After a decade of producing the underground's most radical audio surrealism and twisted sonic mutations, Nurse With Wound unleashed Soliloquy for Lilith onto an unsuspecting public. This triple album of understated electronic drones was miles away from the unhinged kitchen-sink sound sculptures that Nurse With Wound fans had come to expect. Lilith was Stapleton's version of Metal Machine Music, Lou Reed's double album of electronic drones that perplexed a public weaned on the introspective rock of previous work. Just as many did following the release of Metal Machine Music, several critics maintained (and still maintain) that Soliloquy for Lilith was Nurse With Wound's finest accomplishment. I can't have the been the only person who was a bit incredulous about these hyperbolic accolades.
My first reaction to the album was lukewarm. While the material was certainly potent and had a fragile beauty all its own, it couldn't match the unparalleled dynamism of Spiral Insana or the sinister whimsy of Homotopy to Marie. In short, I probably felt as betrayed and confused as the legions of rock kids who bought Reed's Metal Machine Music, dropped the tone arm and made the disheartening discovery that the album was nothing but four sides of grating, atonal noise. Although this kind of experimentalism should perhaps have been more foreseeable coming from the Stapleton camp, I think few were prepared for a Nurse so positively civilized, academic and downright pastoral. Now comes the United Dairies re-release of this, his most confounding work. The album has been re-issued and digitally re-mastered, and comes packaged in a nice box mirroring the original LP artwork. Just to make it completely irresistible, a third disc containing two new pieces recorded in the same method and spirit as the original Lilith pieces is also included. Listening to these sounds again after several intervening years of expanding my own musical education is quite a revelation, and I think that I never truly gave this album a fair chance. Understanding this album as Stapleton's take on the groundbreaking minimalist drone work of LaMonte Young and Charlemagne Palestine gives essential perspective on Stapleton's unique developments.
Soliloquy for Lilith is an album of complex, powerfully realized moods, both somber and fragile; one of the most rewarding "ambient" albums ever made. It was recorded to take advantage of the strange electrical phenomena that occurred when Stapleton discovered ghostly feedback tones emitted from a spiderweb of cross-patched guitar pedals that would elicit varying tones in response to physical movement in the vicinity of the patchwork, much the same way a theremin is played. This fortuitous accident is utilized to stunning effect on the eight sidelong pieces that comprise the album. Giant sheaves of majestic, glacial sound are wielded in repetition, with the inevitable effects of sound decay and distortion creeping in at the high end and bottom tones. It's a gleaming sound full of depth and dimension, like a work of modern metal sculpture in which you can see your distorted reflection. When given your full attention, the coldly warm tones have the effect of rendering thoughts, and therefore time itself, neutral. The same sound palette is used throughout, but each track manages to be very different from the last, birthing its own unique phantasms. The two new pieces are very much in the same vein as the original six, but are perhaps slightly more dynamic than the others. Either way, they're all extraordinarily subtle and stirring works. Soliloquy for Lilith works on its own terms, and it certainly stands the test of time as one of Steven Stapleton's most transcendental experiments.
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Last week when I was in Tokyo, I hit up on record stores with a list ofJapanese punk and indie bands and asked the staff in bad Japanese ifthey had any albums by these bands. After they found (or in most cases,didn't find) some of the bands, I'd ask them if they could recommendany bands based on my tastes. Everything recommended to me was great,but one release that I picked up in Shibuya was pure gold. The releaseis the unfortunately short but awesomely rocking Lostage. They onlyhave this three-song CD out right now, but it's on par with the bestmusic put out by Fugazi and June of 44. Hooks reminiscent of My BloodyValentine weave in and out of stop-n-go bass and drums, whilesinger/bass-player Takahisa Gomi's smooth voice belts out Japaneselyrics on the "Routine," the opener. On "Gatsuta," the hard guitar workof Masaya Shimizu and Takuto Gomi is remeniscent of Bedhead's"Psychosomatica," (the hard rockin one on Transaction de Novo).The closing third track, "2:18," once again returns to melodic hooksand a terrific stop-n-go beat, and has an aching longing quality to thefinal refrains that gives me the musical chills. And lest we forget,Tomokazu Tanaka's strong drumming keeps this whole enterprise together.This EP is truly a diamond amongst the gems I brought back from Japan.If you see a copy of this, for the love of God, knock down the personin front of you and grab it! Lostage's website is at 
The tenth release in Konkurrent's In the Fishtank series sees the horn section of jazzy post-rockers Jaga Jazzist paired up with fellow Norwegians Motorpsycho. This Fishtankdiffers slightly from others past in that the bands had a significantlyinvolved relationship before the session was even proposed. Bandmembers have floated freely between the two acts, and both were set toplay a festival together in Holland at the time Konkurrentpropositioned them for collaboration. Such previous involvement,combined with an unprecedented amount of rehearsal time has resulted inthe first Fishtank with a fully integrated and time-craftedsound. The rough edges and obtuse proportions that made previouscollaborations sometimes fun, and more often forgettable, are missinghere. The Jaga horns lend a spacious fragility to Motorpsycho's burly,often blues-laden psych, but in a thoroughly accommodating fashion.True, the latter had been heading towards looser, kraut-ier pastures asof late, but with a horn section now on equal footing, Motorpsychofreely indulge in their Neu!-ish tendencies. Fears that anotherjazz-infected Fishtank might go the way of wankery (see therecent Sonic Youth + I.C.P + The Ex collaboration) can be dismissed, asnothing short of careful, studied fusion is achieved here. Fusion isthe only name for tracks like "Doffen Ah Um," with a groove seductiveenough to justify the title's Mingus reference. The bulk of this Fishtank,however, offers a less-boisterous blend with the most successful tracksserving as bookends on the disc. "Bombay Brassiere" and the 20-minutecloser "Tristano," showcase Motorpsycho's talent for dense, drivingpsych, made crystalline by a layering of horn and flute lines thatbring both tracks to dazzling crescendos, bursting with temperedimprovisation. Other portions of the disc are less appealing, such asthe stiff, white-boy funk put to a version of the Art Ensemble ofChicago classic "Theme de Yoyo." On "Pills, Powders and Passion Plays,"Motorpsycho's Bent Saether contributes his musty, damaged vocals, whichmay sound fine over that band's acid-headed rock, but make a PhilCollins tune of this slow jam.This disc has plenty of moments sure to please fans of both bands,though newcomers could do better with either of the Jaga Jazzist fulllengths on Ninja Tune.
Breaking beer bottles and initiating fights may be the best thing to dowhile listening to these destructive twenty minutes. Sloppy guitars andthe best use of a saxophone in such an energy-driven band propel thismusic into the realm of motorcycles, leather, and (strangely) girls inthose cute skirts that were popular during the 18's. Throw in a bit ofhumor and a taste for the obscene and what emerges is this brazen riotof sleaze. "The Nasty Show" is exactly what it sounds like: ahip-shaking melody is accentuated by a kick-ass sax lead before thevocalist decides that it's time to let his wavy voice puncture the airwith a slew of female background vocalists. The only downside to thefirst track is that the vocals are... well... a bit funny. At firstthis turned me off and then after a couple listens the humor and cheeseof it all just sank in somehow. "I want to fucking die for you / I wantto die fucking you / Fucking the day away / Why don't you come over andplay?" might look stupid on paper and certainly it sounds cheesey whenrecorded, but after awhile the raunch settles in nicely and there'snothing left to do but dance like a crazy drunk. Pink Grease is,without a doubt, indebted to some bands flying out of the past, buttheir combo of keyboard sounds, sax, guitars, and drums somehowelevates itself over the influences it draws from and leaves only the fun elements squarely in place. The helter-skelter vocals of "Susie" and the overall shakey ground that all of All Over Yourests upon keeps things interesting. Wearing a leather jacket may berequired for listening to this album, though. And switchblades must becarried in every man's pocket. Girls: wear those short skirts andfluffy sweaters and dance around as if you had no idea that any boymight wonder what's under your clothes. Pink Grease have written anasty little EP of near total expenditure; sexual, heavy, andhilarious.
Basil Kirchin released two landmark works of musique concrête in the early 1970's entitled Worlds Within Worlds,then disappeared from the face of the earth. I've never heard theseearly classics as they've remained hopelessly out of print for thirtyyears, even as such music luminaries as Drew Daniel (of Matmos and TheSoft Pink Truth) gushed that Kirchin's works were "immersive, dark andmagical." Trunk Records does the next best thing to a re-issue with Quantum, a previously unreleased full-length album recorded during the same time period as the pieces on Worlds Within Worlds.Kirchin's peculiar genius lies in his effortless juxtapositions andmutations of sampled environments, free jazz skronk, unexpected vocalsamples and subtle electronic harmonies. Quantum is a uniquelyenthralling journey through microtonal events - creating rich, deeplycaptivating ecosystems of sound. The power of Quantum holds up next to classic concrete works such as Tod Dockstader's Apocalypse and Roger Doyle's Rapid Eye Movements."Part One" begins with field recordings of squawking geese togetherwith the lovely melodic swells of a synthesized organ. The voice of awoman, possibly Kirchin's wife, intones in a breathy, rapturouswhisper: "No one can find me or see my face, but I am there. You waitand see. Something special will come from me." The geese return, butthey have been slowed down and mutated, dripping like ghostly treacleas the quartet of avant-jazz improvisers take prominence. It is herethat Kirchin unveils his affinity for time-stretching - slowing downsound sources to highlight spectral microcosms that lie unpotentiatedon the surface of environmental sounds. This was certainly an importantforerunner to the object-sampling strategies of Matmos, who use newertechnologies to underscore the same kind of audio minutiae. ThoughKirchin seems to consider his quartet of improvisers as just anothersound event to be amplified, faded, mutated and re-assembled, theplaying itself is fantastic - fiery, dynamic and emotive. There are noalbum credits, but research reveals the skeletal guitar improvisationsto be the work of Derek Bailey, and the other players should berecognizable to British improv enthusiasts. "Part Two" uses the samesound sources as the first, but adds incredibly disarming audio samplesof autistic children. Their primitive, pre-verbal ululations hold astrange magic in this context. Part of the fascination of Quantumis discovering just how similar the bleats of a tenor sax are to themutterings of geese, how a vibraphone and a guitar can have a strangedialogue against a backdrop of a human voice, pitched and distorted tosound like the roar of a lion. Quantum creates an innovativeenvironment in which the mind is freed to make surprising connections,building its own neural pathways to navigate this dark, undiscoveredworld of quantum changes.
The real tragedy of the obligatory Fahey reference accompanying everysort of instrumental guitar music criticism these days is that in acase like this, when a namedrop is relevant, even downright essential,one feels like chump or a short-cutter for following through with it.With this debut disc, Harris Newman joins label-mate SteffenBasho-Junghans as the second new guitar graduate to successfully minethe Takoma catalog and produce something that is as fresh as it isbackward-looking. The first third of Non-sequiturs had me thinking Ihad slipped The Best of John Fahey into the changer by mistake. Newmanattacks Fahey's windswept blues and teetering, fingerpicked flourisheswith a tenacity and a passion that keeps the songs from falling intodull repetition. The melancholia-meets-agitation vibe present in muchof Fahey's music is at work in Newman's melodic sense and his play oftension and release; songs like "Sometimes a Bad Attitude is All itTakes" and "The Bullheaded Stranger" match Fahey's early works both intheir ambitious structure and their quasi-absurd titles. Non-sequiturswould not be such a pleasing listen, though, if Newman had not lentthem his unique touch. The guitarist's activity in the Montreal avantscene has no doubt inspired some of the disc's more surprising moments,most notably those featuring percussion from Godspeed member BruceCawdron. Cawdron's playing proves versatile, blending with theshuffling blues early on the disc and providing more abstractaccompaniment via pandeiro, bodhran, and exquisitely played bowedcymbals as Newman's playing gets more spacious. The guitar bottoms outon "God is in the Details," gathering a skeletal, glacier-paced bluesfrom groaning lap-steel plucking atop ghostly cymbal drones. Thepercussion is considerably detached in the mix for the length ofNon-sequiturs giving a surreal quality to certain sections, primarilythose in which Newman introduces improvisation or a kind of raga-styleabandon into his playing. This effect is most impressive on the disc's15-minute climax, "Forest for the Trees." The track features Newmandrifting uncomfortably over three somber chords as the drums bump andshake, back and forth against his nervous timing; as his playingdecays, the percussion ascends in a clatter of protest. The imageconjured is one of an anxious guitar player, playing to the creakingsounds in his room at night. One quality often lacking among thefollowers of Fahey (of which Newman is one of the most loyal) is theability to transcend technical mastery and create truly soulful,evocative music. Non-sequiturs confirms Harris Newman an exception tothis majority.
John Bischoff is one of the best-known Bay-area electronic composers.For decades he has been producing electronic and computer-based music,and his newest release on 23five collects recent (1999-2002) worksusing the Max/MSP language. My limited knowledge prohibits me fromunderstanding how this software allows a fuller realization of thetheory Bischoff says links all seven pieces on Aperture."Reflective intention" describes a situation in which sound structureis determined "not only through the predetermined elements which gointo a piece, but also through the active process of listening to themusic as it happens and responding accordingly." I cannot untangle allof Bischoff's heady liner notes; also, I cannot see how his "reflectiveintention" could not just as easily be called improvisation. I amcomfortable to call this improvised computer music, and fine music atthat. The variety of compositional structure alone makes Aperture apleasant listen. The opening "Piano 7hz" features thick, chiming soundfragments spread sluggishly across intermittent clinks and low rumbles,at a lazy, decaying interval with pacing that recalls Morton Feldman.Earlier tracks like "Immaterial States" and "Graviton" are arrangedaround a latticework of extended sounds that evolve from low-levelmachine chugs to piercing whines, impressive in their ability to evokemovement or suggest visual correspondents without defining the natureor origin of the individual sounds. All six tracks on Aperturewere recorded in real-time, producing a temptation, in the listener, togrant the most complex works a precedence relating to the assumedintensity or struggle of their birth. One of the most enjoyable pieceshere, however, is probably the most simple. "Sealed Cantus" is acollaborative track created from two sound sources, the recorded soundof a water fountain sculpture by Kenneth Atchley and Bischoff'smanipulation of static. The arresting density of the resulting track istreated to a subtle structuring, leading the rapt listener toward thepiece's harrowing finale. Aperture's title track, one of thefour recordings from 2002, provides neat closure to a disc that is bothchallenging and remarkable in its potential for repeated listening andaccessibility as a cohesive statement. "Aperture" condenses much of theideas represented in the previous six tracks into a simplerise-and-fall movement, emphasizing the collective statement made bythese essentially "separate" works, and the seductive aura ofBischoff's music as a whole.
Greg Dulli is no stranger to death, as his albums have included songstinged with mortality. In recent years, however, he seemed to becooling off and enjoying life a bit more. He was working on materialfor a new album when he got the word that his good friend Ted Demme haddied of heart failure while playing at a charity basketball event earlyin 2002. Suddenly the album Dulli was working on had no meaning for himanymore, and he turned again to the familiar material of his past. Theman with the notorious party lifestyle began penning new material, andthe result is the death party record Blackberry Belle.The classic Dulli sound is back for the most part, with full sex rompand pomp, but every song has a twisted edge where it deals with loss onsome level or another. Dulli is starting to see the dangers of thenightlife he so casually sidled up next to at the bar, as the openinglines of the record show: "Black out the windows, it's party time/Youknow how I love stormy weather, so let's all play suicide." TheTwilight Singers of today are a tight group, with loud guitars, chorusvocals, and a smoky groove that ties it all together. Samples are now agreater part of the vocabulary, as well, from the crowd cheers on"Feathers" to the European phone ring sample that is the backbone of"Esta Noche." Several guests also punctuate Dulli's world of fun orgloom, from Petra Haden to Mark Lanegan. This album belongs to Dulli,though, as his first true work after the Afghan Whigs' demise. He walksthe walk, and he's always talked the talk, and for the first time heseems in the right place with it all. It's all or nothing on everytrack, and the focus shifts easily from narrator to voyeur for whateverbrings across the meaning more. One of his bands is gone, and the otherhe's burned down only to rebuild stronger than it was before. There maybe life in the old boy yet.
No doubt partially influenced by Benjamin Gibbard's work in the Postal Service, Transatlanticismshows off a denser, darker, and here and there more electronic DeathCab for Cutie than ever before. That's just the start of the changes,however, as their fourth album feels like a complete renovation oftheir familiar emo-tinged sound. Gibbard's voice is almostunrecognizable for most of the opening cut "The New Year" until,towards the end, his familiar whine breaks through. Then out of thepower of that track, the lamb emerges on "Lightness," and it's clearthat DCFC have an agenda: to prove that they can evolve. They've done afine job of it. Gone is the youthful idealism and the struggle of thoseviews; replacing it is an existentialism and an acceptance of some ofthe wrongs that everyone knows exist but are afraid to say. There arecracks in the veneer that need exposing, from the mundane matter offinding photos of an old love in the glove compartment to recognizing afling for what it is and letting it go. The record bounces around fromthought to thought as though these were all memories and thoughts thatshould have been left behind. DCFC faces it head on, bravely moldingtheir sound around these schizophrenic thoughts. Chris Walla'sproduction work also takes a leap forward, with the songs soundingclearer and crisper all around, and Gibbard's voice has never soundedso pure. There is a new power, a new clarity, and a new attack in theband that doesn't sound forced as it did on certain songs on The Photo Album,and there are no awkward moments. Even when things are slowed down orcalmer in delivery there is an energy crackling beneath the surface,waiting to surge. It's not always a smooth and easy ride for DCFC'slatest, but it's still a nice trip all the way down.
It only takes a few, short moments to ruin an entire record completely. Why must obscene jazz samples (i.e., elevator sounds) be used in conjunction with beat and bass heavy arrangements? Those overly-vibrant, obnoxious, and sickeningly bright bass pops combined with dynamically static horn parts lead only to decay. The decay is obviously contagious as it tends to infect the rest of the album.
