sylvenstein" comes the closest out of the nine. Directionless, Betke evidently lacks a clear vision for this project, giving his listeners little reason to continue following this lost leader on his path to certain obscurity and inconsequence.
The best part of this disc is the meticulous editing and excellent sound quality. The problem is that there doesn't seem to be much development or progress over the course of these 45 minutes. One could easily start the track at any point and not miss a thing. As varied as some of the film sounds are, after a while they become an endless pastiche of the same juxtaposed sounds separated by Lopez's usual weighted silences. It's a pattern that Lopez has used quite a bit, and its familiarity drains it of its unpredictability by now.
There are some good parts, like the section about 25 minutes into it with large chunks of clunky sounds battling back and forth, or the thunderous roars at the 37-minute mark, but these aren't quite enough to save it from fading into the background. Other than the gorgeous sound quality and the vigorous editing, the disc is not far from a spooky sounds demonstration LP found in the cheap bin at the record store. If anything, this illustrates the symbiotic relationship between sound effects and image, and how deeply they rely on each other for maximum impact.
Some uncompromising records of good quality seem predestined for neglect or obscurity. So it is with this taut and melodic release; an interesting mix of jaunty minimalism, baroque abstraction and a smidgen of the kind of understated, introspective instrumentation that is to myths of the American Old West as beer foam is to a glass.
On his debut, Jeffrey Bützer plays piano, toy piano, electric piano, accordion, toy accordion, melodica, glockenspiel, reed organ, banjo, harmonica, guitars, bass, autoharp, ocarina, tongue drum, drums & percussion. Regardless of whether or not we need a Jeffrey Bützer action figure to play those toy instruments, the result is most definitely an album, since it bears repeated listening from start to finish, thanks to a vigorous breadth and subtle development. The odd title track has an almost ska-like opening rhythm. The wheezing melancholy of "Wooden Giraffe" might be an out-take from The Draughtsman's Contract; while there is much darker avant-expressionism on "Her Body is a Swamp." The record carries an endemic quasi-gamelan pulse and has a physicality that sporadically twitches like the leg of a dreamer. Bützer knows the value of repetitive phrases but is brave enough to allow a surprising element of decay and breakdown to emerge, which, of course, in hindsight seems entirely natural. Either that, or he ran out of ideas.
Who is she and what did she get in exchange for her leg? Someone's hand upon it? A brief or lasting freedom? Regret? Does the title (as if Hans Christian Andersen's little mermaid in reverse) refer to the trading of some physical mobility to gain the means by which to articulate expression? Was it sacrifice, or gain? A life spared? Season tickets to Old Trafford? Is the leg of flesh or wood? We can enjoy this record and keep the mystery of speculation.
"Tarred and Feathered" sounds less like an experience of violent retribution than a pleasant afternoon spent by the river, having tea and cakes with the vicar's daughters.The pretty sounds on "Carbonated Sewing Machine" don't appear to be derived from a device for stitching. Actually, those which embroider "Valse 1" seem more imitative of such parlor machinery; as if figures in a tapestry wandered over to the next scene for a relaxing interlude. The track "Broken Blunderbuss, One Hundred and Sixty Three Black Bubbles" has the feeling of an epic journey begun, a sense which, apart from a see-sawing lull on "Part 2", is more-or-less maintained throughout the 6 parts that follow. A reference to El Topo is unavoidable.
On the final track, "Her Body is a Swamp," Bützer shows a willingness to dissolve compositional structure and also to incorporate a raw, noisier dynamic. Images of a motorcycle traversing sand dunes came to my mind, trying to avoid getting stuck; along with a vague sense of memory clinging to skin. It would be a stretch to wonder whether or not Jeffrey Bützer will follow a more minimalist path forged by such luminaries as Terry Riley, maybe choose to add words and singing to his work, perhaps veer whole-heartedly into a 21st Century folk dance music, or (more likely) plot another course entirely. Even if it is ignored or forgotten, She Traded Her Leg has enough pure listening pleasure and signposts for future projects that whichever way Bützer goes next, lies intrigue and, most probably, reward.
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Amid the Noise is a meditative affair that almost seems therapeutic with its stark but invigorating compositions. These fragile songs have a way of both cleansing and purifying the ears, as if erasing the damage done by the sounds of hectic urban life that invade on a daily basis.
The group's discipline and dedication is evident in the way they build their tracks out of the fewest notes and textures for the fullest possible effect. Restraint seems to be a big factor in these compositions as sometimes only a stretched note or two vie for attention. Even when more sounds are introduced, they're often so subdued that they’re not immediately noticeable. Yet the results are rarely boring because their approach varies quite a bit, whether playing a series of chimes, a minor melody, or beats.
As much as I like the songs on their own, they're even better against the backdrop of Jenise Treuting's short films on the DVD that accompanies the album. The films themselves are static documentaries depicting street scenes from Manhattan and Tokyo, often with themes of transportation. The music lends scenes of the Manhattan skyline, a subway ride, a train platform, or the cavity between apartment buildings a quiet calm that cannot be obtained in reality, which in turn reinforces the music’s pensive qualities. Nothing much happens per se, but the music completes the images somehow, giving both an authority they might otherwise lack on their own.
This is a great package, and it's hard for me to imagine the music or the films existing independently of each other. They're perfectly complementary and together they accomplish the delicate task of both soothing and energizing simultaneously. It's a sublimely rewarding experience.
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Drawing from a full textural palette, the album is imbued with an introspective calm without any unexpected intrusions. Even the restrained feedback on "An Abandoned Robot" doesn't upset the balance created thus far. One of the more unexpected sections is the serenely beautiful ending of "Bobble Hats in Summer" which makes me ache for that season. Contrasting this nicely is the extreme quiet of "Digital Winter," with its subdued static and chilly stream evoking a harsh climate.
With many mornings of frost clinging to the windows in recent memory, the first half of the album's title is particularly apt and makes winter that much more bearable. Conversely, the album's warmer sections make me anxious to test the title's second half as soon as possible. Although overall I slightly prefer Xela's newer material, this debut is nearly flawless and has all the qualities I enjoy from his recent work.
This is spliced and stuck together effort from several Hair Police modes of assault and mayhem, and it's better than 95% of the live noise show documentary output. Could any real gig be as fragmentary, heavy and unruly?
This leaves Redrot, even with their very capable violent industrial breakdown style, sounding pristine in comparison. Their three live songs still sound like they were made in a wind tunnel, beats hammered on rusty steel. There are splurges of sound starving the compositions as everything that comes out of the PA is spotted with dried blood. Barked vocals burst out from the music like some old school Prurient release, black venom dripping on the stage.
The real tape mangled intro (and outro) of the Hair Police side gives hints that this is an aggressive salvage job, and not just another show. Smashed pitches, defiant loner drums and feedback overlap fuse into a clawing at the speakers, like rats against bars being slowly roasted. These shows sound a lot less lonely and reflective/ugly than the majority of their studio work. The Aryan Asshole label claims that there could even be some Graveyards action rammed in there too; the section of reed abuse would certain support this theory. The Hair Police side falls apart in uncoupling tape, leaving a brief tagged on piece of acoustic rock. The only lyrics that make it out before the rough edit are ‘and it was a dark night in the city’. An ominous ending for a piece that sounds like some spilled soundtrack of a garden of burnt hives, the music flitting between styles in a ragged panic.
artist: Lichens
title: Omns
catalog #: krank106
formats available: CD+DVD
CD UPC Code: 7 96441 81062 8
Release Date: May 7, 2007
Content: The second long player from Lichens, like his first, the largely improvised The Psychic Nature of Being, is an ascent to a higher plane. Rob Lowe's sound recordings are of a distinctly personal nature, works turned inward as much as they are projected outward.
This new album was conceived with the idea of it being a continuation of the first, while using slightly different techniques in recording and editing; from multitracking individual passes, and pulling single tracks in and out of the mix ("vevor of agassou" "faeries"), to opening up into a completely different process by overdubbing multiple tracks ("m st r ng w tchcr ft l v ng n sp r t"). All this while remaining firmly within the realm of improvisation, augmented with the use of skeletal frameworks.
The accompanying dvd video contains a single live 28 minute performance from Chicago's Empty Bottle that was recorded in 2006. All Lichens live shows are individual events and are not mere duplications of previous performances. Thus, the performance here is a unique snapshot of the Lichens live experience. The film was directed and produced by Mary Scherer and edited by Todd Mattei.
Context: Rob Lowe is involved in collaborations with Cloudland Canyons and White Light, both of which are expected to produce albums in the coming year. He is also working on a collaboration with Alan Licht, and is currently a touring member of Rhys Chatham's guitar trio.
Track Listing:
1. Vevor of Agassou 2. Faeries 3. Bune 4. M St r ng W tchcr ft L v ng n Sp r t 5. Sighns
Quotes:
"Lichens launches skyward eerie, hymnal moans; atomized guitar chords; and meditative Fahey-esque fingerpicking… and the special knowledge to which only the most spiritual cats are privy." Dave Segal-The Stranger
"The impression is fostered that this is a colossal living organism, branching out into uncultivated lands, foreign concerns" Max Schaefer-Comes With a Smile
"Robert Lowe has crafted a solo universe of purely psychedelic beauty and mystery" Dream Magazine
"It's simply stunning, epic and totally timeless." Broken Face
"Natural, unexplainable, unpremeditated but deeply musical." Splendid
Bostonian Glenn Jones isn't only one of the greatest modern acoustic guitar players of our time, but he's also one of the most genuine and open human beings who happens to be a musician. This release is a testament to both of these claims—and then some—with 11 fantastic and personal solo guitar pieces accompanied by an excellent booklet detailing stories behind each of the songs and even his own contact information!
Strange Attractors Audio House
The album, only his second full-length solo guitar release, contains a lot of songs dear to Glenn, some of them detailing his formative years, close friends, and the places he has lived. It is bookended with two short songs named "Island," a sliding bluesy tribute to the island of Martha's Vineyard: a place that is slightly remote but has a growing amount of support for guitarists like Jones. Aboveground Records and Anthony Esposito have made efforts to get people like him, Harris Newman, Jack Rose, and James Blackshaw (just to name a few) out to the island to perform and record with some great results. Against Which the Sea Continually Beats was recorded out there with Esposito, a man who Jones praises for his ability to appropriately mic a solo guitarist: a duty that can often have some horrible results when done poorly by the average house-sound people.
Although Glenn is generous with sharing his techniques, tunings, and secrets, his playing isn't something with which only guitar nerds can connect. While the first meaty song, "David and the Phoenix," (inspired by the book of the same name) is vibrant and vigorous, when a song like "Cady" comes on, it's almost as if there's a direct connection from his heart to the instrument, passing the song through in a way that Glenn can communicate the best. It's no surprise to find when reading along that it's "affectionately dedicated" to his niece.
If John Fahey doesn't come to mind when listening to the music then just the title of "The Teething Necklace (For John Fahey)" should be indication enough of his influence. What might not be widely known is that Jones knew Fahey personally since the late 1970s and recorded with him in the 1990s with his band, Cul de Sac. Jones has spent most of his time with Cul de Sac over the last 15 years and "The Teething Necklace" was Jones re-introduction to playing acoustic guitar. He was working on it in 2001 when Fahey died, ironically enough. Only now has he felt comfortable completing and releasing a recording of it and at an epic ten and a half minutes, it's probably the album's strongest and most memorable piece. It feels appropriate for a song about Fahey's passing: a somber opening spends time mourning the passing but eventually gives way to fond memories, marked by playing that is as spritely as Fahey's imaginative and pastoral playing.
Another song about a passing of a friend is "Heartbreak Hill," something Boston residents will recognize as that point in the Boston Marathon near the end where going any further can absolutely destroy the runners. It's dedicated to a friend and fellow guitar player who worked with Glenn for over 20 years at the same company. The short story in the booklet about Steve is touching, as Glenn, who's clearly a big hearted guy, describes his friend Steve as one of the biggest-hearted people. Steve's ashes were scattered on Heartbreak Hill and the song is another fitting tribute. Not only is it captivating beyond words, but it has a very notable pulse like a long distance runner's steady pace.
Those who have followed my recommendation for Imaginational Anthem will find a lot to love with a full album of Glenn Jones' material if they don't have any already. Glenn is currently recording more material (in Philly with Jack Rose!!!) and will be on the road this year with another great guitarist and Strange Attractors label-mate, Steffen Basho-Jughans, for those who aren't fortunate enough to live here in Boston and be able to see him live occasionally.
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The change in sound heralded on the Silver EP is taken further on this new album. The melancholic ecstasy of the debut album has now taken on a more hopeful tone. Instead of the thick and syrupy atmosphere present before, Justin Broadrick has opened up the music of Jesu to a more expansive feeling of freedom. The shift in sound is mirrored in the artwork of Conqueror: stretches of sky dwarfing the industrial buildings below, a far cry from the agoraphobic view out of the window that adorned the first album, dominate the record. It takes a little more listening to get into than previous Jesu releases but is definitely worth the effort.
It is impossible not to think of My Bloody Valentine when the album's title track starts up. The queasy, off-kilter noise of Loveless is an obvious influence on Jesu. This is blissful, psychedelic songwriting of a high standard. Granted there is very little pushing of the proverbial envelope but instead the craft of writing music that envelopes the listener is refined. In any case, Broadrick has pushed enough envelopes in his time to be indulged in writing some good, honest songs. The music is deceptively simple; grooves, riffs, melodies and lyrics that would be all right (or in the case of a couple of the lyrics, a little cringe worthy) on their own become euphorically intense when combined together.
Any of the songs here can be picked out as being an example of why this album is so good. A particularly great example is "Weightless & Horizontal," a slightly mid-paced piece (if anything can be slightly mid-paced!) that is a sublime piece of music. The positive spirit that permeates Conqueror is at its strongest on this song: every time I listen to it I get an urge to run out and do something important. The drums rise up throughout the song, becoming a thumping call to march forward in victory as Broadrick's slightly treated voice repeats the refrain "Try not to lose yourself" over a wall of riffs. I am guessing that Ted Parsons has resumed his position at the drumming stool, if not, it is a bloody good impression of his drumming. The hard hitting beats are elegantly tight and simple, punching out holes in the fog of guitars and vocals.
As expected, the album is impeccably recorded and produced and it is no surprise that the further the volume is turned up, the better it sounds. There is plenty of space between the instruments, allowing the texture of each interlocking riff to be fully appreciated. There are of course the usual swells of physical sound pummelling the listener back and demanding all attention. All of the instruments sound gorgeous. The guitars are perfect; they have just the right amount of crunch balanced with a decent tone. I could listen to them on their own for the length of the album but luckily the bass, drums and miscellaneous noises (probably derived from the guitars in some way) fill out the songs like smoke in a burning house. It always sounds like each of the players is playing catch up with the others; they are not out of time but as one riff ends, another is already halfway through its arc. It feels like they are circling around the songs and the listener. The feeling is particularly strong towards the end of the album, especially on "Brighteyes," which is a strong contender along with "Weightless & Horizontal" for song of the year.
While it's not my favorite Jesu release, Conqueror is certainly more than worthy of the Jesu name. The eight pieces explore the lighter fringes of the Jesu sound and in spite of the huge distorted and downtuned guitars, this is the lightest album of heavy music I have heard. I mean this in the nicest possible way, Conqueror has all the Sturm of heavy metal in all its forms but none of the genre's Drang: this is a totally uplifting experience.
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