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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TheDanbury, CT-based Equation Records is home to Troum's latest release: afantastic picture 12" disc LP with four new Troum mini-masterpieces,limited to 500 copies and hand numbered with as much loving care asTroum put into their music.
Kazumoto Endo is a name sometimes referred to by harsh noise artists as the man that changed noise for them. Typically displeased with how noise came across on record, Endo's work was fresh, an attempt to generate new perspectives in a genre that could seem stale. Beyond the Valley of the Tapes collects a lot of his early and out of print material in attempt to bring that same perspective to a larger audience.
Troniks/Ninth Circle Music
This double disc set from Troniks and Ninth Circle Music collects a lot of noise. The combined running time is 144 minutes and two seconds. Listening to both of these discs straight through is like asking for a migraine and then a boxing match with a bulldozer. Despite being two discs long, there are only eleven tracks on the collection, most of them running between nine and 20 or so minutes long. Just getting through the first half of the first disc can be a bit of a chore. The first three tracks are from a demo tape Endo released in 1994 and the fourth track is the first side of the Brutal Rainbow tape originally released in 1995. That series of noise is over an hour long all by itself. These tracks are definitely loud and definitely harsh, but every time I listen to them I have trouble finding whatever unique qualities others may have heard in those pieces. It isn't until the four shorter pieces start that I'm really taken by Killer Bug and what he did with noise.
The Cunt Explosion! and Your Wife Is Mine EPs were both released in 1995 and it is easy to see why they would have garnered some attention from the noise community. The tracks from those EPs that are included on this disc are short, roughly two to three minute long bursts of cluttered sounds, screams, junk being tossed around inside a metal box, and total feedback. Instead of being densely layered clouds of almost total chaos, Killer Bug's sound is more refined on these EPs, slightly easier to take in, but no less harsh for it. It's easy to think that these were more closely watched and more caringly constructed sound pieces than just freeform noise riots. Both "Masked Porno Star" and "Slaughter on the Beach" are strangely lo-fi sounding extracts of freaked out equipment buzzing and burning away in a series of rapid flashes and blazing edits. Listening to them is a lot more fun than trying to get through the first half of the disc in one sitting. I've been able to listen to these over and over with a great deal of pleasure. Though the first half of the disc is both uneven and sloppy, listening to a track here or a track there without feeling the need to associate them with anything else on the disc is nice. It at least provides a sense of movement in Endo's composition, showing exactly how he grew in the year between his demos and his earliest releases.
The second disc, with the exception of the live track, is much like the first half of the first disc. Live, Killer Bug must've been amazing. Despite the recording being slightly muffled, it's clear that Endo enjoyed throwing sucker punches at his audience. Everything from high-pitched synthesizer-like belches to unhinged screams populate his live performance. If his longer compositions had been as entertaining as his live performances were, sitting through the first fifty minutes or so of the second disc would be much less of a task and far more exciting. And this is evidently Killer Bug's first live performance. He came out strong, so I can only imagine his live material got stronger.
Regardless of whether or not all of the material on this relase is amazing or not, Killer Bug's material has its merits. "Steaming Gash," if listened to by itself, is a thrashing groan of cut up and destabilized anger punching its way through twenty minutes of sudden left turns and unexpected pitfalls. Trying to keep up with Endo's approach is fun enough, but trying to understand where it all came from is even better. It's as though Endo knew just how to open up his machines so as to make for the most insane ride of static eruptions and nose bleeds. The two EPs included in this collection are excellent slices of short, abusive noise that can't be found anywhere else. Everything else on the collection is worth hearing to some degree, but just make sure to listen to it a little bit at a time. Otherwise the whole collection can seem a little too intimidating and sometimes a little too repetitive.
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Phil Spirito's oRSo project offers poor musicianship and lazy production on this holiday release. Featuring a band that might belong to a small Appalachian town, each of these songs sound like a drunken evening spent reveling in the depression of the winter season.
C and P Binto Family
There are eleven musicians credited on this six song release and yet it sounds like one drunken man clumsily fumbling through a song about whether or not Christmas is today or yesterday. It's appropriate that he doesn't know, sounding as intoxicated as he does. The rest of the musicians sound the same, half-heartedly plucking their way around banjos and violins or honking on saxophones that merely compound the tepid nature of the compositions and add to the sense that this was all thrown together at the last second. Apparently the record was assembled to accompany an Arthur Pembleton gallery dedicated to his deceased mother, a woman that suffered from dementia and couldn't remember when Christmas was. That's all fine and dandy, but there's no reason to make five really crummy versions of a song in order to preserve her memory. One would've been enough and even that's stretching it.
After hearing "Is Christmas tomorrow? / Or was it yesterday?" over and over again for a period of ten minutes, I wanted to drive a hot poker through my ears. I had to take out this already brief EP and listen to something else before I could come back and listen to the final two songs. The poor quality of the recordings and the way that Spirito enjoys layering instruments is irritating. His incessant use of poorly tuned instruments and faded production values makes the entire record sound like it was recorded in a dive bar where nobody was paying attention to anything that was going on. Even if this CD wasn't entirely out of season by this point, it'd have nothing to contribute to the Christmas spirit. Unless, perhaps, I felt like finding a knife and slashing my wrists on Christmas Eve. There are better drinking albums dedicated to ruining the spirit of giving than this and there are certainly better Christmas and holiday albums to be found. This is an unnecessary contribution to a brand of music that is already choked with elf manure and sleigh bells from hell.
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Quintron's organ is dirty. It's custom built, has enough power behind it to level any guitar, and he plays it while simultaneously manipulating his own drum buddy creation, another drum machine, a hi-hat, and singing. If his dirty organ isn't enough to get down to, then surely his attitude and Miss Pussycat's love for hand-puppets will inspire many horizontal polkas and vertical ass bumping.Tigerbeat6
History be damned for a moment: Quintron, his organ, Miss Pussycat, and her puppets are all from New Orleans. To be more specific, they claim to be and sound absolutely like they are of the swamp. Not from it, though. Forget any conventions concerning origin and musical influence via geography—they might as well have been born in a swamp and thus their music is just as murky, muddy, sweaty, and hot. Catching Quintron and Miss Pussycat live might be a bit mystifying at first. When I saw them live with the Cramps in St. Louis, I wasn't sure whether I was watching a performance art group or a musical duo. Quintron was a shirtless, one-man musical machine manipulating what looked like an entirely pointless tin can lit up from the inside and boasting a bevy of switches and knobs, playing hi-hat here and there, and messing about with other drum equipment. Miss Pussycat was decked out in a blue dress like one a flight attendant from the 1950s might wear, shaking maracas, and generally playing off the role of totally hot sex kitten meant to seduce every man and open minded woman in the crowd. Then there were the puppet shows. I remember termites of evil intent, alligators, crawfish, and other denizens of the swamp interacting in fits of hilarity and seeming nonsense. What was clear was that when they played, there was no shortage of energy or libido for them to draw from. They were having a blast on stage and everyone in the crowd was as well, despite St. Louis crowds being notorious for their complete lack of enthusiasm towards new and unfamiliar bands. I didn't forget them, to say the least. At first, their appearance on Tigerbeat6 didn't strike me as being appropriate, but after hearing Swamp Tech my mind has changed entirely.
This album was recorded live. Thank god, too. My memory of Quintron and Miss Pussycat as a live duo hasn't been spoiled by this album. The tour was a long time ago, but as soon as "Shoplifter" started, I was quite sure this was, in fact, the same band doing exactly what they did so well on stage. What they do so well is rock out like two lovers high on the powers of heavy beats and chaotic road life. There is no multi-tracking in rock n' roll and these two understand that. There can be only sweat, blood, beer swilling, and boot stomping and that is all this duo provides, with just a few twists. Their rock n' roll is laden with a southern swagger that'd make Lynyrd Skynyrd blush and most art-rock groups run for cover. Here is a world of Madison Squirrel Gardens, strange free-association, Kiss covers, bouncing beat boxes, and the promise of a night full of wanton disaster and drunken vandalism. This southern bounce isn't afraid of the word faggot or the promised thrill of shoplifting, the only fear is that one day there will be no boogie and who knows what'll happen to the body when the boogie dies. When they bother to slow down, their music comes across as a steamboat stroll through the evening, lit only by fireflies and heavy drinks that never seem to empty. No matter what the mood, no matter what the occaision, Quintron and Miss Pussycat bleed their music, letting all the excitement of New Orleans and the surrounding area seep from them in glorious perversion and strange hallucinatory bouts of dance.
When Miss Pussycat sings, there is no room for confusion. She's always excited, screaming for all her lungs are worth and when Quintron lets himself loose, it's like being smacked by a wave of swagger and bravado that could only be acquired by hitting the road and living life the hard way for a long time. There are moments when the album drags just slightly. For all its raw power, there are a few bells and whistles tossed in musically that I could do without. That's just me nitpicking, though. This is balls to the wall music, meant for feeling awesome in the light of pure adrenaline-induced activity. The DVD that comes with the CD edition of Swamp Tech features some of Miss Pussycat's puppet shows. So, after listening to their awesome cover of "God of Thunder" (who knew I could like a Kiss song?) a billion times and bellowing its lyrics as though they meant everything in the world, watch the DVD and be prepared for some comedy. This isn't novelty music, this is power and groove harnessed through an organ, an organ that'd make all the machismo of a guitar look limp and pathetic in its wake. Rock n' roll might've somehow died, but Quintron gets the idea. Give the drunken organist another shot and turn the volume up.
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This disk combines recordings from two well-known Electronic Voice Phenomena (EVP )researchers: Raymond Cass, whose work makes up the bulk of this disk, and Dr. Konstanin Raudive, who not only produced thousands of tapes during his lifetime but is also alleged to have appeared on recordings himself after his death. (In case you were wondering, Dr. Raudive says he's "living fine.") 
The second release from this New England singer/songwriter is aquiet, twangy gem that brings to mind slow and sad days long gone. His voice is plaintive, lonely, spare, vulnerable, andsometimes charmingly out of tune. 
It seems that nine times out of ten whatever instrument Keiji Haino turns his hand to (or whoever he collaborates with) he comes out of the experience with an hour or so of brilliance. This electronics-based recording features a bundle of obscure black boxes and a digital theremin that he uses and investigates to create more than just your average everyday abstract soundscapes.
 
bravecaptain’s full-on dalliances with glitch, techno and breaks have over time become infused elements within his songs instead of headfirst jumps into sonic territories. Trying to hold the man down to an easy to tag sound is difficult, but at a push its melodic pop with a fucked up expansive structure and a warm digital simple production. Even that description leaves fat big holes in the home studio sound.
 
 
 
 
 
 
This double live album came as a total surprise to me. I’m more familiar with Haino’s guitar work and these two live performances are from a totally different place to his six string performances. One disc is dedicated to the hurdy gurdy and the other to an instrument called an air synth (it’s new to me and now I want one). Both overlap in terms of mood but the different sonic characteristics of these distinctive sounding instruments make for interesting listening.Archive / Important
The two CDs come packaged in a beautiful fold out sleeve in black card with all the text and images embossed or printed in black ink (designed by Stephen O’Malley, who is a cover art machine of the highest caliber). It’s nearly worth buying for the art alone. Luckily the music enclosed on the discs makes it a bargain. I’m not a big fan of Keiji Haino: some of his albums are good but sometimes he just bores the hell out of me. This is probably the best recording of his that I’ve come across. It is quite accessible compared to even his less extreme guitar albums (I need a stiff drink to enjoy the likes of Black Blues which has normal songs I already knew on it!).
The hurdy gurdy disc is monumental. Much like his guitar playing, he completely ignores the “correct” way of playing and approaches the instrument from a different slant. Haino makes the hurdy gurdy sing and scream, at times it sounds like a barely controlled animal. When the sound all of a sudden stops and Haino’s voice rings out alone, a shiver ran down my spine. On the other disc, the air synth sounds utterly amazing: it's like an old analog synth with a bad case of flatulence (don’t worry, this is a good thing). Haino builds up a huge droning mass of sound that feels like a wave on the verge of breaking. It finally does break when the percussion kicks in. Haino loops something that sounds like a marimba and more familiar drums and cymbals to great effect. His vocals sound all too human amidst the din. It is a powerful performance.
James Plotkin did an excellent job mastering the discs. As they are essentially high quality bootleg recordings the sound isn’t perfect. However Plotkin has gleaned as much as he can from the source material to give a final result that isn’t polished but the rough edges have been sanded down. There is still enough coarseness to the recordings to make them sound that bit warmer and grittier. This is a great release, especially if like me you aren’t that gone on Haino as this album really opened my eyes to his talent.
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Little doubt can be cast upon the fact that nursery rhymes are of a rather Grimm history. As innocent as they may sound, the most unusual of subjects find their way into these couplets and tales of misguided, punished, or otherwise confused youth. Andrew Liles, with the help of Lord Bath and Thighpaulsandra collaborator Sion Orgon, has recorded the audible equivalent of that awkward and dark thread that plays inside the mind of every child's sleeping head.
ICR/Klanggalerie
Lord Bath is, so far as I can tell, an English essayist, painter, poet, and intellect of aristocratic background. His work covers everything from Kama Sutra and religion to speeches on the importance of art to essays on world government, warfare, and punishment. As such, his willingness to work with Andrew Liles makes a lot of sense. Both artists exhibit a body of work as widely varied as it is perverse and alluring. Mother Goose's Melody... is Liles' extension into the realm of nursery rhymes. Using Lord Bath's background as a poet and speaker, Liles employs him to perform various rhymes after which an accompanying piece of music plays out the details of that rhyme. The result is a little unsettling, exaggerating, or perhaps highlighting, the drama and terror that some nursery rhymes keep hidden in their simple machinations. Though Lord Bath and Liles may not employ any of these rhymes directly (such as "ashes, ashes, we all fall down"), the line that they draw between the words in the poetry and the music is too direct to ignore. Though the music is often peaceful, Liles' now familiar and twisted perspective often lurks just below the sweet melodies and synthetic dances. No matter how appeasing the music may seem, there's always a sixth sense informing me that a Victorian terror lay somewhere just below the surface.
Liles' familiarity with the ignored is more evident than ever on this release. A interest in ventriloquism, animal surgery or testing, plant life, and prosthetics all make their way into the song titles. More often than not, the titles add a dimension of strangeness to the already odd compositions and revel in the unusual synthesis generated. "Cannula Tubes as Fine as Straw" is a lovely guitar piece that strolls lazily through a hillside during the spring. The name of the song and the rhyme that accompanies it, however, places a farmhouse in the distance with a dark shed where animals stand, cannula sticking out of them in bizarre arrangements. The trickle of water and the tearing sounds that appear in the song then become appalling and the entire piece changes itself from a meditative work into a song about pain or perhaps a song about a very confused maid. The possibilities are endless as Liles has managed to paint sounds more expertly than ever on this release. His compositions reflect eras, places, ideas, and nightmares more keenly than on any of his other releases. Perhaps it is the topic of this album that has made that possible; the deeply ingrained memories of childhood mixing with Liles' love for the absurd, the repulsive, and the unexplainable might be more inspirational than any historical, theoretical, or geographic origin that Liles' has played with before.
This album is far more listenable than Liles' last solo effort, the labyrinthine New York Doll. The music is far more akin to the melodic and often emotional My Long Accumulating Discontent. Where New York Doll harnessed its energy in the fractured essence of its many samples and locations, Mother Goose's Melody... finds all the power it needs in the atmospheres and songs Liles has crafted. With that in mind, this recording has deepened a split in Liles' output. On one hand there is the Andrew Liles that works intimately with drone and natural instruments. He combines the two, uses them to recall old places, forgotten ideas, and possibly to reveal a disturbing underworld of subconscious desires and bottled up evil. On the other hand, there is the Liles who plays with sounds and draws them all together with a concept laid out before hand. New York Doll and Aural Anagram/Anal Aura Gram fit this bill with the bulk of their sound being drawn from some concept, instead of the other way around. What makes Mother Goose's Melody... such a solid album is that Liles has allowed his influences to flow both ways. That is to say, there isn't just a concept informing his music here, the music is also informing the concept, perhaps simultaneously. That not only strengthens the album's music, but it feeds the ideas behind the recordings and makes them more intimate with the material everyone hears. It makes drawing connections easier and more fun. In turn, the record is more fun to listen to and twice as effective at convincing anybody that this sound world is real and directly related to the one we live in.
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This self titled debut is possibly one of the worst records that I’ve heard in a long time. Everything about this album is hackneyed and unoriginal. There is nothing redeeming to be found on any track. I don’t normally dismiss an artist outright based on one release but I’m quite happy to do so in this case.
Electric President are painful to listen to. They are one of those annoying bands that ape an already mediocre artist (in this case it is mainly the likes of Beck or The Eels that get the class A turd dropped on them). Electric President sounds like a run of the mill busker being given a few thousand dollars and a studio full of toys to play with. Any effect or drum loop that can be used, will be used. The songs change rhythm and direction more often than Superman changes his clothes. Most of the time the music seems to change just for the sake of it or because the manual says “insert middle eight here.” Granted the production is clean and clear, it sounds like the producer at least knew what he was doing but couldn’t control the whims of the artist. A good production is useless when the material is this weak. Before the first track “Good Morning, Hypocrite” finishes I am ready to turn the CD off as the chuck everything at the song and see if it sticks approach fails miserably.
A record like this can be saved with good lyrics and a talented vocalist. Electric President is miles from salvation. The lyrics are clichéd, contrived and awkward. On “Grand Machine No. 12,” Ben Cooper sings: “We’re all just part of someone’s elaborate plan/Just pieces of some grandiose scheme/But we’ll do our jobs til we break down and fall;” which flows about as efficiently as a concrete river. Cooper’s voice is whiny and his singing is horrendously paced, full of breathy pauses that accent his nasal vocals even more, he can’t get through a line without some weird inflections yet on some of the tracks he does these bizarre rapid fire deliveries without stopping for air. What is worse is that most songs multitrack his singing so that there is this terrible noise doing harmonies with itself. I just know that Electric President sat around listening to Beach Boys records all day before recording and then tried to emulate their style of harmonies and off kilter instrumentation. The only thing they’ve emulated is a mess.
Electric President have made an appalling album. Not only would I be very surprised to hear a worse album this year but I’d be quite frightened to think that such a thing could exist.
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