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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. Read More
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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.Mego
What becomes interesting upon listening to Resurrection River whencompared to Endless, their first record together, is the evolution of the rhythms,tonal passages and melodies, not unlike Pan Sonic's staggering Kestomega-album from last year. Still, both entities share a commonalityonly found in artists at the near-end of the musical spectrum, and ifit works, which is does, it works well. Some choice cuts include thepolitical plea "Desperate Nation," "11:52," which builds off arockabilly melody and guests Jimi Tenor on organ, and the danceable"Chrome Z-Fighters 2003."
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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.No Fun Records
I’m not as familiar with Nate Young’s extra curricular activities as Iam those of John Olson and Aaron Dilloway (and I suppose Mike Connellytoo) butfrom this effort it seems like its Young that brings the lion’s shareof subtlety to the Wolf Eyes mix. Most of the material on this limitedvinyl affair isin my preferred Wolf Eyes ‘style’, that of unfolding bleakness like rotsetting into teeth as opposed to the sound of them being kicked intonothingmore than brittle lumps in a fleshy soup.
As with much of this band’s related material there’s a nasty bootlegedge involved in the confusion of analogue that the music is made from.The singleuntitled piece on side A layers itself in seething staggering stepswith wretched low steady breaths (whatever is doing it by the end ofthe track…don’t know but it was certainly human to start with) hunched over abank of ruined contraptions. In the midst of imperceptive clangsthere’s a coldpiece of conventional repeated melody (a laser-like monochromesqueaking riff) that’s dragged into the embers and underscored by aflickering burning PC.Like a twelve-car pile up slowly unbending itself there are sinewytears and flashes of stiff steel and, as odd as it sounds, the songshimmers even with thetornado chaos.
Side B takes a different approach with its three tracks, using a longcentral piece bookended by two noise bursts that buzz and carve throughthe higher auralregisters starting at your pain threshold and working around that area.The middle section stirs as it powers up in the course of bursts ofpower with tiny preciseglitchy details…so much for the generic wall of noise tag. The nails ontin bleeps make this sound more like a portion of some rising ambienttrack by someforgotten IDM act. The manipulated found sounds duelling with bleepsand swirls, and it’s all kept surprisingly restrained till the busyNASA gone haywirefades out. As the rest of the collective soundtrack the crashing ofmetal on metal, Young is revealing himself as the next Merzbow Mozart.
Samples not available (vinyl obstacles).
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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.
We recommend donating to the Red Cross but you may choose to donate to whoever you feel you can trust.
Listen to these words from Mayor Nagin of New Orleans.
Most windows shattered altogether, allowing the curtains to flap like white flags held to the windows. It looks like a complete war zone. The waters are toxic with sewage and gas leaks and Tuesday morning the levee systems began to collapse under pressure, pouring all of the water that had been collected back into the city. After a day of attempts, the city has simply given up attempting to patch the flow and is letting nature take it's course. The pumps are entirely submerged in water and have all completely stopped working. The water is 12-15 feet over the ENTIRE east bank of New Orleans and, at the time of this writing on Wednesday, it is STILL RISING.
Everyone in New Orleans has been told that they MUST leave and they are not allowing anyone to return for ONE MONTH. At this point, most people are maxing out their credit cards staying at hotels and running out of money for food. And when they do return in a month or so, if they are not homeless they will have no belongings...
It will take months if not years to rebuild both the physical structures and the economy of what once was one of the most unique cities in the United States. Some say there's no way it will ever again be the same.
People need food and shelter. 80% of the city of New Orleans needs to be reconstructed. Until the federal aid starts to come in (an estimated $26 billion dollars...), the relief and rescue efforts are primarily being funded by the American Red Cross.
For the latest news, updates and images, go to the website of WWL TV - New Orleans Local News.
You can donate as little as $5 to help out...
Donate to the American Red Cross. 1-800-HELP-NOW
Other links of interest to those who want to help:
- Salvation Army: 1-800-SAL-ARMY
- Federal Emergency Management Agency: 1-800-621-FEMA
- AmeriCares
- National Voluntary Organizations Active in Disaster
Thank you for all of your support.
Sincerely,
Daniel McKernan
August 31, 2005
PS. If you were thinking of going to New Orleans for Jandek, Southern Decadence, or either of my art exhibits, they're all cancelled, as is everything for the foreseeable future.
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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.Novamute
Blitzkrieg Pop (the single) is a classic verse/chorus/verse kind of tune layered with ditzy power chord guitar and straight-ahead heavy metal drumming. If I didn't know better, I would swear this was one of the myriad Nine Inch Nails imposters from the mid nineties, and not a bit more interesting. T.Raumschmiere's punk approach to laptop dance music has been genuinely catchy up to this point, but in an attempt to broaden his sound, he's churned out one of the most regrettable lead singles I can remember. It's all macho chants and riff rock nonsense that rekindles a flame that I thought had died with KMFDM. What's unfortunate is that he's unable to capture the punk energy of his instrumental work, thanks to an over-produced and glossy mix that will please kids reared on a steady diet of Industrial Pop music playing at the mall. Thankfully, the remixes on this single make up somewhat for the lackluster, by-the-numbers original. That's not to say that the remixes are going to set heads on fire by any means, but somehow they neuter the arena pop vibe from the source material while techno-ing everything up a few notches. Considering the pedigree on display here, the remixes are no surprise, but they are all that's worth remembering from this disc. The 7" version of the single comes with an Ellen Alien fronted B-Side, but the 12" and CD releases are stuck trying to make sense out of T.Raumschmeire's turn at the mic. The single does however make me nostalgic for the days when labels released singles with club remixes as supplements to full length albums, so it's not a total loss.
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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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Johannes Vester and Ludwig Papenburg, along with with Ludwig's brotherUlrich, formed the group Sand, whose sole album (1974's Golem) is aKrautrock classic, famous for its haunting sparseness as well as the"Artifical Head" stereo mixing method pioneered by producer KlausSchulze.
The album was not successful, and though today amint-condition original pressing can run into the thousands of dollarsat auction, at the time its failure meant that there would be no secondalbum for Sand, and the group disbanded. Johannes and Ludwig remainedfriends, however, and in 1980, they formed the cold-wave electro groupAlu, who in their four-year lifespan released a single, a pair of LPsand a few cassettes. Autismenschen represents an additionalalbum that was recorded in 1981 but was never released until now. I'vestruggled to find the right words to describe Alu, as I have very mixedfeelings about the project. I am a great fan of Vester and Papenburg'swork as Sand, which I first discovered (as I suspect many others did)when it was expanded and reissued on CD by Steven Stapleton and DavidTibet, who released the handsomely packaged Ultrasonic Seraphimon their United Durtro label in 1996. It should be noted that asidefrom some very labored comparisons that David Tibet attempts to drawbetween Sand and Alu in his liner notes for Autismenschen,there is absolutely no similarity between these two projects. Sand'sGolem is spacious and surreal, a visionary folk album which carved outa unique hallucinatory space that has never been repeated before orsince. Alu is very typical of the cold-wave electro sound, typified bymetronomic rhythms, jagged synths, chugging sequencers and barkedvocals awash with paranoia, claustrophobia and technological angst.It's not that Alu are in any way incompetent, but whereas their work asSand was notable for its uniqueness in the Krautrock canon, the work ofAlu is all but indistinguishable from its German new-wave and post-punkcontemporaries. The whole project reeks of a very deliberate bandwagonjump, as evidenced by comparing band photos in the booklet for the Sandand Alu reissues. When they were in Sand, Vester and Papenburg sportedbeards and long hair, and photographed themselves looking wide-eyed andbeatific, heads full of hash and acid, on park benches and inplaygrounds. When they made the transition to Alu, suddenly the beardsand manes were gone, and instead they are photographed in the typicalTuxedomoon uniform of suit and black tie, surrounded by banks ofelectronic gadgets, making tense, worried facial expressions. The lookseems contrived, and so does the music, unfortunately. This is not tosay that there is not much about Alu that will please those who adorethis period of music, but there is nothing about Alu specifically thattakes the music beyond the level of a mildly interesting footnote inthe history of this period. The overlapping chirps, squelches andstaccato rhythms do create a fair amount of intrigue on a track like"Sie Kriegt Alles Was Sie Will," but I can't help but feel but feelthat Alu represents a rather cynical attempt by two talented musiciansto appeal to a younger generation, and it rubs me the wrong way. In thewords of James Murphy of LCD Soundsytem: "I hear you're buying asynthesizer and an arpeggiator and throwing your computer out thewindow because you want to make something real/I hear that you and yourband have sold your guitars and bought turntables/I hear that you andyour band have sold your turntables and bought guitars."
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