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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Not Alonepacks more than five hours of exclusive material by some of today'sfinest recording artists into one massive benefit album, the brainchildof Mark Logan of Jnana Records and David Tibet of Current 93. Asmight be predicted, many of the artists contained herein arerecognizable as the "usual suspects" of the extended C93 family—artistslike Antony, Simon Finn, Shirley Collins, John Contreras and Nurse WithWound. However, the set also unexpectedly contains contributions by astaggering number of indie and underground luminaries who exist welloutside of the perceived "apocalyptic folk" milieu.
On Brendan Whitney's latest release as Alias, he's brought in kid brother Ehren tocollaborate, and together they have produced an album that is lush andethereal with a dream-like groove. Wide spaces of silence separate thetracks, giving a feeling of moving from one dream to another. 
Nice Nice are Jason Buehler and Mark Shirazi: a multi-talented duo fromPortland, Oregon who have demonstrated through their brilliant fulllength album, Chrome, that they can fill sound to the wallswith only a guitar and drums and some skilled real-time effects processing.With this series—a limited quartet of numbered CD EPs which had to bemail ordered directly through Temporary Residence—I hate to admit, onthe whole, I'm underwhelmed.What the duo proved on Chrome is that there was no timewasted: the songs were well-developed even though most of them werequite short (I'd love to comment on Yesss but I haveyet to find it in any store). "Born of Bells part 1" opens Spring with a burstof energy, as if something grand is about to takeplace, which, sadly, never does. Approximately two minutes goes by ofletting the guitar sort of echo on an auto-pilot loop before drummingcan be heard. The drones permeate throughout. The interplay betweenJason and Mark is somewhat disconnected and doesn't end up constructingwhat Iconsider to be a real song, as they come together in some sort of arenarock band finale acrobatics at the end. For the rest of the EP, songscome very close to breaking out, but never quite do. If I'm not mistaken, I think the themeis to wait until the end of the track and suddenly start doing something that forms the basis of asong, but kill it before a song actually breaks out. I find it irritating, likeone of those long jokes whose punchline is basically the pain ofbearing an extended story for some lame, anticlimactic end.
"Crown & Corona" starts off Summer with more promise, as an evil psych rocklike melody emerges from the low drones of the first track, thenbuilds, but once again, things don't erupt as they sound like they wantto. From here, the band could launch into anything either like CometsOn Fire-ish or Acid Mothers-y (or best yet, like Nice Nice) and I wouldhave no complaints, but things instead simply quiet down to anotherboring drone, drifting into a Hawaiian-like guitar bit with somewordless vocalizations at one point and some chintzy effects on thedrums later. The drifting country guitars on the following "Cowboys Are Indians" are quitepretty, but a song like this would only do well as a valley, nestedbetween some more rawkus bits. The third and fourth tracks, "Crickets & Cicadas (parts 1 and 2)," are equallyas forgettable, drifting into ennui like the EP before it, with thelast track that simply doesn't want to end.
Fallis the silver lining. When my package arrived this pastweek from TRL with the discs inside I admit I was far less enthusiasticas Iwas when the first two EPs came in, however, I was impressed with whatwas contained. The first track, "Dawn of Dusk,"opens with a peppy acoustic guitar andmelodica bit. It's friendly, original, pleasant and fun. It's notsomething I would expect from Nice Nice but it sounds "complete."(Plus, after the first two EPs ofthis series I honestly don't know what to expect any more.) Acousticguitar drives the rest of these songs, with some external soundeffects, backwards sounding electronic guitar riffs, and otherunidentifiable percussion, all of which build actual songs, containingmelody and structure, something the rest of the CDs in this seriessadly lack. It ends with "Down,Down, Down Pt. 2," a wistful walking-paced guitar melody which isperfect for sitting on the front porch, watching the sun go down, andhaving a beer. This is what good music is all about.
Winter,unfortunately, restores the disappointment set forthby the first two EPs with one long 22 minute song, "And Many More."I've heard Tibetan bowls and bowing of cymbalsdone from bands going back over 20 years (just about every band who hasa website on Brainwashed did it back in the 1980s), and I absolutelyhate drum solos. "And Many More" is one painfully long andpointless wank. If people could buy these separately then I wouldstrongly recommend sticking only with the Fall,but, with any luck, the band will find out what got the best responseout of the fans and take hints for the production of their next fullalbum. I know they can do better than this.
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Though they originally hail from Washington, DC, Measles, Mumps, Rubella’s sound is not the stereotypical slashing punk sound popularized by bands like Fugazi and Jawbox immediately associated with the city. MMR are, however, clearly the kind of band that’s listened to Public Image Ltd very carefully.
David Jackman's release schedule obscures far too many of his best recordings, apparently to the extent that some his best work goes unreleased for years at a time. Die Stadt's 3" release of two never-before-heard 10" records exemplify why Organum has always been one of the most consistently excellent and intriguing projects of the last twenty-plus years.
Die Stadt
Both Die Hennen Zähne and Maus are included on this 18 minute disc and both are ten inch records that David Jackman had just lying around in his archives. The opening, "Die Kralle," is described as a David Jackman track from the early '80s, separating it in some ways from Jackman's work as Organum. As the assumed A-side to "Die Hennen Zähne," it is the calm before the storm, demonstrating Jackman's ability to subconsciously insert melody and rhythm into tracks that sprawl and yawn like consumptive deserts. The musical components that vibrate and stretch across the track are stunning, blistering with reservation and acute suspense. The dynamics between the low, bellowing wind instruments and Jackman's kitchen-sink rhythms are powerful and mark a space where music and non-music meet beautifully without sounding contrived or completely amateur. It's a testament to Jackman's abilities as a noise-maker and a writer. Compositional power combined well with abstract temerity is so rarely exhibited as it is on the opening track. "Die Hennen Zähne" is a far more confrontational work composed of shattering glass and moaning horns. It isn't as immediately striking as "Die Kralle," but the energy it manages to accumulate is impressive. If "Die Kralle" shines darkly, then "Die Hennen Zähne" is the realization of all the brooding minimalism kept hidden before.
"Maus" reserves the position as the central piece on this disc. Its duration and volume forces the other tracks to swirl about it, as though it were the musical cousin of a massive black hole. The constant whistle and Druidical ohm that permeate its body has a whirlpool effect, rotating in the darkness perpetually, ominously, and without reason. As enthralling as it is, it seems out of place with the rest of the disc, especially considering how short most of the other pieces are and how they each bare some sign of musique concrète's influence. Aside from the shattering glass on the title track, "Kazi" features metal pipes and objects being dragged about as its main sound sources. This live performance featuring Emma O'Bong and Michael Prime highlights Jackman's ability to successfully record and use object-made sounds without treading over too familiar ground. The pipe-like instrument that can be heard rolling about throughout the track becomes the focal point for the piece until a large crash ends the track and the whole improvisation fades away gently.
Jackman's exemplary reputation stems from his ability to use strange sounds musically, without touching on anything too conceptual to be enjoyable. Despite his sometimes radical release schedule and his reputation for releasing pricey, severely limited runs of 7" records and obscure CDs, his work is nearly always worth the patience it takes to find. Die Hennen Zähne is limited to 600 copies, however, and will likely move quickly given the fanatacism that often and perhaps justly surrounds Organum's catalogue.
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As a duo Moha! seem to be reaching for a place of their own and failing. Settled between the large comforting bosoms of other discordant and unpredictable bands, Anders Hana and Morten J. Olsen are either jerking their instruments around as though handling a dead chicken by the neck or playing loud, formed jams and sounding indistinguishable from their brethren.Rune Grammofon
Saying they're indistinguishable is unfair; I think I'd rather say that I'd rather not distinguish them at all. This young duo is musically impressive, playing their instruments with the kind of precision that all young musicians wish they could harness. That doesn't make up for their lack of creativity, however. I could care less if these two could perform Beethoven's fifth on just two instruments, in the dark, at the bottom of a river, chained to a rock, and lacking a breathing apparatus. They can't write their own stuff with any measure of gravity or persistent energy. Other similar bands at least have an energy or a mystifying and completely unexplainable candor that makes listening to their records fun. Moha! simply stumble through ten tracks in order to reach the end. Their awkward percussive sounds and firmly square guitar playing imitate plenty of abstract, formless rock with all the success of the most ardent fan boy, but they don't ever explode or find a center of their from which they might expand.
This gives Raus Aus Stavanger that dreaded academic quality. For all their ability they aren't really working anything out of their instruments that might be new enough to stir any excitement. Only so many records can be released pushing the same limit of composition and style before everyone gets familiar with it and wishes somebody would write a decent tune again. In so far as noise, tonality, and timbre are concerned, there's nothing that shines, either. Olsen can drum out a storm of death metal proportions, but with flair. He moves all over his drum set constantly, pulling fills and unexpected turns out his ass like a well-seasoned veteran peppered with tasmanian devil cartoon antics. When he does this, Hana pulls out all the appropriate distorted non-riffs and gurgling dynamics that turn his guitar into a horn instrument more than anything else, but it just doesn't sound fresh or particularly ear-catching. The craziness congeals for brief moments only to let all the tension ease away with a suitable orgasm. I've heard friends churn out this same sort of hazy guitar work just sitting around and having fun. They weren't intent on making any of it into a song just because they had a nice tone.
When Moha! rock on two tracks they are passable as a band that I'd love to see live. I'm sure all sorts of shit would end up burning and I would leave observing bruises on everyone's bodies, but because the band tends towards prolonged "experiments" with percussive clatter, the whole album makes even the quality of their live performances doubtful. I can only take so much live messing about before I get bored and wish somebody would play something even remotely similar to a traditional song. I get bored of the same old thing just like everyone else, but music like this is starting to sound like the same old thing.
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Those waiting on the next Stars of the Lid record can resteasy now as here is another diamond of the Texashinterlands, shining low and weary through the endless fenced-in wild yards andupturned bedroom windows of another druggy afternoon community.Stars come out early when this dry wombsurrounds, when Texan hills and houses become miniature ziggurats under heat-lamp,and faces adopt the timelessness of cut Roman masks without hesitation. The music reflects the gauzy thickness of theair, the feeling of conscious breath, of thorough body suspension, but rock-gardenclean, sacred sterile, and nearly monolithic in the clarity of each second’snoise. Guitar becomes keyboard becomesair-conditioned wall becomes air itself.
Howling, chiming, cyclical drone patterns can consume the space whilesimultaneously occupying some central issuance-point, some quiet locus in theroom like a melodious pulpit obscured as a shoe or a sideways piece of trash,riddled in glyphic writing and piping away with pieces of the world’s happiestdeath knell, maybe the sound Sisyphus likes when he’s doing normal stuff, cooking,mowing the wild lawn or just laid-out between the bed and the burning window.
Pacione makes primordial ambient drone soundsimply made, a comfortable place though inseparable from the ur-primitive impulsethat keeps me slouching back for clues into what is transforming thiseverydayness to pure light, to slow-motion heat. Sisyphus is asprawling meditation of grainy, slow-motion radiance, if derivative then also ahumble and transcendent work.
Anyone with a cheap drum machine and a loose understanding of the bassguitar can probably crank out a record better than this in acouple of hours; but they'll need a dirty 4-track cassette recorder tocapture it any worse.
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Simon Kealoha's Calika project brings a fresh perspective to bedroom vibe electronica. Fractured and reconstructed though it may be, Small Talk Kills Me is a record composed of songs more than experiments and that's a welcome change of pace.
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For most in the international community, the last few years have been anything but good, chock full of bad news and an ever-worsening outlook for the future (United Defense stockholders aside). But for Brooklyn's Dr. Israel, all the war, death and destruction around the globe had a silver lining: how else would he have been able to muster all the outrage and righteous indignation that is Patterns of War?
Six songs of orchestral electronic suspension populate Ryan Teague's first album on Type Records and the majority of them are fairly bland examples of music I've heard before. I could toss the terms evocative or pretty or hypnotizing around all I wanted, but it wouldn't change the fact that I've heard better examples of this style elsewhere.
Type
Pick up a couple of Steve Reich records or give Arvo Pärt a chance and Teague's particularly static compositions will probably sound like an imitation of their style. Situated somewhere between the notion of sound pictures and the intellectual world of alternative composition, Teague's music often sounds incomplete and incoherent, wandering about aimlessly, swelling with all kinds of meaningless movement. A prelude is technically a piece of music that is supposed to introduce another piece or set of music, but these six preludes only introduce more introductions. It is a frustrating experience that conveys a sense of picturesque beauty without providing any context.
When Teague's magnificent strings break and swell with pride there's little to associate with their sound. I'm left waiting for some kind of dynamic shift to occur and it never comes. All the music simply fades away. With Teague teasing me like this, I almost wish he would've opted to keep his music less dramatic so that I wouldn't expect more from it. All of "Prelude III" is a gorgeous combination of piano and a skipping string track that sounds wonderful for the first two minutes or so. It never goes anywhere however and Teague simply adds new electronic noise to the track in order to keep the whole thing fresh. But he never quite gets to that point and unfortunately the whole thing fades away instead of moving naturally.
What's left after all the frustration is a record that would be perfect for sleeping or ignoring during a busy day. At times certain melodies might catch my attention because they are well written or simply stand out above the haze of sounds that populate the background, but I'm never compelled to give the record much thought. This is ambient music in the most Eno-like fashion. And just like Music for Airports there is a sense of serenity covering every note and synthetic process, but there is little to hold onto and fall in love with immediately. Unlike many ambient records, however, Teague has accomplished this odd serenity by maximizing the amount of sources he uses on each song. It's amazing how busy some of these songs actually are despite functioning as little more than background music.
Before I know it, "Prelude VI" is playing and I'm not too sure I remember a single melodic phrase from anywhere on the album. I remember hovering voices and twinkling piano, but nothing solid sticks out. "Prelude VI" sounds like a real song, however, and is the only track on the album to possess a real beginning, middle, or end. Ryan Teague's personal touch stands out most on this final prelude, removing itself from whatever academic background it might have and touching more personal and effective themes through its use of rhythm and mechanical sound. Once it ends I'm left with that track and that track alone stuck in my head. I'll listen to the entire album all the way through just to have it surprise me one more time, but it will be the only thing I care about in the end. Teague clearly knows how to orchestrate both modern and classical instruments, but it is his inability to arrange and fulfill the promise of his own compositions that make this album flounder more than soar.
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