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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This recently reissued debut offers the tasty fruits from a rare instance where session singers, typically relegated indefinately to the background, claim some time for themselves in the spotlight.
Having made their mark on several Sugar Minnott recordings, vocalists Clive Davis and Christopher Harvey birthed Jezzreel for this 1980 Wackies record. Supported by Jah Scotty's New Breed Band with arrangement and mixing by label head Lloyd Barnes and Prince Douglas, the well-sung lyrical content is strictly the meat and potatoes or, rather, the more appropriately ital dietary equivalent, of roots reggae. Opening with a brief solo piano melody that strangely never reappears, the record's theme immediately takes shape, as "Love Of My Life" quickly shifts into a sentimental Rastafarian ode set to a skanking beat.
As is the standard for showcase albums, all of the remaining tracks transition from full vocal takes to dubwise versions. Of these, "Sun Will Shine" stands out as a clear highlight for me, spotlighting Jezzreel's herbal blend of hooky repetitive chorus harmonies and bass-driven riddims. The devotional prayer of the title track calls out for spiritual guidance from above, doing so in a manner that would compel listeners religious and non-religious alike to sing along. No "conscious" album from this period would be complete without at least one song dedicated to the struggles of the poor, and the unambiguously titled "Living In The Ghetto" fulfills that requirement more than adequately.
Not exactly a lost classic, Great Jah Jah comes across as rather short when compared to today's standard CD lengths and some cash-strapped consumers might balk at paying full import price for under 40 minutes of music. Still, all six sublime songs featured here rightfully belong in Basic Channel's ongoing Wackies reissue campaign.
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As disco continues to enjoy a prolonged revival thanks in part to hot artists like Metro Area and Lindstrom & Prins-Thomas, UK label Soul Jazz eagerly jumps on the bandwagon with this double disc set of '70s mixes from one of the genre's godfathers.
Although these aforementioned nu-disco super troupers might be quicker to cite Giorgio Moroder or maybe Patrick Cowley as a primary influence, Tom Moulton's impact on music then and now cannot be overlooked. After all, it is he, not P. Diddy, who is credited as having invented the remix and the 12" single, dance music requisites that have unquestionably dominated our culture ever since. These days, to tweak Frank Sinatra's famous lyric, you're nobody 'til somebody remixes you.
Unlike many of the compilations that litter the racks at mega-sized retail chains and collect dust in the bargain bins of used CD shops, A Tom Moulton Mix exists outside of the norm, effortlessly eschewing colossal cuts now sanitized by Bar Mitzvahs and office Christmas parties for something more to the liking of crate diggers and those who foolhardily wish to intellectualize this strictly hedonistic sound. And while Soul Jazz is culpable of participating in the latter revisionist offense here, it doesn't matter since many of the fortuitously unmixed selections themselves are really quite good.
After two minutes of funk-flavored build-up, Temptations alumnus Eddie Kendricks' falsetto kicks off this collection unabashedly with "Keep On Truckin." Also of note are groovy, flamboyant numbers from seminal figures such as Grace Jones alongside since-forgotten groups like Detroit Emeralds, Orlando Riva Sound, and South Shore Commission, all exhibiting Moulton's touch. Unless you spent most of the past several decades trapped in a P.O.W. camp—or even if you did—you've undoubtedly heard Andrea True Connection's instantly recognizable "More More More," or at least that Canadian one-hit wonder Len's sucktastic "Steal My Sunshine" which samples one of its bridges.
It probably comes as at least a mock surprise of most people that Isaac Hayes actually penned more than the "Theme to Shaft" and "Chocolate Salty Balls," and the smooth propositioning of "Moonlight Loving" will initiate those primarily familiar with his Chef caricature. Irrespective of his quasi-scandalous Scientological foibles, the man was singing about threesomes—and convincing foxy ladies to participate—before most Brainwashed readers ever saw a girl naked.
Disco is notoriously well-known for its excesses on and off the dancefloor, and history hasn't exactly been kind by demoting most of its defining elements to camp instead of cool. (You can practically see the Indian headdresses while listening to BT Express' "Peace Pipe.") Not for the casual listener, only those eager to venture beyond the Donna Summer and Chic hits overplayed by the Clear Channel monolith and its less massive imitators should bother to inform themselves with A Tom Moulton Mix. Additionally, savvy DJs sentimentally snorting lines and vigilantly gobbling up the current load of nu-disco productions may want to snag the simultaneously available 2x12" vinyl version and benefit from having these extended mixes in their record bag of tricks.
This one-sided 10” mini-album is the debut of this San Francisco trio. Brash and playful, the group makes a surprising ruckus out of the unlikely combination of drums, flute, and clarinet.
Their nervous energy is apparent from the beginning with songs like “A+ Cannibal” and “Toffee Coffee.” Drums race forward while the vocals spew raw and vitriolic. As elsewhere on the album, the flute and clarinet come across like jagged spurts of free jazz that retain their shape just shy of chaos. But they have other uses, too, like on “Boomer,” in which they form a demented march. Drums often burst from unexpected places, and the vocals are frequently confrontational. Anarchy never seems too far away, lending the album the impression that it could implode at any moment. Thankfully, it never does.
It’s only fitting that such an uncommon configuration would have a unique sound, and Death Sentence: Panda!'s sound is only heightened by an aversion to anything resembling typical songwriting. Although it’s hard for me to guess how long such an unconventional arrangement can last, especially considering that the group breezes through eight songs in just 11 minutes on this record, I certainly hope their creativity continues to flourish like it does on this excellent debut.
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I came across some Envy records years back and suddenly became ravenous to hear everything put out by the band. They seemed like a succinct Japanese amalgam of a bunch of post-hardcore bands who alternated between the delicate and the demolishing. Screamed vocals, melodic guitar tones, and anthemic songs were all part of the band's DNA.
Another CD released at the group’s recent dates in San Francisco, Rat Tapes One is a compilation of discarded sounds and songs from the past 20 or so years. Unlike something similar such as A Sucked Orange, though, this one feels closer to an album than a collection.
With 18 untitled tracks, there’s no shortage of the mutant voices and clanks from the darkness that I’ve come to expect. However, I was most surprised by the amount of rhythmic material found here, especially on the second half of the disc. “Track 10” could very well be a backing track left over from the Rock and Roll Sessions. Strangely enough, “Track 12” is a techno song with little of the Nurse With Wound signature other than some operatic elements and the oblique, gaping maw of an ending. It’s actually not a bad example of that type of music, perhaps aided by the element of surprise. “Track 14” actually has lyrics as a growling voice riffs on television news over a big beat and atmospherics. “Track 16” starts with frogs and insects in what could be the foley track of a film before drums and an explosion tear it open into a primal kraut romp with guitars and buried vocals.
There aren’t a whole lot of tracks with obvious forebears, although the bell sounds from Thunder Perfect Mind recur on “Track 4,” “Track 6,” “Track 11,” and perhaps “Track 15.” Also from that album is the jackhammer drill briefly reworked as “Track 13.” The disc concludes with a spoken word collage of musicians’ names, many of which pass too quickly to differentiate, and then ends with the statement, “All of these bands are complete shit,” followed by a scream. Considering that many of those named are well-respected in underground circles, it’s an amusing send-up and perhaps serves as a companion anti-statement to the band’s infamous list of greats from Chance Meeting.
Although a few of the longer songs grow a little dull in the context of other shorter, fragmentary tracks, the album is still generously entertaining with many unique entries to the Nurse With Wound canon.
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The latest album from Vienna’s B. Fleischmann embraces the electric guitar, especially the characteristically warm and full sounds of the humbucker style pickup. It is an enjoyable if forgettable album. The songs all blur into each other and the album plays through in what feels like an instant; there is nothing of any real interest on it.
Throughout the album, each song follows a similar predictable formula: a straight from the box drum machine loop plays and some very basic guitar strumming is repeated over it. Although nothing Fleischmann does on the album is in any way revolutionary or original, it all fits together well. Most of the music is pleasant, the kind of music that I’d put on when I didn’t want to be too taxed or distracted. It’s nice but it’s hard to sit down and enjoy it as anything more than muzak.It simply doesn’t engage me.
Christof Kurtzmann lends his voice to “Gain” and “From To,” both songs are among the better pieces on the album. “Gain” has a bit of tremolo thrown on the guitar and a great organ sound accompanying it. “From To” has a Kraftwerk vibe to it at first as the beat and sample of a what sounds like a sharp intake of breath reminds me of their Tour de France releases. Kurtzmann’s voice is one of those weird “shouldn’t be a singer but sounds good” voices. There’s a feeble, faltering quiver running through his singing, he sounds almost too human. It suits Fleischmann’s laid back music very well. Kurtzmann plays clarinet on “Static Grate” but it doesn’t add much to the piece, it could just be another one of Fleischmann’s synths.
“Phones and Machines” is the only track that is in any way memorable. The rhythm is out of joint and jerky, it sounds like it’s constantly skipping or stalling. I liked that effect but it still doesn’t strike me as being that noteworthy. The remainder of The Humbucking Coil is far from offensive to my ears but it’s also far from being attention-grabbing. I imagine that if I ever enter a coma, this is what it will sound like.
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I came across some Envy records years back and suddenly became ravenous to hear everything put out by the band. They seemed like a succinct Japanese amalgam of a bunch of post-hardcore bands who alternated between the delicate and the demolishing. Screamed vocals, melodic guitar tones, and anthemic songs were all part of the band's DNA.
I didn't mind that the band's DNA seemed to be genetically engineered from their influences (Thymine=Anomie; Adenine=Isis; Guano=Yage; Cytosine=To Dream of Autumn). Though a little soulless, Envy were able to make compelling enough music to keep me chasing after elusive 7" singles on the Japanese H:G Fact label. But a few too many releases without much diversity caused me to lose interest rapidly in the band. Envy's switch to Temporary Residence has partly helped to resuscitate my interest, but not nearly as much as the evolution of their music.
Previously, the band relied on a series of simple decibel crescendos under the veil of patented power chords to induce the anthemic quality of the music. To be honest, they still fall back on this maneuver. But they have also peppered their songs with more guitar complexity underlying the volume increase, recorded in such a way that you can hear all the intricacies while being enveloped by a tsunami of noise. The outright softer moments are accompanied by spoken-word vocals, reminding me a little of the August Born album of last year where Chasny's guitar pieces were punctuated by Hiroyuki Usui's breathy words. "Crystallize" even has some softly sung vocals, but most of the singing is done in the louder segments and some might hesitate to actually call it singing. Rather, it's a hoarse Eastern rasp reminiscent of a more continental style of post-hardcore. Think French hardcore, in particular: Fingerprint, Jasemine, Amanda Woodward, Rachel. To be honest, it's a sound which can get old quickly.
Envy have fortunately tempered their reliance on this sound and the album benefits from it. Furthermore, Envy has capitalized on the recombination of the post-rock genome into their music. Explosions in the Sky, Mogwai, and countrymen Mono have helped to inform the band's approach.. Witness the patience of "The Unknown Glow." The old Envy would have been unable to harness and check the energy unleashed from the first five minutes of this song, content for the song to consume itself after those first minutes. Yet this more mature Envy allows an infectious guitar riff both to quell and to proliferate the song, drifting into ruminative quietude for a bit, and then gathering the storm once more. The end of the song is a template for snare drum histrionics, but, again, they have learned well from their contemporaries.
Drama is just something which is innate to Envy. You have to buy into the intentional gravity of the music before you enjoy it. "Night in Winter" and "A Warm Room," the final two movements, showcase the dramatic weight of the band nicely. The songs vibrate with a hollow spookiness and surge towards the sky. Though Envy are convinced they are up to something profound and deep, they often find themselves lighter than air, buoyant despite the proposed weight of their music, floating ever upwards.
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Recorded live at Newcastle upon Tyne’s intimate Morden Tower venue during his 2005 European tour, these two tracks are more radical rethinks than acoustic tributes. As one third of Sun City Girls, its Bishop’s obvious right to explore his own material, but these beautifully energetic takes seem utterly revitalised by anyone’s standards.
While still referencing the great ‘American primitive’ acoustic guitar players, both these instrumental cuts go far enough for me to place Bishop in that esteemed company. The audience going apeshit at the end of both songs is proof enough that Bishop is a player that has harnessed both incredible skill on the instrument and the ability to pump out an unbelievable amount of energy.
Both “Space Prophet Dogon” and “Esoterica of Abyssynia” contain passages of frenzied strumming that feel like solid blocks of heavy corrugated sound. These sections retain elements of gracefulness with the headlong percussive charges. His ability to unify virtuoso mastery of style, a straight up punchy playing and nimbleness that must’ve been something special to witness in that front room sized venue. “Space Prophet Dogon” blends an out-of-nowhere Irish folk sound into a mix of different genres that gathers splinters with every wrist twist and flourish.
This 7" is the first release from the NO-FI gig promotions outfit, and who better to archive their gig recordings than the people who put the effort into putting the shows on in the first place. These two songs thankfully don’t fulfil any terrible premonitions of Bishop trotting out the old hits as Sun City Girls Unplugged, but instead inspire both a looking forward and looking back.
Former Japanese hardcore group Envy continues their growth with their latest album, one of soaring guitar epics that are marred only by a sameness in mood and approach. While starting strong, the album starts to unravel as the group adheres to its own formula too frequently.
Sweeping layers of guitars tinged with melancholy start many of the songs, followed by some spoken lyrics as the tempo and intensity build to a peak in which the singer’s speech turns into hoarse screams. The beginnings of songs like “Scene,” “The Unknown Glow,” and “Night in Winter” are misleading, for while the intros are among the prettier moments on the album, they too revert to the formula suggested by the first two tracks. However, the dark thumping ending “The Unknown Glow” is one of the few exceptions and proves that the group has the ability to experiment, I just wish they’d do it more often.
Another problem is that the singer uses his screams to cover all of the emotional bases. If he’s not talking, he’s screaming, which leaves little room in-between for any other type of expression. Maybe that’s an unshakeable holdover from the group’s hardcore days, I don’t know, but it’s a shame because the music is otherwise excellent, and sometimes even gorgeous. The exception to the screaming is the singing that appears a few minutes into “Crystallize,” which is a nice change of pace and suggests other avenues for the group to explore. Yet even this moment of refuge eventually leads to an emotional level that can only be communicated further via screams that sound like all of the others on the album, spoiling much of the track’s uniqueness. Used sparingly, this vocal approach would be more effective but as it’s currently utilized, I found myself bracing for the moment it entered the mix rather than finding the catharsis intended in its appearance. The spoken moments are obviously less grating but almost as predictable.
The rest of the band’s dynamics work well with its melodic guitar interplay and versatile rhythm section, and the music alone is often reason enough to listen once the vocals have numbed me into submission.
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Inside this inverse carcass sleeve art comes a slice of fresh white vinyl, a very un-Dead Machines like piece of plastic; most Wolf Eyes side projects look like they’ve been scraped from the walls of a suicide watch art workshop. This is Mr and Mrs John Olson’s most straight and soundtrack-like work to date, managing to upset the neighbourhood’s canine contingent while retaining that trademark low tech malignant sound.
Varispeed croaks turn into clockwork splashes as the slow start-up of gruff Steam trains usher in this latest Dead Machines sticklebrick sludge. The spirit of Lee Perry’s chicken bone voodoo parasitically lives on in the edge of a survival knife dub found on both sides of this disc. Everything here (well, everything but the horn on side B) is shakily plumbed through the band’s handmade operating aesthetic. Standing Kraftwerk style behind battered suitcases of open backed reverb boxes, reused elements are birthing tiny tunes amid the space and clank.
A detour through a summer storm of hi-frequencies eventually bails out with some weird hookah / party horn work. The edges of these sounds are feedback blips, chips of notes blown across foggy battlegrounds days after steel has finished cleaving guts from bellies. Birthday kazoo blasts slashed bedding of spinning greys, only to peculiarly morph into the sound of a fatally wounded llama. Dead Machines really are an odd pair.
Another element in their homespun charm is hearing someone moving over creaking floorboards to get to a new instrument or add another cracked box into the mix. This apparent air of ‘now’ just helps to demonstrate the instinctive chemistry between these two.
Dub trailed chimes of single plucked string (piano, guitar: it’s hard to tell) create a befuddling but beautifully clear landscape in sections of this release. The A Side hits its finale to the sound of a fly disintegrating on a windscreen, mics picking up torn insect flesh at infinitesimal levels.
The flip is a little more focused and sedate, avoiding the space and intangible fuzzy edges of the other side. Mr. Olson’s horn might be wedged in-between the spokes of a clang and clank radiator grill but still he still manages to persuade delicate lines from it. As Mrs Olson tries to sharpen a mallet between the crank of pistons and wrecking yard pus, he sails on a spare air of inquisitive horn parts. Colliding streams swim with the kind of grace normally found in genres other than noise improvised from detritus / junk. This almost traditional musicality is brought to earth with the levity of call and response kazoo / percussion and a succinct tiny one note beat box part. This mixing of elements continues to build the band into a formidable and expansive minded pairing.
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