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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Growing up in the suburbs of Toronto, there was a great collaboration in the early 80s between local prog-rock heroes Rush and Max Webster on the tune "Battlescar" that was, like, totally awesome for an impressionable rock radio pre-teen. Looking back, I don't think there's been many unique rock group pairings where both parties come through loud and clear without fighting for the spotlight as I would have imagined or care to remember. Over the years, most of the major label stuff always came across as either: a) a third party-penned tune recorded to benefit a worthy cause; b) a contractual and cheesy supergroup; or c) the obligatory tribute record, which is also usually a) and b).Drag City
Source material re-mixes were and still are the popular collaboration for a lot of electronic-based musicians, with artists sometimes never meeting in person. A couple of years back, west coast precision metal trio The Fucking Champs and D.C. futuristic rockers Trans Am decided to embrace the earlier days of the rock's upper echelon by recording under the name Trans Champs, releasing a great EP in which both groups complimented each other and maintained their own identities. This time around as The Fucking Am, Gold has them broadening their unique middle ground of crunchy guitars and tight drumming to some darker, heavier and at times playful places. "The Gauntlet" had me close to headbanging to its super-tight and processed drums, monstrous wall of heavy guitars and low end, at times thick enough to vibrate the nose hairs. Taking its title from the now famous Pete Townshend defense, the time-warped "Doing Research For An Autobiography" nearly left my jaw hanging as it shifted back and forth from twin guitar major key 70s blues/rock licks and double bassdrum-driven keyboard explorations that touch on the psychedelic. The laid back and loose jamming of "Elastico Gomez" takes the excitement level down a few notches only to have layering drones build up the tension to segue into the crunchy and controlled meedleying of "Electrico Gomez" to close things down. As one who prefers to think as having outgrown my stadium rock upbringing, Gold had me wanting to pump my fist in the air and revisit my inner-metalhead without an ounce of irony. 
This Atlanta, GA quartet has given life to a new kind of metal that canonly be compared to a war machine: it's brutal, massive, unpredictable,and completely devestating. Nothing could possibly equal the intensitythis band puts out without crossing that thin line into the realm ofparody and hilarity. In 2002, Mastodon's Remissionripped into the heart and soul of every kind of metal that'd ever beenheard and combined them to form a claustrophobic ride through chugging,cement-thick guitars, rhythmic abnormalities, and a melodic beauty thatonly the most elite of metalheads have ever been able to pull offwithout making themselves sound tame and absolutely void of any realmenace. Well, if Remission was a head's first dive into the conceptual, dark, and obscure, then Leviathanis a burning purification that adds to the band's alreadyconfrontational sound and removes the obscured elements in favor ofraw, rhythmic punishment. From the second "Blood and Thunder" startsit's obvious that something is different; the guitar that opens thesong is a bare, crunching assault of time signature foreplay andpunkish attitude. Troy Sander's voice, buried in the mix ever soslightly, roars out from behind the volleys of insane drum assaults andflesh-eating guitars that sear through the song like a burning spear.The sounds are far more open, the melody far more acute, and for theirrefusal to stay in the dark underworld of their previous album theyarrive at a new plateau where there is nothing too strange to attempt.Blob-like riffs meet sudden time changes wherein the fastest drum andguitar playing chugs out new and unique melodies only to resolve into acompletely distinct set of movements that somehow match up with therest of the song. The abyssal "Megalodon" is proof that metal can goanywhere and attempt anything. What starts out as an acoustic sparkleof guitar and percussion fornication suddenly turns into thesledge-hammer bursts of screaming and persistent guitar growls... andthen it resolves itself into a riff reminiscient of country music. Itthen suddenly breaks into a marriage of closed, choppy rhythms and theopen melodious sounds of ringing chainsaws and harmonic interruptions.As though this weren't enough to send any metal-loving fan into a fitof epilepsy and confused schizophrenia, the very next song erupts in aflurry of playful guitars and dramatic vocals that can only be matchedby all the emotive qualities of a symphonic composition. The diversitythis band can pull out of their instruments at random is awe-inspiringand quite frankly I've never heard any band do it quite like these fourmusicians can. There's not a song on here that doesn't inspire a kindof "how in the hell did they do that?" feeling. The move from thedensely saturated realm of the psychological Remission to the absolutely infinite and fear-inducing hopelessness of Leviathanwas an entirely beneficial one. Nobody sounds like this band and giventheir technical mastery and knack for keeping the complex and heavyabsolutely accesible, I don't think anyone can even hold a candle tothem. 
The demise of dark music distributor World Serpent has created acrippling ripple effect for all dependent parties involved. The vitalpayments that once supported their thought-provoking and ear-astoundingindependent artists such as Coil and Nurse With Wound have now driedup, leaving the majority of the company's active acts scrambling fornew distribution deals and taking on the burden of significantfinancial losses in the process. Current 93's own David Tibet hasregretably announced that he will need to sell his house, being unableto afford living there any longer. Sad to say, industrial music pioneerCosey Fanni Tutti, along with her husband and frequent co-conspiratorChris Carter, have perhaps suffered some of the greatest harm, at leastartistically, with two completed releases that were due out around thetime of World Serpent's collapse. EAR 4: Selflessness,one of these final releases along with the woefully hard-to-findCarter-Tutti album. Presumably constructed from recordings taken from alive art action undertaken by Cosey in May 2002 at, of all places,Californian tourist mecca Disneyland, the music here unintentionally,unless through will of unconscious foreshadowing, evokes thedesperation that she must now feel. Broken down into a series of fouricy excursions into dark ambient realms, each roughly 20 minute segmentretains its own particular subtle and not-so-subtle charms while stillflowing smoothly and uninterrupted between one another. "Part One"bristles with cold winds and the peculiar sounds of distant mirth andmerriment, contributing to an overall dissonance of train whistles andother delay-saturated noises. An enchanting synth pad surges and thensubsides throughout "Part Two," surging with a sonic emotiveness thatmany fans of the current pop ambient darlings of the Kompakt labelswould delight in. "Part Three" indulges in more minimal atmospheresthan the preceding tracks with soft buried dubby rhythms and incoherantsamples of a whining child. The closing track continues to play withthe elemental building blocks from the previous sections whileintroducing more lush melodic tones, ending with the rise and descentof one particularly gorgeous drone. Though marred by the unfortunatecircumstances leading to its delayed availability, ambient musicafficionados and inquistors will find much to explore and examine byseeking out this recent work from an amazing and inspiring musicalluminary. 
Intransitive founder Howard Stelzer has been careful to point out thathis label in no way attempts to group its artists under anygenre-defining ethos; nor does it give face to any marginalized societyof artists, or a voice to any supposed "scene." As curator, he does notassume anything, but merely presents,offering beautiful examples of only what he finds compelling orinspiring at a given time. Stelzer's approach is more personal thanmost, while at the same time less selfish, resulting in musicalselections that neatly expand past 'high art' definitions ofexperimentalism and into the approachability and directness of homelistening. Twenty-Three, Intransitive's second compilation following 2001's similarly double-length Variious,is a perfect reminder of the label's unhurried, quietly-progressivehistory. The collection develops much like the high-school mixtapesStelzer uses as touchstones for the compilation process, visiting aseries of diverse artists with a distinct range of compositionalmethods, the only binding quality being their uniquely homespun way ofapproaching electroacoustic sound, a trait that is significantlyaccented by the curator's insistence that no digital devices be usedfor any of the recordings. Whatever the source, each of these tracks isa miniature lifeforce, a squirming, tactile mass of tension, energy,and changing dialogue, rooted firmly in the present tense. These soundsplay the speakers differently each time, their frequent silences alwaysin a new embrace of the room's ambience and their louds ever-poised touncover or create new memories and fresh associations. Though most ofthe twenty-two contributions feature relatively thin, unclutteredproduction, nothing here sounds insubstantial; on the contrary, thedelicate, near-vacant construction of many of the tracks becomes apoint of paradoxical continuity for the collection, where theexploitation of one faulty connection or lapsing field capture mightjust eclipse the entry of another artist into the discs' driftingdigest. The intimate, chamber-room experiments of Ronnie Sundin andOlivia Block are rendered new, and at some points indistinguishablefrom the brimming, rural psychedelia achieved by fringe artists likethe Animist Orchestra and Birchville Cat Motel. Elsewhere, GuiseppeIelasi's warm and hazy drone piece, "Two Chords," touches on thespherical minimalism of Francisco Lopez, whose contribution, "untitled#134," answers back with a hint of the lyricism that has definedIelasi's output. The positioning of old and new works by a host ofoutsiders and obscurities, alongside pieces from the medium's moredependable busy-hands, also adds to Twenty-Three's vitality,rejecting canonical treatments in favor of a more mysterious andaccidental unfolding. Unsurprisingly, this pace feels very natural,with continuity between the different pieces evolving at imperfect,very human measurements. Every contribution contains the seductions ofimpulsive, event-oriented listening, with its primacy of the improviseddetail, while at the same time becoming part of a rapturous, intensely'constructed' sound-environment that fills Twenty-Three, makingit more of an expandable mood-piece than a label sampler. It's true,many of the artists included here have never seen releases onIntransitive, and if this labor of love is any indication, Stelzer'slabel is poised for bright future.
Just as Rejoicing in the Hands of the Golden Empress represented the maternal principle, Nino Rojo represents the principle of the child. Following in a line of primal symbolism going back to the Egyptian deity Horus ("the crowned and conquering child"), the title depends upon that fundamental consonance between Sun and Son. The "red sun" disc of the Eye of Horus, casting the light of knowledge upon mankind; and the "red son" of Banhart's title, an "exuberant and foolish" child full of passion and curiosity. This symbolic conceit works to unite these two halves of the same generative source.
 
Nino Rojo comprises a second volume of 16 songs from the same fruitful recording sessions that produced Rejoicing, and far from a collection of outtakes or castoffs, represents another stunning album from one of the most uniquely talented individuals currently working in this medium. As if to enforce the frolicsome exuberance suggested by the album's title, the songs here focus on energy, dynamism and the spirit of communal play. To that end, many of these tracks are more orchestrated than I'd come to expect from past albums, with guest players contributing voices and instruments. Benefactor M. Gira contributes his voice and harmonica to "Electric Heart," the album's transcendent coda, celebrating the light-bringing, conductive properties of collective love. On a few tracks tracks, Julia Kent of Rasputina and Antony and the Johnsons contributes her exquisitely expressive cello. Andy Cabic from Vetiver, one of the newer groups to emerge from the Golden Apples of the Sun new-folk scene, joins Devendra for a lovely vocal duet on "At the Hop," a buoyant tribute to romantic codependency. The disc is also enhanced with an MPEG video for the song, which mutates into a group sing-along, with a psychedelicized video heavily indebted to the hippie ruralism and communal spirit of Incredible String Band's Be Glad for the Song Has No Ending. Of course, Nino Rojo also contains plenty of tracks of Banhart playing solo, fingerpicking remarkably complex guitar figures, drawing on a seemingly endless reservoir of gentle acoustic melodies that each trigger the spooky resonance of deja vu. The album begins with a sad, sweet rendition of children's songwriter Ella Jenkins' "Wake Up, Little Sparrow." Banhart sings in his native Spanish on "Ay Mama," a lament for his mother in which he repeatedly sings "No hay que llorar" ("You don't have to cry"). There are more hauntingly simple songs on Nino Rojo, from the outsider anthem of "Noah" to the chilling surrealism of "Sister." Along with the remarkably fast-tempo playing on "Horseheadedfleshwizard," Devendra weaves a remarkably sinister assemblage of images: "I put the ovaries in my mouth/And all the dogs will die/And the devil will call the cats home/And he looks up to the sky." Banhart's guitar virtuosity continues to improve by leaps and bounds, with tracks like "The Good Red Road" matching the proficiency of guitar legends like Elizabeth Cotten and John Fahey. Nino Rojo is a joyful, magical work of unrestrained creativity, and taken together with its earlier counterpart, represents as strong a statement of artistic integrity as any musician could hope to produce.
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A decade or so ago, I worked part-time in a CD shop that specialized mainly in strange and obscure imports. One of our favorite pastimes was scouring the catalogs from distributors in places like Germany and Japan to find the most unlikely reissues and greatest hits collections, and at one point, we had a list posted in the stock room of the "Top 10 Greatest Hits albums that should be a CD single." Number one with a bullet was a German anthology of tracks by Carl Douglas, the Jamaican-born singer behind the 70s pop-disco classic "Kung-Fu Fighting" and, well, a lot of other songs that no-one cared about.
Released in the UK in 1974 at the height of the craze for chop-socky kung-fu flicks, the song spent weeks on the charts, and had similar success in North America the following year. 30 years later, the folks at German neo-dub label Echo Beach decided that it would be a good idea to have a bunch of people remix this slice of 70s cheese, and given the current popularity for reconstructed & deconstructed kung-fu films like Kill Bill and Hero, the release has a perverse sense of the "expert timing" mentioned in the lyrics. The big question, though, is whether or not the world really needs 16 new versions of what is essentially a novelty record by a long gone one-hit wonder. After forcing myself to listen to the entire 78 minutes of 30 seconds of the album, I'd have to say that the answer is a powerful and resounding NO. It doesn't start off too badly, as the opening mix by Noiseshaper turns the track into a surprisingly enjoyable chilled-out reggae number. But as the album moves on through one dub-based variation after another by Dreadzone, Kid Loco & Rob Smith, it doesn't take long for the novelty of the project to wear off. Seeing Adrian Sherwood listed in the credits offered some promise, given his reputation as an adventurous producer who often pushes the limits of dub techniques, but his mix is sadly one of the weakest in a generally weak bunch. The only bits that stand out are the Pole mix, which drops a handful of vocal samples into a downtempo composition that is one of his best works in quite some time; and G-Rizo's version which completely reworks the track into a mellow broken beat number with breathy female vocals. If this had been a 4-track EP, it would've been a fun release worth grabbing to add some humour to the dance floor at your next house party, but as an album, it's really quite excruciating. Given that this isn't the first time Echo Beach has done this sort of thing— they released a similar album a couple of years ago featuring a multitude of mixes of their namesake song by Martha & The Muffins—I can only shudder to think what mouldy oldie will be next in line for this treatment. 
An orchestral band with an interesting twist, Slow Six have compiledthis debut album from tracks they've recorded over the last four years,though none of it sounds in the least dated. The twist is the use of anactive computer that takes in the sounds the members make andinterprets them into what it will, used mainly in a live setting butput to slight use on these recordings, as well. Though they work withother artists when they perform as sort of a rule, there is no missingcomponent when listening to these songs, as they're certainly dynamicenough to hold attention. Sometimes they take a while to warm up, or toget to that next shift, but there's never a moment of absolutestaggering boredom that attacked me. What also struck me is the care inthe packaging, like it was an art project all its own, as the coverphoto has so much meaning, like the Empire State Building is a greatunknown forbidden to those who live behind the fence. The liner notesare actually a photograph of the walls in their rehearsal space, whereguitarist Peter Cressy actually wrote the words on the wall in a veryelegant style. It's a small gesture, but it shows the commitment andcare of these artists to and for their work. The songs number three,with the shortest clocking it at almost nineteen minutes, and theyrepresent a full range of emotions as well as variations in what theband is capable of. Each has its own breath and life, and moves with aspirit that feels like a wise and aged soul. To break these massivepassages down to "the violin sounds great" is almost an insult to theirbeauty, but the instruments are played with great skill and passion,and the music becomes more lovely with every replay. Violin, viola, andcello are joined with guitars and Rhodes piano and the aforementionedcomputer instruments — no percussion. It's not missed or even needed,and the sounds all swirl together in an artful embrace. I hope the bandtours outside their native New York so I can see this first hand, andthat there's more to come from these practitioners of the slow andsomber. 
On his fifth album in two years, Paul Westerberg should be getting tothat point where he's becoming a parody of himself, sounding out thesame old business in his traditional way. Strangely, though, he soundsmore fresh than ever, opening up and having fun in a way that's almostmore revealing than any songs he's ever released. It's known thatWesterberg has a large stockpile of material that he's been recordingin his home for years, but there hasn't been a dud yet as he sloughsoff years of age to bring this music to life. No, he doesn't sound likehe's in the Mats again, but it makes little difference when he's stillcooking up magic. The album opens with "Jingle," Paul's attempt to getmainstream commercials to buy one of his songs and make him the nextcorporate shill like Lenny Kravitz, but it's obvious why it neverworked: his snide sense of humor is in full effect, and any intelligentbuyer would know he's crossing his fingers behind his back as he sings"Buy it now." It's catchy enough for an album opener, and after thatit's pretty much a fitting title for what's inside. The honesty anddirectness is what flavors all the songs with such import, almost likePaul is taking a stand like Joan Baez or Bob Dylan, but only on what'simportant to him, not the masses. This is a folk album that speaks fromthe heart, but about the heart and what flies around the head insteadof about ideas that are projected on to those who listen. "My Dad"doesn't need much explanation, but feels like a song that represents aconversation that should have taken place and didn't. "Now I Wonder" isthe quest everyone goes on, and it's got that classic Westerberg sneerwith Jesus Christ references, poetry on wheels. Again Paul plays allthe instruments, and doesn't care about clean takes or crisp playing.With all these ingredients, the cake should be tasty, and it is, eventhough it's got no frosting or sprinkles. If he keeps it up at thispace, Paul might have thirty records out by 2015, and not a one of themwill be lackluster. 
After the supposedly appetite-whetting Here Comes That Weird Chillleft me cold, I had doubts about the latest Mark Lanegan direction,marked by the Band credit added to his name. Luckily, the latest recordis a realization of the best parts of that release, also making it afull-fledged rebirth for Lanegan as a solo artist. I heard someScreaming Trees songs not too long ago, and I remembered thinking thatit was great to hear his voice, since he used to sing in thatband. Lately, his performances had almost become a parody ofthemselves, with the broken-glass-embedded-in-the-throat routinebecoming the height of his regimen. Now, though, he's like a chameleon,changing his skin and styles on nearly every track, and he's singingfrom places I haven't heard in years. Sure, the broken glass routine isstill about, but it's also tempered with a beauty and an earnestness inthe middle of all the shifts of fancy. The backing band is stilldisparate, with Josh Homme and Nick Oliveri on a few tracks, Greg Dullihere and there, and even Polly Jean Harvey on the swaggering "Hit theCity." It works big time, and the whole package is a wild ride throughthe psyche of a man who is finally hitting a new stride. "One HundredDays" is the track that brings it all together, with Lanegan'splaintive vocal and gentle guitars loping into view to start. When therest of the band joins in, the song takes the money and runs, and theharmonies are pure sweetness. There are great moments of somber likethis throughout the record, like the opening "When Your Number Isn'tUp" and "Strange Religion," and they're never faked or rushed. Whatreally picks it up and gets the blood going is the bombast, like on"Sideways in Reverse," where the banging drums and energy are in fullforce, or the breakbeat weirdness of "Can't Come Down." It's a greatmix of the high and low, and maybe it's the fact that Lanegan soundsfree or released that makes the passion or honesty more palpable. He'son the next level finally, after struggling a little bit, and ready towow again. 
The appropriately named sequel to last year's Cool As Ice, Twice As Nicecontinues the job of compiling lost dance singles from Factory andCrepscule. This time, the compilers stretch out a bit, including notonly productions credited to New Order's Be Music, but also a fewrelated producers. Among the other producers represented on thecompilation are NYC luminaries Arthur Baker and Mark Kamins, as well asthree 52nd Street tracks produced by DoJo without the help of BernardSumner. Consequently, the songs on Twice As Nice aren't asthematically linked as those on the first volume. There is a also anoticeable drop in the quality of many of these singles, a few of whichwould have been better left to history's dustbin. I'm thinkingspecifically of Arthur Baker's shiny happy remix of Anna Domino's"Summer," which clocks in at a laborious seven minutes, and never risesabove the level of "Walking on Sunshine" 80s pop trash. Mark Kamins wasa popular NYC producer and DJ at the legendary Danceteria, but he willprobably forever be known as one of the "little people" that MadonnaCiccone climbed over on her way to world domination. His production onCheyne's "Call Me Mr. Telephone" highlights some of the problemsinherent in white producers co-opting early HipHop, but demonstrating afundamental lack of understanding as to what made HipHop good. The 52ndStreet tracks fare much better, especially "Express" and "Look Into MyEyes," soulful R&B grooves expanded by DoJo into synth-heavy,polyrhythmic disco-funk classics. Quando Quango appear on a pair ofLatin-influenced new wave dance sides with remarkably outre'production, incorporating varispeed vocals and dub trickery. MarcelKing's "Keep On Dancing" doesn't repeat the unparalleled greatness of"Reach For Love," but he gives it the old college try anyway, withanother high-energy, anthemic gay classic. Shark Vegas were an obscureGerman electro-disco group, and their "You Hurt Me (Version)" playslike a step-by-step primer in early-80s, by-the-book Euro-techno. Arare edit of New Order's "Video 5-8-6" will be a major attraction tomany, an early experiment in creating a track entirely with electronicsequencers. This track, along with Section 25's "Sakura," both displayBernard Sumner's nascent experimentation with his new gadgets, andevidence a remarkable sort of "beginner's luck" that manifests in apair of stunning low-fi electronic tracks that belong in the samecompany as early Human League. The vocoderized technopop of "Motherland(Remix)," by cult Factory oddballs The Royal Family and the Poor, ispretty atypical of their sound, but pleasant nonetheless. Twice As Niceis nothing if not inconsistent, and does not hold the easy appeal ofits predecessor, but contains enough worthwhile nuggets to warrant afew spins. 
Cool As Icesweeps up the scattered remains of the influential dance singlesproduced by Be Music, a catch-all name that denoted productions byvarious members of New Order. Most of these tracks were produced byBernard Sumner, often working alongside DoJo (Donald Johnson of ACertain Ratio); with a few tracks produced by Peter Hook, Steve Morrisand Gillian Gilbert. It's a fantastic collection of rarely heardelectro and dance classics from the early years of British clubculture. The twelve tracks collected on Cool As Ice wereoriginally released in a particularly fertile creative period of1983-4. 52nd Street's "Can't Afford To Let You Go" is a classic slab ofacross-the-Atlantic electro: throbbing analog sequences and stunningRoland 808 programming alongside soulful R&B vocals. It's a thick,delicious concoction of post-Disco dance every bit as good as Detroitmainstays like Rhythm is Rhythm, but with an ear for clean-edged,spartan production familiar from classic New Order tracks like theubiquitous "Blue Monday." "Looking From a Hilltop (Megamix),"painstakingly reworked from a track by Section 25, rates among thegreatest all-time techno singles; a lush urban sprawl illuminated bythe glistening surfaces of newly constructed high-rise apartmentbuildings. Marcel King's "Reach For Love" is a gloriously overwroughtgay-club anthem that never was, bearing more than a passing resemblanceto my beloved Bronski Beat. Cool As Ice would be worth theprice for the first three tracks alone, but luckily there are nine moretracks, filling out the disc's running time to the 74-minute limit.Other tracks by obscure acts like Quando Quango, Thick Pigeon and JosefK frontman Paul Haig outline that unique mid-80's intersection ofpost-punk, new wave, Big Beat and the emerging dance scenes. Thequality of the songs varies from average to better, but most of themhave held up remarkably well, due in no small to the smart productionby New Order members. It's strange, considering the long-runningnotoriety and success of New Order, that no one thought to compile thisstuff before now. But that's LTM's specialty: fulfilling needs wedidn't even know we had. 
