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 long overdue double-disc compilation not only makes Comus' superlative First UtteranceLP widely available at an affordable price for the first time, it alsoincludes the legendary band's oft-ignored second album and a handful ofrare tracks, singles and b-sides.Previously, the only way to hear muchof this music was to track down the original Pye/Dawn LPs, whichfrequently trade hands for upwards of a thousand dollars for a VG+copy, or to buy one of the exorbitantly priced bootleg CD reissues thathave surfaced on Korean and Japanese labels over the years. Indeed, First Utteranceis probably the ultimate psych-folk Holy Grail, a storied and obscurealbum that more than earns its reputation. In writing this review, Ihad to make an effort to remain as dispassionate as possible, as First Utteranceis certainly one of my top five favorite albums of all time, and I'vebeen obsessively trying to uncover its mysteries over the period ofeight years since I first heard it. This album, along with Jan Dukes DeGrey's Mice and Rats in the Loft, is probably the truestmanifestation of the genre sometimes called "progressive folk," assongs with a distinctly Brit-folk vibe are stretched out into dynamic,multi-part convocations, joined together with instrumental passages ofacoustic guitar, reeds and hand percussion. Far from being the sort ofcontrived, antiseptic art-rock normally associated with the"progressive" tag, the music made by Comus is fierce and visceral,passionate and intense, living in an ever-present now. To listen to First Utteranceis to be kidnapped by cult of forest-dwelling mages and witches, whodrug you, blindfold you, strip you naked and convey your cold,quivering corpus to a clearing in the woods, where you are forced toparticipate in an ancient initiation rite. Along the way areinvocations of the huntress-goddess Diana, chilling murder ballads,songs of praise to a malevolent demon, stories of necrophilia,crucifixion and insanity. There are moments of fragile, pastoral beautyon First Utterance, but they are interrupted at unpredictableintervals by the frightening howls, growls and vocal ululations ofsinger Roger Wootton. It's frequently amazing just how much power andferocity the quintet are able to pull out of their completely acousticinstruments, making the album also function as a sort of unpluggedproto-Metal album. Songs seem to slither and pulsate, with their ownphantasmagorical logic, traveling from innocuous nature hymns setagainst placid folk music, to anarchic, tribalistic surrenders to thenightmarish and Satanic, often within the same song. This frighteningdynamism led David Michael Formerly Tibet to declare that First Utterance was his favorite album of all time, and Current 93 covered "Diana" on their HorseyEP. The band is also on the Nurse With Wound list, and are frequentlynamechecked by a slew of recent "freak-folk" acts, many whom, shall wesay, have "borrowed" their eccentricities from Comus' monolithic LP.Besides a great remastering job, which renders the album clearer andlouder than ever before, this package also includes extensivebiographical notes, photographs and reproductions of the LP art. Thisdouble-disc set also includes the entire Diana 12" maxi single,which contained two seldom heard b-sides, as well as a previouslyunreleased track ("All the Colours of Darkness") very much in the samevein as the First Utterance material.
And then there is disc two, which contains Comus' much-maligned sophomore effort To Keep From Crying. The album was released in 1974 on Virgin Records to very little fanfare, much like the first record, only in the case of Crying,its failure was very much deserved. In fact, the more I listen and tryto reconsider my opinion about Comus' artistically compromised secondalbum, the more I am convinced that it is absolutely the worst secondalbum I've ever heard. The edgy, insanely creative and instrumentallyproficient Comus from the first album is nowhere in sight, and in itsplace is nothing but a throwaway piece of MOR folk-rock fare, poorlyproduced and containing no memorable songs. Apparently the album wasmade rather begrudgingly by a band that, only a few months before, haddecided to break up for good. This lack of elan is clearly in evidenceon To Keep From Crying, and though I can't help but think thatI might like the album better were I not comparing it to a masterpiecelike First Utterance, it doesn't change the fact that this is indeedthe same Comus who recorded that great LP, and it's downright tragic.The band members interviewed for David Wells' liner notes allude totheir desire at that time to record an album that would be more likelyto sell. Money and fame have never been particularly good motivatingfactors for great art, and this just proves it once again. However,even though I don't care to listen to Comus' second album ever again, Imust say that it certainly belongs on any CD that's going to callitself Song to Comus: The Complete Collection, andcongratulations go to everybody for going the extra mile to makethis a truly complete release. On the basis of disc one alone, this isthe reissue of the year.
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Any attempt at summarizing Will Oldham's pre-millennial output underthe Palace name will necessarily be a difficult, even defeating task.Like that of any great songwriter, Oldham's body of work visits amultitude of distinct voices, illustrated by his undeniable lyricaldensity and legendary dissatisfaction with any kind of stable moniker.If one constant could be established, at least among his Palacerecordings, it might be the ingredient of self-doubt: that healthyfrailty that seems to provide the characteristic, tortured quiver inevery vocal; the half-sardonic/half-serious tension that fills everyother line; and the regular shifts in both the dominant persona andstylistic frame of each record. The artist's stubbornness duringinterviews has guaranteed that his songs remain the only windows intohis life, and they do create an incredibly human picture: passionate,diverse, and perpetually uneasy: always second-guessing, experimentingwith, and even contradicting his methods. Anyone who's seen Oldham livecan attest to his tendency to perform even the most sacred of fanfavorites in ways completely alien to their recorded versions, and thiskind of behavior—while aggravating for a sorry few—is largely whatkeeps him such a vibrant figure, refusing to let his music perch idlyin the ivory tower of indie, alt country, folk noir, or whatever set ofrules comes closest to housing his talent as of late.Over the decade since the first Palace record (still-)interestedparties should be used to having their expectations thwarted. In truecountry style, Oldham's Bonnie Billy has taken some Palace favorites(nominated by fans, supplemented by the artist) and rerecorded them inNashville with the city's finest session men and women. It's honestlyhard to think of Oldham agreeing to this kind of collection withoutturning it to parody. The session turns fifteen of his most fragileanthems and cryptic ballads to full-blown golden country greats, fullof enough pedal steel, fiddle and haggard crooning to make the mostdie-hard fan wince more than once. The result is equal partscelebration and satire, for as much as Oldham is having fun playinginto the C & W stereotype (at the expense of those emotionallyinvested in the originals, of course), he is obviously trying hard tomake each new version a thoughtful reworking. The artist's admitteddesire to rerecord several tracks no matter what the voted result("Viva Ultra" and "No More Workhorse Blues" among them) points to agenuine interest in revisiting older material as an older man, withboth wise distance and obvious affection. Oldham knows that this newbatch will never replace the old, and he's aiming this collection atthose well enough acquainted with Palace history to ease up attachmentsand take a long, joyful look back through the eyes of a different man.Some moments are sublime, more are shockingly different, and many aredownright painful, but Greatest Palace Music is absolutelyessential for any previous fan of Oldham, if only for a furtherchiseling of one of the roundest characters in contemporary music. NewPalace listeners, however, should be warned; start here at your ownrisk. Greatest's appeal, or lack thereof, relies on priorexposure to the originals, and if you somehow come to like this withouthearing its origins then we surely have some sort of postmodernconundrum on our hands?probably what Oldham wanted all along. 
Chilling, vast and haunting no longer fully describe Mika Vainio andIlpo Vaisanen's palette, as their recorded work as Pan Sonic has recently become asvolatile and fresh as their unmatched live performances. But, whenpaired with Alan Vega's uneasy singing-muttering-growling, the equation isfamiliar; it's difficult not to think this could be a forthcomingSuicide album.samples:
The firstdischarge on the newly minted No Fun label kicks off with a typicallynegative-titled Wolf Eyes solo affair from that dude with the longhair.
While not creating strictly-formulated conceptalbums, the Legendary Pink Dots frontman does tend to take an idea or a mood and run with itthroughout a release. This is very much apparent on Fragments ofIllumina, which has a sense of wholeness and completeness despite theradically different approaches in its songs.
Legendary Pink Dots albums, at their worst, can sound likehorrible messes: a cacaphony of ideas, genres and quirks that refuse toharmonize. When Ka-Spel records a solo release,however, it's understood that it will be—at the very least—coherent from thebeginning to the end. The highlights are two tracks called"The End Of Everything," the first of which tells a classic Ka-Spelfairytale (life, afterlife, drolly humorous disappointment) and willhave Peggy Lee cocking whatever remains of her eyebrows. The secondpart sounds like a spaceship trying to take off from the BBC roofduring the 1970's...but in a good way, for those who like that sort of thing."Yet Another Fragment" is a gorgeous, delicate, extended moment offlangey ambience, a welcome follow-up to the (surprise!) stutteringhead-banging of "Sticks and Stones." The first track on the CD, "MySpace," is—sadly—the one sour note for me; a song whose lyrics arejarringly out-of-sync with the rhythm...I skip it, but it's unfortunatethat it opens an otherwise exceptional CD. Regardless, it's a testamentto Ka-Spel's skill that all these musical styles—effect-heavy ambiance,poetry, analog boopiness, obnoxious guitar sampling—can fit together onone album without sounding discordant, and that all of them are done sowell.
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Long Live Death provide a great example of dishonest music, of a music born from adolescent preoccupations with the occult that never go anywhere, but instead stay the product of an adolescent mind. David (Late) Tibet, despite his initially shocking voice, sounds convincing and absolutely believable.
Tibet's tortures, screams, and often times strange lyrical obsessions end up feeling warm because honesty is an undeniable facet of his work. After some time there is no denying that the voices, lyrics, and ideas on all of his albums are deeply felt demons and revelations that he exorcises through music. Despite an elegant and, at times, wholly beautiful musical background, the lead vocalist for Long Live Death sounds as though he's preaching his ideas instead of relating them. His demons and ideas sound like someone else's ideas, ideas that he's yet to understand completely but tries to relay to everyone willing to listen. The subject matter, while not unfamiliar, seems simplified for the audience so that the band can sing to the audience as though they were all children. After a short amount of time this becomes annoying, stealing the music of its dark grandeur and turning it into a lame "gothic" accumulation of acoustic instruments and "spooky" Theremin use. The band has been rumored to be part of a kind of commune and, judging from the photograph inside the liner notes and songs like "Join Us" and "Praise," it's a commune of some religious interest. Knowing this somehow spoils the music more than the vocals do, it cheapens the sometimes epic guitar parts and spacious sounds, turning them into a structure more akin to a haunted house than an ancient chapel or holy place. Instead of letting the music and lyrics come together to create an unsettling or esoteric atmosphere, Long Live Death opt to force it out of their instruments and voices. It sounds cheap at times and nice at others, but it's hard to get past that voice, it sounds as though it belongs in a high school drama class, part of a young man's voice who hasn't yet mastered making Shakespeare's language convincing or natural for himself, much less his audience. An instrumental version of this record would be nice. All of the strings used on the record come together nicely, but they can't save Bound to the Wheel from sounding fake or from appearing too ornate and excessively contrived.
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Finally, after days of inaction, troops have been arriving at effected areas to evacuate survivors, transport patients and help begin to repair the city. However, survivors still need help and assistance through donations. Please take the time to take some pocket change and donate to help those in need.
The king of Shitkatapult has gone pop. While T.Raumschmiere is undoubtedly one of the most marketable and cross-over capable artists to come out of the hard, broken dance scene in Germany, his leap into mainstream whine-rock is still a little unexpected.
Harvesting all the energy of the punk world through some of the louder and more distorted acts of yesterday, this duorips up their instruments and vocal chords over the course of eightbrief tracks, proving that the guitar hasn't completely lost its edgeor destructive ability.
Welcome to approximately ten years ago, when guitars and drums sounded great together and when emo meant that punk had a heart, too. With so many shitty bands drooling over TheSmiths, The Cure, or Gang of Four right now, Art and Gus (last namesnot provided) are taking the guitar in a direction that many bandsseemed to have dropped some time ago. Their music is fast, destructive,melodic, and almost always on the edge of blowing up. The guitar can destroy and cando so in the context of classic rock and punk dynamics, it doesn't haveto be shot off the deep end of music and into the realm of"progressive" noise rock, extremely fast metal, or other such paths.The drums are lighting fast, sloppy, and drenched in a hazy rhythmicstyle that doesn't keep time so much as it amplifies the melodies andcacophony of the guitar. Switching back and forth between harmonicnoise, delicate tapping, and melodic, heavy stroking, the whole of thealbum stays fresh in its brevity, allowing songs to stop when they needto and not get carried beyond the edge of their appeal. It's notdifficult to listen an EP like this (originally released as a one-sided12", I believe) when it tumbles as hypnotically as this disc does,fluctuating between a scream-driven noise and a melodic honesty thatfucking blows my socks off and induces mass amounts of head banging anda desire to beat my body against other people. The music all flowstogether simply and beautifully, often leaving no room for thought.Even better, however, are some of the lyrics. While emo seems to havestretched into the realm of whining boys who can't ever seem to keep agirlfriend, Tiny Hawks throw their poetics all over the place and intointeresting mini-topics. A song like "Daniel's Striped Tiger" begins asa story about fear and ends in a political confrontation that finishesitself off with the words, "vote, assassinate, impeach." Topics changefrom song to song: from fear to the loss of a friend to the weightlessfeeling of accomplishing something great, the feeling of recovering theself, Tiny Hawks keep their heads together and give some credence tothe idea that emotional music can be powerful, not just the product ofsome jerk off reading out of his journal. Did I mention that the CDpackaging and lyrics book are simple, gorgeous, and add to the overallexcellence of the music? Maybe all this sounds a bit weighty andoverwrought, but Tiny Hawks pull it off in style, sounding strong andconfident through every second.
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Within less than a year since their previous album Dan Matz and Jason McNeely return with Giving up the Ghost. Not dissimilar to 2004’s We Fight til Death,their latest album keeps to the typical gentle but pulsing rock sound.
Guitars and drums (both real and programmed) are backed up by a varietyof other instruments like harmonica, accordion and xylophone. Thelyrics sometimes feel clumsy, especially on the track “Empathy forPeople Unknown.” Once the song gets going the vocals do start to fitin, Matz’s thin, soft voice sits comfortably in the mix. Matz andMcNeely have always done repetition well and on Giving up the Ghostthey build up beautiful trance-like moods, despite the songs being muchshorter than usual. This more economic approach to songwritinggreatly improves the listening experience. On earlier albums the longersongswould end up making me reach for the skip button once they hadoutstayed their welcome. Instead of leaving me gagging for more, theyallowthe songs to breathe properly here. “The Front” is a goodexample of how the shorter length makes the song sound sweeter. Itis an instrumental track that builds up gently with acoustic guitar andfades out with half a minute or so of tinkering on a delay unit. Alonger length would have killed the song but as it stands it isterrific. Following straight afterwards is the album’s longest andweakest track: “Giving Up” is just boring, sounding like a jam that ismore entertaining for theperformer then the listener. At times Windsor for the Derby are likea multitude of bands at once: this album touches base with JoyDivision, My Bloody Valentine and Sonic Youth. Windsor never pushespast what these bands have done but most of the time they do not bringdisgrace to those who went before. “Praise” could havebeen accidentally discarded by Kevin Shields while “Gathering” could besomething from Joy Division’s demo days but with better lyrics.The faster-paced songs on Giving up the Ghost are what make itworth listening to. “The Light is on” along with the aforementioned“Praise” are possibly the two of the best bits of the album, both stompalong (well as much as Windsor for the Derby can ever be said to stomp)and show the band at their best. The female backing vocals at the endof “The Light is on” are blissful. The album closes with “Every WordYou Ever Said,” a delicate and moving song that finishes off the discperfectly. It reminds me of Dan Matz at his prime (the stunning CD hedid with Michael Gira). Giving up the Ghost may not be the bestalbum this year but it does provide 35 minutes of examples of whatmainstream rock should sound like if there was any justice.
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Vertonen is the work of Blake Edwards, owner and proprietor ofChicago's C.I.P. label, which has released work by variousexperimental, primarily electronic projects including Z'ev, The HaflerTrio, Howard Steltzer/Jason Talbot and Nautical Almanac.
As Vertonen,Edwards produces lengthy pieces in which the subtle harmonics andsonorities of slowly shifting drones are of utmost primacy. Orchid Collidercontains six tracks in which drones overlap and communicate, discovertheir innate harmonious natures and then dissolve as throbbing machinerhythms and deafening walls of noise gradually encroach. At times,individual tracks sound like a series of complementary solos by variousassemblages of electronic devices, each given their spotlight tocommunicate their own unique voice. At other times, the sound evokesthe hypnotic interstices of the non-local quantum experience: theendless clinical white hallways of Ketamine space. It's a lonely,plasticated atmosphere haunted by the abandonment of identity and thedim echoes of something artificially resembling nature, such as theuncannily unreal crickets of "Our Sterile Years, Resumed," a trackwhich runs off its own spool and fades away in a clamor of junk metalnoises. There doesn't seem to be a concept linking the pieces on Orchid Collider,instead each track seems to exist on its own terms, each a separate andhermetic narrative formed out of various strands of hypnotic machinedrone. Standout tracks include the all-too-brief "ForgivenessPrecipice," which locates some of the most intensely renderedmind-cleansing frequencies I've enjoyed this side of a headphonehearing test. "Failure (Graywater Terminal)" begins with some very AlanSplet-ish atmospheres, lonely haunted drones bubbling up from thebottom of the rusty pipeworks and abandoned smokestacks of some futureindustrial wasteland. Somewhere in the distance a lonely, miserablecreature wails in utter darkness and solitude, providing a chillingmoment of Lustmord-ian horror that stayed with me long after the trackhad veered into more benign territory. According to the liner notes, Orchid Colliderwas made with the support of a Community Arts Assistance Program grantby the City of Chicago Department of Cultural Affairs, which I can'timagine is a situation in which most purveyors of abstract electronicdrone music find themselves. It's a credit to whoever in Chicago ishanding out the arts grants, however, as the album is an exemplarywork, a satisfying drone album that goes beyond the usual elegiachypnosis to locate some truly spine-tingling moments of abstract,haunting loveliness.
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