G3G/Spooky Sound
Mars has always been my favorite of the four No New Yorkbands because their music sounds consistently on the verge of collapse.While fellow scenesters DNA share a similar spastic approach, there canbe no denying that Mars helped take the noisier, amateurish tendenciesof the genre to their logical extremes, becoming one of the first andmost important groups to create noise music under rockist pretence.Whereas the particular "style" or modus operandi of cohorts like TheJerks and The Contortions are now somewhat easy to pinpoint, Marsremains as pleasantly enigmatic as they ever were, no doubt becausethere was never much of a guiding force behind their work in the firstplace. The catchy, almost generically post-punk grooves laid down onthe band's first single ("3-E" b/w "11,000 Volts") mask the fact thatmost of the members started learning their instruments at the firstpractice, if that early. Even so, the Martian melting pot,though widely mimicked, is a unique and matchless brew, thanks to theband's method for combining disparate melodic or rhythmic lines,creating within each song a struggle for dominance that, instead ofbringing the music to a standstill, creates a kind of perpetualroll-over and an indirect, multi-layered, even schizophrenic sound. Theresults range from distorted, Beefheart-ian call-and-response freakoutsto near-impenetrable tapestries of noise that writhe with the burden oftheir incompatible elements but maintain a thrilling, if precariousbalance. It was no doubt this chaotic, storm-like quality of the Marssound that prompted Jim "Feotus" Thirwell to lend his production skillsto the band's first archival release, 78+. Thirwell's mixemphasizes the music's quasi-industrial elements and its low-end,making the swirling atmospherics and more abrasive undercurrents ofmany tracks more prominent. Though his approach was admirable, andespecially effective on the several live tracks included, the band wasunsatisfied, and decided to put out a remixed, re-sequenced CD,including only their 11-song studio output and modeled to appear as aMars LP would have, had they released it over 20 years ago. The new mixsounds great and gives the songs a punch quietly lacking on 78+and even a bit on Eno's original mixes. The frenetic tumble of thesongs keeps its form, and a new crispness makes the music sound as wildas ever. The limited track list leaves out only three tracks from 78+'snear-complete collection, and this disc honestly feels like thefull-length that should have been. It's nice to see music this goodgetting the treatment and presentation it deserves.
Mars has always been my favorite of the four No New Yorkbands because their music sounds consistently on the verge of collapse.While fellow scenesters DNA share a similar spastic approach, there canbe no denying that Mars helped take the noisier, amateurish tendenciesof the genre to their logical extremes, becoming one of the first andmost important groups to create noise music under rockist pretence.Whereas the particular "style" or modus operandi of cohorts like TheJerks and The Contortions are now somewhat easy to pinpoint, Marsremains as pleasantly enigmatic as they ever were, no doubt becausethere was never much of a guiding force behind their work in the firstplace. The catchy, almost generically post-punk grooves laid down onthe band's first single ("3-E" b/w "11,000 Volts") mask the fact thatmost of the members started learning their instruments at the firstpractice, if that early. Even so, the Martian melting pot,though widely mimicked, is a unique and matchless brew, thanks to theband's method for combining disparate melodic or rhythmic lines,creating within each song a struggle for dominance that, instead ofbringing the music to a standstill, creates a kind of perpetualroll-over and an indirect, multi-layered, even schizophrenic sound. Theresults range from distorted, Beefheart-ian call-and-response freakoutsto near-impenetrable tapestries of noise that writhe with the burden oftheir incompatible elements but maintain a thrilling, if precariousbalance. It was no doubt this chaotic, storm-like quality of the Marssound that prompted Jim "Feotus" Thirwell to lend his production skillsto the band's first archival release, 78+. Thirwell's mixemphasizes the music's quasi-industrial elements and its low-end,making the swirling atmospherics and more abrasive undercurrents ofmany tracks more prominent. Though his approach was admirable, andespecially effective on the several live tracks included, the band wasunsatisfied, and decided to put out a remixed, re-sequenced CD,including only their 11-song studio output and modeled to appear as aMars LP would have, had they released it over 20 years ago. The new mixsounds great and gives the songs a punch quietly lacking on 78+and even a bit on Eno's original mixes. The frenetic tumble of thesongs keeps its form, and a new crispness makes the music sound as wildas ever. The limited track list leaves out only three tracks from 78+'snear-complete collection, and this disc honestly feels like thefull-length that should have been. It's nice to see music this goodgetting the treatment and presentation it deserves. 
Everyone knows what became of the members of Slint following theirsplit. From the Palace Brothers records to Aerial/Papa M to Tortoise tothe For Carnation, all have kept pretty busy and their individualprojects have gotten a fair amount of notice. That is, with theexception of Evergreen, who usually evoke a response of "who?" whenevertheir name is dropped outside of their native Louisville, KY. FormerSlinter Britt Walford joined the band in 1993, adding his powerhousesignature energy to the overall feel of the band which already held afair amount of gumption. Their self-titled debut and only release nowsees well-deserved reissue treatment from Temporary Residence,including two bonus tracks left off the original pressing. Based onSean McLoughlin's yelped meanderings alone, Evergreen deserve a listen,after which the listener (read: victim) will be forever entranced andotherwise sucked in by the infectious tempos and brutal punksensibilities. Those tired of the recent '60s and '70s rip-off revivalbands will feel an immense joy listening to this record, as their toestap, arms sway, heads thrash, and bodies flail against one another. Itsounds like its influences though with an added bit of modern moxy, andfits right along some of the classic records of the punk and post-punkgenres. "Petting the Beast," "Whip Cream Bottle," "Plastic Bag": allhave the ability to tear down walls with their naked aggression. Thenthe funky bass and shredding guitars of "Klark Kent" arrive to bringthe roof in after them. Things slow down a bit with "Sweet Jane" (no,not that one) and "Glass Highway" — both quite good — but it's oflittle consequence: the damage is already done and will return again on"Coyote" just in case there's anyone left alive. The two bonus tracksare both good fun, and fit right along with the rest in winningfashion. All in all, a horribly ignored release now ready for thespotlight, and deserving every bit of the attention.
The feeling of glee that came over me finding something like this inthe bins at a cheap price was amazing. It's almost as if somebody hasbeen reading my mind as of late. German label Repertoire has snatchedthis gem from AON's back catalogue—their first 12" EP, originallyreleased on ZTT back in 1983—and slapped some bonus 12" remixes andincluded a DVD of videos. The Art of Noise were one of the first groupsto introduce sampling of non-musical sounds into musical rhythms andtextures and Into Battle,their first EP is a groundbreaking legend. The EP featured two minorhits, the chunky "Beat Box," which influenced a ton of 1980s acts andprovided the blueprints for a style later described as "big beat" inthe 1990s, and the 10+ minute lush "Moments in Love," most famouslyused as Madonna and Sean Penn's wedding march. Both were later compiledon other AON releases like Who's Afraid of... and Daft,but there was something that made this EP a bit more interesrting.Short pieces like "Battle," "Flesh In Armor," "Donna," and thesix-second "Bright Noise" add neat little transitions, which wassomething I had always kind of hoped other bands might take hint fromand make a 12" EP something more than just an ordinary 12" single.(Tragically, it didn't happen enough.) The CD is rounded out with two12" remixes of their arguably biggest single from the TrevorHorn-produced ZTT era, "Close to the Edit," both of which of which Ihad never heard and am likewise pleased by the addition of live pianoand other instrumentation not present in the original versions. The DVDwhich comes along with this is what nearly made me drool. Looking atthe package, it lists the videos for "Moments in Love," "Beat Box," and"Close to the Edit" (as well as the forgettable track "Metaforce" fromtheir reunion a couple years ago). Back in the 1980s, everything wasn'tas good as people think they remember, musically. MTV didn't actuallyplay a lot of cool stuff, as I vividly remember being bombarded withTom Petty, John (Cougar? not Cougar!) Mellencamp, and Bryan Adams. Itwas the show Night Flight on the USA Network where I firstsaw/heard/videotaped bands like Coil, Skinny Puppy, Cabaret Voltaire,Wire, and The Art of Noise. I have aging videotapes with videos like"Beat Box" recorded and the thought of it on a DVD was a divine gift.However, much to my dismay, "Beat Box" doesn't appear despite beinglisted (BASTARDS!) I do get to have the gorgeous video of "Moments inLove" with wigs, singing turtles, and ice-skaters in slow motion andthe award-winning classic of "Close (to the Edit)," where three guysand a little girl trash various musical instruments, so, I guess I getwhat I pay for. However, should this "Repertoire Records" (never heardof them before this) ever fix this mistake, I'll be quite happy andquickly try to exchange this version with them. 
Osama "Sam" Shalabi's new full-length album with his group Shalabi Effect is a bit of a departure from recent solo outings, which focused on improvisation and textured electronic instrumentals. The musicians assisting Shalabi on Pink Abyss are predictably drawn from the ranks of Montreal musical collectives and supergroups such as gy!be, Do May Say Think, Set Fire To Flames and Broken Social Scene.
After a string of arguably mediocre releases, Laibach return with anunparallelled strength and urgency that basically invalidates thescores of modern post-post-industrial electronic body music pollutingdark clubs and college radio programs with horrible lines about deadlylove obsessions or other similar whiny crap. Laibach have proven in thepast with albums like Kapital and Opus Dei that they are capable of forceful electronic masterpieces, and with records like Krst-Pod Triglavom: Baptism and Macbeth,their love for theatrical grandeur show their ability to step out ofthe mold with anthemic treasures. Teamed up with two of NovaMute'stechno champions Iztok Turek and Umek, the results are nothing lessthan stellar. While plenty of european guys dress in black proclaimingthat we can dance as the world crumbles, Laibach is hands down the mostconvincing. There's no equal for the gritty, low lead voice and choralvocals combined with the loud and punchy syntheitics on tracks like "DuBist Unser," and songs like the "Achtung!," "Hell: Symmetry," and thealbum's single "Tanz Mit Laibach" (a nod to DAF) could easily set anyrivethead-filled industrial dancefloor on fire. There are other usesfor the record too: I personally found myself saved by it on publictransportation, which I absolutely hate taking when the inclementweather prevents me from cycling in to work and the loathsome commuterssniffling, sneezing and forcing me to stand piss me off.Doublep-tracked vocals on songs like "Ende" are ear-ticklinglydelicious. English-sung songs can almost be too comical to bear, sometimes. "Barbarians are coming...they'll burn down your cities andDisneylands...they will turn into snakes and you're better off dead ifthey crawl in your bed" is almost laughable on the song "Now YouWill Pay," making me long for a German version so I don't shoot waterout of my nose. There isn't a dull milisecond and the album never losesits strength. Be very careful, however, as the music can be sohypnotizing, that potentially damaging loud volumes are quitedesirable. 
The second in Die Stadt's ambitious reissue project covering 18 of Tietchens' early releases, 1980's Biotop sees the artist venturing further into the quirky pop idiom that his debut Adventures in Soundonly hinted at. Each track is a rich, two-minute exercise in Tietchens'inimitable melodic style, filtered through vintage synths and drummachines, receiving their own portraits in the liner notes. Tietchenshas also imagined a troupe of synth-wielding goofs as his backing band(Das Zeitzeichenorchester?"the time-signal orchestra"), all with namesthat are anagrams of the composer's, including Stu 'The Cute' Sins.This brand of humor helps to foreground the music inside, which, forall its melodicism, comes with a noticeable sense of detachment. Whilesimilar in mood to the surreal, coldly cinematic electropop of hiscontemporaries, Der Plan, and modern-day wunderkind Felix Kubin,Tietchens' Biotop pushes the pop further into space, weavingheady, claustrophobic atmospherics in and out of each robotic beat anddated synth whirl. This music does show its age, but it almost works in favor of the strange environment conjured. Even at its most bouncy or sweet, Biotopkeeps a bizarre, grainy distance, invoking the kind of antique futurismgroups like Trans Am wish they had it in them to create. Tietchens hassaid that, at the time, he was intentionally writing songs with no basslines, in order to erase any commercial potential the record mighthave. Listening today, however, I'm thinking his plan may havebackfired as many of these songs approach what I'd imagine radiojingles of the future to sound like. Coincidentally it was Tiechens'mentor Okko Bekker who said that the sparse and concise nature of thesesongs reminded him of radio time-signals, kind of like old-fashionedstation-IDs. For such a (relatively) straight-forward piece of work, Biotopstrikes me, ironically, as lacking the personality that makes many ofTietchens' more inaccessible, recent releases stand above the rest.That said, the album is a fascinating, elusive little creation,valuable apart from its status as a document of the brilliantmusician's formative years. 
The fourth CD release from Asmus Tietchens and Thomas Köner's collaborative project Kontakt der Jünglinge, nis the duo's strongest work to date. Like their other releases, thedisc is drone-heavy, consisting of one 40+ minute live improvisation,dominated by huge bell tones and what sound like recordings of rushingwind, delayed, looped and exploded along a slow evolution. Whileprevious efforts warranted descriptors like "barren" and "bleak," basedon their preference for more acute, concr?te-associated sounds orsparse assembly, n is the first Kontakt der Jünglinge releaseto which these words apply in a comprehensive way. Tietchens and Könerwork together in seamless fashion, arranging sounds that define theboundaries of spaces rather than concentrating on details or eventswithin. The piece succeeds in avoiding the more recognizable orassociative sounds that appeared on earlier releases while creating arich, more easily inhabitable sound-world, in this case something likea vacuous region of deep space. The title, a break from the lineartitles of the first three collaborations (1, 0, -1),also suggests that this fourth disc deals with sounds of a moreelemental nature or offers a purification of the ideas posited by itspredecessors. Just words, yes, but very few things can fill a room likethis.
Devoted followers of cult obscurantist acts like Nurse With Wound havebecome accustomed, over the years, to their favorite music being issuedin absurdly limited "special" editions, created to be hopelesslyobscure within a month of their release. I couldn't recount all of theinstances when I have heard of a new release being offered in alimited, numbered edition of 100 handmade copies on transparent vinyl,with unique art objects, the first 10 orders including an exclusivebonus 7" smeared with the artist's bodily fluids, and one extra specialcopy containing a golden ticket entitling the holder to visit theartist's home and take liberties with their pet. As frustrating asthese ultra-limited releases can be, ardent devotees still hold out thehope that with vigilance, cunning and a fair amount of cash, they canpossess their own piece of the dream. Now, the lovely, talented andextraordinarily perverse folks at Bronson Unlimited Records have justupped the ante and blown all hope into the stratosphere with therelease of one of the more unique limited editions in recent memory. Goat Woundis a tribute to the work of Nurse With Wound - 25 artists from aroundthe world anonymously contributed an original untitled piece as anaudio tribute to Steven Stapleton. The tracks are divided among six 3"compact discs with individual, reversible interlocking puzzle panelcovers, a Goat Wound postcard and a pewter goat statue, all ofwhich is housed in a handmade, art inlaid wooden box. The catch: Thisis truly a one-of-a-kind tribute to Steven Stapleton, and only StevenStapleton. As unbelievable as it sounds, Goat Wound is limitedto only one copy, which was shipped directly to Cooloorta Farm upon itscompletion. No one, not even the label itself or the artists involved,will ever be able to own a copy of the set. In addition, the 25 artistshave each relinquished all copyright claims to the work on Goat Wound,freeing Steven Stapleton to use the music as raw materials for futuresound sculptures, should he choose. The only relic that remains for thecurious public is Bronson Unlimited's fantastic 
Of all the tracks included on the Brazilian volume of the excellent Love, Peace, & Poetrypsych comp series, Sound Factory's "Let's Go" is by far the strangest.The song tries at a fairly generic, surf-influenced groove, but comesoff sounding more like a cautionary tale against heavy acid use, ahideously top-heavy mix capped off by singer Kevin Brennan's falsetto,so bad it's honestly not even funny. The song is a sad but perfectintroduction to the band's single, thoroughly obscure album, reissuedlast year by Shadoks. Sound Factory cannot be explained away asan amateur psych record or even as a novelty for the collectors marketalone. Something about the group protects them from seeming either tooincompetent or too generic for the adventurous listener. Seven of thesongs are covers (Cream, Traffic, Jefferson Airplane, and Blind Faithamong others), lending the automatic charm that comes with foreignersborrowing so directly (and almost exclusively) from theBritish/American rock canon. Portuguese accents get bent awkwardlyaround Robert Johnson's wail, and a Tropicalian lilt is brought to thestodgiest of thick, white rock, shoddily-played and cheaply-recorded;while it might be easy to call this music unoriginal, it's impossibleto say it's no fun. Missteps like "Let's Go" transcend camp valuebecause they are almost too obtrusive or annoying for even a committednovelty enthusiast to stomach. Novelty gets left behind for a stranger,more rarified appeal, as if the group's unintentionally off-kilterapproach prevents them from being so quickly placed or dated. A fewmoments of truly exceptional musicianship further complicate things.The guitar and bass players are undoubtedly skilled, their inventiveparts frequently coming into odd juxtaposition with clumsier sections.Brennan's solos are at times masterful Hendrix-isms, made more enticingby their frequent burial deep in the mix, and drummer Trajano's shakycroon gives two Steve Winwood classics a fragility that, professionalor not, lends a new beauty to the tired songs. The result is a recordcharming for its amateur-ish exuberance but also thrilling in the waythe band conquers its limitations, managing an addictive, ifidiosyncratic sound. - 
For 20 years, Matthew Bower's Skullflower has been widely influentialin the noise scene, evolving a signature sound over time to incorporatethe amplified drones, repetition and ?ber-psychedelic noise thatcharacterizes the recent works. Bower's sister group Sunroof! usessimilar distortion-pushing strategies, but serves as an outlet forgentler, trancelike, even transcendent applications of dissonance andnoise. Cloudzis perhaps Bower's most meditative album yet, taking a clear step backfrom atonality and adding fuller instrumentation that threatens to addmelody and rhythm to the abstract sound sculptures. 2003 was a banneryear for Matthew Bower, with the release of Skullflower's trance-metalmasterpiece Exquisite Fucking Boredom, the subsequent tour with Vibracathedral Orchestra, and now Cloudz, which is probably Sunroof!'s strongest album yet, with the possible exception of 2001's double-album Bliss. Cloudzclimbs into a rarefied strata; noise that is blissed-out and beatific,but also intense, shamanistic and loud as hell. "Machine" creates acushion of distortion that lifts a scattered piano melody into the jetstream, before transforming into a maze of electronic blurps, redolentof the giant god-computer in the sky detailed by Philip K. Dick in hisGnostic exegesis. Further into this astral temple of cumulonimbusgnosticism comes the urgent dot-matrix rhythms of "Grasshopper,"followed quickly by the ratcheting beats and lysergic reverberations of"Viva." "Zero" is a bright evocation of Krautrock, something like aNeu! track scrubbed with steel wool: motorik beats smeared withhigh-pitched glitches and squiggles. "Universal Acceleration" is afloating steam calliope bubbling up into the heady, stoned atmosphereon a pillow of Nintendo sound effects. "Tornado Rose Canoe" is thehighlight, a senseless electric guitar solo that shoots straight forthe third-eye and throws off all manner of hallucinogenic streamers."Silver Nazi Suicide" is this set's most challenging track, a richlydetailed 12-minute excursion into carnivalesque bells, horns andshakahuchi that absolutely hypnotized me. The insect drones of"Primavera" and the clean, hicupping digital washes and vocoderizedchanting of "Silver Zero" end the disc on a note of futuristic nirvana.After being pushed into the loftiest firmaments of this heavenly templeof drone, I've been ushered into a binary landscape of mantra-spewingrobot gods. After a few more spins of Cloudz, I hope to master their language. 
