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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What I appreciate most about the latest full length release fromMontreal's Fly Pan Am is their ability to crank out layered drones andpunchy rhythms which form the solid foundation for near guitar andkeyboard thrashings to play off and still keep it generallyinteresting. The ten tracks on N'Ecoutez Pasvary from straight ahead arrangements heavy with distortion to moredrawn out freeform pursuits that teeter on the brink of chaos, at timesinvolving spoken word tape splicing and other assorted noises. The morestructured tracks "Brûlez suivant, suivante!", "Pas à pas step until"and "Vos rêves revers" include the expected stacked guitars with coolchord voicing and quirky syncopated drumming that I've come toappreciate. At times, I think my ears trick me into hearing brief bitsof Motown soul in some of the bass lines. Still, it adds to theconstant underlying musical tension that's heightened by whisperedvocals, which although in French, are just as effective in creating asense of anxiety regardless of the lyrics. The lengthy "Très très'retro' " builds on the repetition of steady rhythms and distortedkeyboard stabs with slight variation for what seems like the group'sentire arsenal of guitar pedals, patch effects and the kitchen sink toplay off. At eleven minutes, including a break for what sounds likepopping balloons and distant organ drones, the less-is-more approachmay have been a lot more effective and held my undivided attention. Atthe other end of the spectrum, the brief and sparse composition "Exéleveur de renards argentes" left me wanting to hear more of itstwitchy guitar, eerie piano, highway sounds and spoken word layering,all presented with a very musique concrête touch. Again in the brevitydepartment, "Le faux pas aimer vous souhaite d'être follement ami" isthe trashy rocker complete with cheerleading chants that ran its coursebefore I could translate the title based on my poor retention of highschool French. With the exception of some lengthy guitar explorations, N'Ecoutez Pashas Le Fly Pan Am broadening the musical pallet and honing their skillsof pulling off modern compositions within traditional rockinstrumentation.
Six Organs of Admittance released The Manifestation as a one-sided 12" on the BaDaBing label in 2000, limiting the pressing to 500. Strange Attractors they have appended another nearly 23 minute exploration hithertounreleased, thereby doubling the music. The CD version makes the 12"seem scrawny now in retrospect, especially since the new song ("The SixStations") surpasses its companion piece ("The Manifestation") by a fewnylon guitar strings. "The Six Stations" endeavors to be more than justa song, though. Chasny intends it as an aural experiment complete withlab report. He employs an antiquated astrophysics equation (theTitius-Bode law which approximates the spacing between the planets;look it up) to create modes for a six-movement piece. Each movementcorresponds to the first six planets from the sun and is in a differentkey dependent on the mode. There is plenty of literature in thepackaging which tries to explain the method in Chasny's madness, but itcomes off at first glance as the scribbling of a deranged astrologer.Yet I like the madness, even if it is just the appearance of madness.To unify the two songs on the CD, Chasny has recorded the sound of aneedle playing the side of the original clear vinyl which was etchedwith a picture of the sun. This sound plays underneath the entirety of"The Six Stations." And now you begin to see all the motifs bendinginto each other: Six organs for six planets for six stations; celestialbodies connected by an equation which influences the modes of thesong's movements, with an underlying physical connection of rawcrackliness. Even without the theory, the music itself is sublime. Thecrackling needle is hypnotic, uniting the intricacies of all sixmovements with its subtle dissonance. The one planet which is perhapsleast admirably represented is our own mother planet. Apparently, inChasny's reasoning, Earth has no mode and thus no music to accompanyit. Instead, David Tibet of Current 93 reads some awkward poetry overthe crackling needle. The song suffers from this segment insofar as Ibristled uncomfortably with each stanza. Yet the other 5/6 of elegantguitar plucking more than makes up for Earth's unfortunate (but perhapsapt) tribute. The title track begins with drones and chants, eventuallycoalescing into a coherent melody, sometimes with male and femalevocals dancing around the guitars. Three-quarters of the way through,the song breaks down again into a restrained and temperedimprovisational session, only to pick itself up by the bootstraps inthe last 4 minutes and recollect itself into once again coherent guitarmelodies. The sounds on both songs are commensurate with other SixOrgans of Admittance records, arranging the well-paired avant-folk andpsych drone in this couplet of songs. In fact, both suites are likemedleys or samplers of Chasny's unique repertoire of sounds. I don'tmean to say that it all sounds the same. On the contrary, the movementsin these suites are indispensable for fans of Chasny's work, asessential as stars in any respectable constellation. 
I suppose it was only a matter of time before Coil's intoxicatingaesthetic concoction of homoeroticism, ritual occultism, anddrug-fueled decadence spawned its own specialized microculture.CCCPierce and Massimo of Black Sun Productions are probably not thefirst, but are certainly the most determined at expressing andembodying their zealous devotion to all things unquiet, sidereal andlunar. A pair of pierced, tattooed, European ex-prostitutes joinedtogether by civil union, Massimo and Pierce have explored and expoundedupon the latent ideas in Coil's music by mounting a series of sexualperformances, public and private, called Plastic Spider Thing,involving bondage, blood-drinking, ritualized sex acts and networks ofstretched plastic webbing. Their website(www.black-sun-productions.com) has grown over the years to includephotographic documents of their various aesthetic transgressions, fromhardcore fisting videos to journals with each page splashed with semen.Their first musical endeavor was 2002's album-length collection of Coilremixes by BSP associate DraZen, commissioned as a soundtrack forperformances of Plastic Spider Thing. It was an unimpressively murkymix of backwards-tracked selections from Threshold House's oevre withloads of extraneous effects, dulling the edge off everything that makesCoil spectacular. For this, their second foray into the musical arena,Pierce takes the reigns to create an album of new material, a warpedelectronic song cycle owing a substantial debt to the Moon Musick boys.Again conceived as a soundtrack to Plastic Spider Thing (Part XXII), Astral Walkis a big leap forward for BSP, if not an entirely successful album initself. I'm guessing that the majority of this album was made with asimilar array of analogue synthesizers and sequencers as those used inCoil's recordings, and it shows. "Entrata Lentissima" (transl: "SlowestEntrance") starts things off with a typically squishy, misshapen alienrhythm, soon joined by a cresting wave of those Coil-trademarkedshuddering, vibratory electronics. It's a textural, psychedelic sound,and for extreme Coil fetishists like me, it's immediately attractive.But after listening to "Lento" and "Moderato," which all but repeat theexact same audio strategies, adding layers of dark, droning stringsfamiliar from Musick to Play in the Dark, a cold feeling begins to set in. Unbelievably, all nine tracks on Astral Walkuse this same derivative bag of tricks, in various combinations, atvarious tempos. I had to keep checking my player to make sure I wasn'tstuck in repeat mode. The album's repetitiveness makes it a veryunattractive proposition for repeat listens. The dark, industrializedcover of Soft Cell's "Meet Murder My Angel" is a lone spot of respitefrom the rest of the album's uniformity, Massimo contributing spookywhispered vocals over intensely sexualized rhythms. The photos ofPierce and Massimo adorning the sleeve aim for the romantic, homoeroticcelluloid fantasies of Derek Jarman, to whom the album is dedicated.Though Astral Walk is clearly a major improvement over theirlast album, and there is much that hardcore Coil enthusiasts may likeabout the music, I hope that BSP will eventually find their own uniquemusical identity outside the rather large shadow cast by their heroes. 
With his first solo record, Arve Henriksen proved, consciously or not,that he could step boldly away from Supersilent's authoritarian shadowand develop a style all his own. On Sakuteikithe trumpeter did more than abandon the darkly ambient, jazz-fuckedcityscapes of his father group; by limiting instrumentation to the hornalone, Henriksen created a smoky, elegant tone poem with allusions toJapanese folk and classical musics, successfully juxtaposed with thealien texturing of the day's more established avant-trumpetingtechniques (see the arid, pursed playing of Franz Hautzinger, AlexDörner etc). Sampling and layering his varying strands of breath,Henriksen establishes a dreamlike atmosphere that rarely callsattention to the extremes of his instrument as free-jazzers might.Instead the mood is more of a weary, timeless, psychedelic sort, wherepiece-by-piece his trumpet fades into the movements of a detailed,irreducible landscape, intensely colorful but never jarring. Chiaroscuro'stitle aptly warns that it will provide no rest from the abstractdream-mapping of its predecessor, but the record does show Henriksenlightening up a bit, no longer limited to his trumpet and wordlessvocal, this time adding two new musicians to his band, a percussionistand livesampling expert. These additions give Chiaroscuro a looser, live-r feeling while keeping up with Sakuteiki'spatchwork brilliance. The timeless, graying overtones of that album arelost here, but they're replaced by a feeling that the players arecoloring in spaces as they go, a lush and growing environment that isincrementally fortified as the three play off and coil within thethought-lines of each other's playing. Henriksen lets his vocal matchthe music's newer flamboyance, soaring to heights that often give hisandroid-feminine croon prominence over the brass. No doubt thetrumpeter has benefited from the new ways of hearing and accompanyinghimself afforded by Jan Bang's livesampling abilities. Bang's cuts andassemblages sound less solemn or cyclical than Henriksen's own from thefirst record, and the trumpeter responds with a buoyant playing stylethat sacrifices none of Sakuteiki's hidden drama. The resulting joyful, relaxed, even tropical feeling is enough to characterize Chiaroscuro and will distinguish the record from the artist's past work. Here is not so much the sound of Henriksen stepping out on his own as stepping forward into something new. 
For an avowed proponent of the might-makes-right doctrines of SocialDarwinism and a frequent spokesman for neo-Satanic philosophies, BoydRice sure does spend a lot of time trying to persuade us he has asofter side. Whether through the campy pop songbook of Spell's Seasons In the Sun or his compilation of saccharine girl-group pop Music For Pussycats,the infamous provocateur behind such classics as "Let's Hear it ForViolence Towards Women" lately seems to be exhibiting his kindler,gentler qualities. Terra Incognita chooses 13 tracks fromalmost 30 years of recordings with a special emphasis on atmosphere,moodiness and listenability. A release like this is certainly apointless waste of time for Non aficionados who have already collectedthe albums from which these tracks are drawn, but for those justdipping their feet into brackish Boyd Rice waters, it's slightly lesspointless. These 13 tracks (and the lengthy liner notes by Brian M.Clark) make the case for Boyd Rice as musical innovator, focusing onhis unorthodox experiments with tape loops, distressed vinyl andself-built noisemakers as methods employed to open up the possibilitiesof experimental music. Indeed, you would be hard-pressed to findcontemporaries doing anything remotely similar to the "music" on BoydRice's 1975 debut, with the possible exception of Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music.Further, Boyd's combination of the noise aesthetic with extremistpolitics, occultism and moral transgression impregnated his music witha richly suggestive atmosphere. Listening to the grinding sheets ofnoise and distortion on any of Non's albums, one could imagine allsorts of subliminal messages worming their way into the subconscious;pick out all manner of sound effects, voices and subtle aural nuancesthat may or may not have been placed there intentionally. Using atechnique similar to the Burroughs/Gysin concept of the "third mind,"Boyd Rice often overlaps two different sound sources to create a third,unpredictable frequency that supercedes artistic manipulation andcreates something sublimely unsettling. The majority of the tracks on Terra Incognitaplay to Rice's obsession with easy listening music and 60's girl-pop,utilizing looped, distorted samples from vintage pop novelty singles."Extract 4" from Easy Listening for the Hard of Hearing, Boyd's1981 collaboration with the late Frank Tovey of Fad Gadget, matches aslowly decaying circus calliope with grating buzzsaw noises. What couldvery well be a loop lifted directly from a Lee Hazlewood production,turned slightly askew and refracted back onto itself, forms the basisof "Immolation of Man." Successive tracks are more austere and gothic,from the dusty, windswept chimes of Blood and Flame's "CruentaVoluptas" to the ghostly Gregorian conflagration of "The Fountain ofFortune," taken from Non's recent artistic misfire Children of the Black Sun."Untitled 1" from Boyd Rice's self-titled 1975 debut seems to prefigureBoards of Canada, consisting of a warbling easy-listening loop awashwith nostalgia, layered with sheets of drone and audio decay. Takentogether, Terra Incognita is a well-sequenced collection that proves Boyd Rice is more than merely the sum of his offenses. 
The recent years have seen a number of very specific compilations ofFall-related material, collections of singles and explorations of earlyeras of the band's development, all adding to the smoldering flame ofcontemporary interest in a group who has soldiered long and hard atdeveloping a catalog that is deep and wide enough to reward perusal.The very volume of material that makes the Fall worthy of such intensescrutiny can also be quite taxing for the uninitiated who could easilyget lost in the myriad of styles, sounds, labels, lineups, attitudes,and confusing bends along the way. 18,000 Fall Fans Can't Be Wrongoffers a competent selection of the various Falls—enough to serve aspoints of demarcation along their career and plot a rudimentary roadmapto the Fall that suits you best, or the one that might fit a particularmood. The two disc set spans from the bands inception all the way up tothe present, with selections from The Real New Fall LP. Thenorth star of this catastrophic cartographic challenge is Mark E.Smith, ruefully half rapping in a slew of disassociations and complexslurs. The dominance of his personality directs the music, from theinitial barking and bristling scrawls of "New Face in Hell" across theyears to slicker tracks like "High Tension Line" and "Telephone Thing."These latter songs lose nothing to the greater care afforded theirproduction, as Smith's wry delivery is equally as cutting. To hear themusical constellation around Smith shift over the years, gainingincreased fidelity and more precision can be startling at times. Anevolution that may have spanned a record or taken a few tracks to getused to can be dropped in here at a moments notice, and may disorient,however proper orientation and comfort should most likely not be a highpriority for anyone seeking to inure themselves with the Fall. 18,000 Fall Fans Can't Be Wrongarrives just on time, with the band seemed poised for a millennialrenaissance, producing new and vital music while highlighting thestoried past behind them. Any future pressings of this collection willno doubt need to push that number up much higher.
The synthetic compositions of this Canadian-native are more structuredand musical than anything else and thus they stand out and away fromthe other June releases on Drone Records. An orchestral string sectionof synthesizers sway back and forth like a boat at sea as "Same RiverTwice" begins and slowly any distinction between boat and sea is erodedby the duration of the sounds. Crystalline bird calls and full,indefinite tones begin to coalesce with each other and somehow providethe illusion of guitar strings being plucked. The pelagic corpus ofmusic slowly melds into each other until no distinction can be madewhatsoever between the music that began this song and the elements thatwere added slowly. If "Same River Twice" is akin to a swelling mass ofmemories, ideas, and emotions, then "Some Of My Best Friends Are 3/4Water" is akin to an ancient mystical dance that might've been playedout in 13th or 14th century Arabia. A flute plays an intricate helix ofnotes that slide and swirl like smoke throughout the air and thewhistle of rough materials gliding against each other reverberateagainst immaculate palace walls. Some manner of seductive dance playsitself out on a showroom floor and quietly, like a building storm, astrain becomes evident on the faces of all the spectators and surge ofenergy pours forth and finds itself expressed in the rhythmic beatingof bells and hammered instruments. The slow pace and absolutely sexualnature of this piece is addictive and I'm sure I could wear out thevinyl listening to this song over and over again. The way that thestringed instruments shimmer and meditate with the flute and the atonalplucking of strings produces a trance-like effect that borders on thehypnotic. Though the theme of water seemed obvious to me on the firstside, on the second it seems as though the desert is at heart ofeverything. I can easily imagine an individual galloping across thedesert on a horse in a desperate attempt to outrun a coming sandstorm.All the decadence and colors of affluent kings with their spices andflourishing trade routes haunt the instruments and arrangement of sidetwo. Aidan Baker has released quite a few records through otherchannels, but this could easily serve as a great introduction to hiswork. Both sides are addictive pieces of strange music that obtain akind of sensuous quality few others even bother trying to reach for.
This German duo must have some understanding of what it means to beuniversal. Their sounds are of sources that are completely unknown tome (though I can describe their qualities) and yet they can evoke asense of comfort and complete familiarity. The way that "Mletkin"begins, I was sure that I was going to face more of the faceless. Thesounds on both of these songs begin darkly, as though the demonic andevil were central to Herbst9's music. As the sounds progress, however,light and simple keyboards play steady one and two note melodies thatfade and drift between eachother. Harmonies begin to phase into thebody of found sounds, sacred melodies, and quiet rattles and soonafter, it's difficult to imagine anything even remotely dangerous orunbearable. Enenylynis a beautiful mixture of the seen and the unseen, the light and thedark, or the mundane and the sacred. "Mletkin" begins as an uneasywhirl through a long and empty shaft; only medical light illuminatesthe walls here and what waits at the end of this drop is black andgrievous. A strange trembling sound fills this shaft until, at last,the fall ends and it empties into a perfect space filled only with themost healing of light. The frog sounds and cosmic rushes of sound allmesh together with the aquatic rumble of enormous caverns and starlightmoans. The movement of the entire song is one of life and death."Mletkin" begins as an undefined mass and, in its attempt to finditself, opens a wound that spills out the most wonderful music. Allthis only to fade away into the undefined again. "Tynemlem" continuesby picking up the aquatic sounds from side one and translating theminto a slightly less dense piece of music. Again, it seems as thoughtHerbst9 likes to move between concepts, never allowing a sense of fearto linger for too long, and never letting the aura of life in thekeyboards stand alone. As a strange mud or thick liquid boils in acauldron, a slow steam builds in pipes layered just beneath the groundand pebbles roll about on the floor through the volition of their ownwill. Just as new and recognizable sounds begin to breathe themselvesto life, a faint and strongly emotional melody begins to cycle in thebackground, growing louder with each repetition. A river of natural andsynthetic roars, groans, and hushes sketch themselves over this melodyuntil the piece collapses over the edge of a waterfall in a sudden andexplosive death. Once again I find this isn't enough: I'm wishing thatthese fifteen minutes could be expanded into a full fourty or fifty. 
Cold northern nights ring through the open air in the form of ferocious roars and distorted whines on this 7" from the heart of Russia. Insanely packaged in the warmth of a two-inch thick, hand-sewn, wool cover and numbered by the duo, the music on VS is sickeningly intense and nauseatingly careful. A full onslaught of boisterous misery might have a frightful effect on some, but Cisfinitum opt to stir fear by mixing near-familiar elements into something completely unfamiliar.Drone Records
I can't be certain, but it sounds like wounded dogs are crying over the horizon and a strange machine is buzzing, maybe grinding something or someone inside those shattered buildings and empty wharehouses. There's a low moan of uneasiness perpetuated by the sounds of "Curve" and they don't go away. Even though the intensity dies down towards the end of the track, it keeps its malady alive in by introducing the terror of silence and the unknown. Pipes drip inside, the trees rustle outside, and in the vicinity is a wheezing entity, moving slowly through the shadows and towards the open window. As though the psychological tension couldn't be any greater, Cisfinitum starts side two with an echo of strange voices caught up in the walls of rot; walls that look like skeletons when viewed from afar. "Curse" begins gently enough but then erupts violently with a cascade of war drums, desperate radio broadcasts, and the most diabolical of laughs. However Cisfinitum records, they obviously have the power to capture to the essence of locations. The mood and dire feel of this whole record imply a kind of horror that can only be summoned via great care and with some amount of Lovecraftian knowledge. Ultimately it is that Lovecraftian sense of the enormous and uncontrollable that Cisfinitum manage to commit to record. The sounds and spaces that they evoke seem infinite and, in that respect, they recall the blank and abysmal fear of what can't be known or understood.
Two pieces of vastly different music occupy this 7" and the sheer gracethat they are handled with evidence a superior composer behind it all.The first side is full of escalating violence and phased aggressionechoing up and through a bottomless pit filled with something toodesperate to even name. Its slime worms its way up through dirt andhidden, underground passages until it finally surges to the top andexplodes in a glorious and suicidal display of sound and fury. Thesecond side is a consideration of the night and its chilling aura. Apiano rolls delicately about the air while a moonlit mountain exhibitssome strange behavior in the distance. The trees blow slowly, soundssnap and wheeze in the distance, and time begins to slow down. Thesetwo tracks couldn't be much different. Solielkraast is evidently aone-man project from out of Nantes, France. The noise and abrasiveelements of "Zoyd Kraast" come as a complete contrast to the frailty,delicacy, and intricacy of "Eesdaia." While many beatless orsound-collage records might maintain a constant tone so as to establisha mood and use it to its full potential, Solielkraast reaches foropposite poles and ends up getting a firm hold on both of them. Notonly are two excellent extremes presented on this release, but both arecalculated and arranged to near perfection. The trembling and robustpiano playing on "Eesdaia" is pure fear and dread come to life and itsconsiderate role in this song makes it one of the most extraordinarypieces of strange music I've heard this year. It isn't just the musicthat is spectacular, however. The vinyl itself is orange with yellowdustings and it comes inside a handmade cover by Solielkraast. Thisrelease has provided as much as a 7" can, but I'm aching for more thanjust these 17 minutes.
Tribute albums fall into different categories. There's the serious, professionally assembled tribute albums with a cast of well-known well-respected players on a firmly established or hip record label (see Blue Skied an' Clear and A Tribute to Spacemen 3); there's the abominable releases where a cast of has-beens and never-have-beens are found together unbeknownst in some cash-in-quick scheme (see the entire Cleopatra catalogue); there's the fanboy ones where a group of friends just decide to do something for kicks and trade it amongst themselves (see nearly any email list); then there's the painful, uninspiring ones which are posing as a professional tribute but wind up with more bad contributions than good ones (see For the Masses and A Means to and End). We Could Live In Hope isn't simply a Low tribute, it's a song-by-song cover of Low's very first full-length album (with two versions of "Words.") With a cast of people like Red House Painters' Marc Kozelek, His Name is Alive with Dan and Liz from Ida, A Northern Chorus, and Jessica Bailiff, the disc seems promising, but it's got some harsh problematic recordings which hold it back.Fractured Discs
Kicking off a record with a weak, out of tune and false accent-touting Daniel G Harmann version of "Words" is a complete mistake and gives me little hope for the rest. While Pale Horse and Rider add a pedal steel to "Fear" and A Northern Chorus go deep in their version of "Slide," the disc is already turning out to be a bit too samey. These are obviously people who have been so influenced by Low already in their own music, that nearly every album is a tribute, making a cover tune almost completely redundant. Most of the tunes, while pleasant, suffer from a lack of originality and simply go in one ear and out the other. Mark Kozelek is a saving grace, however, as his fingerpicking and rearrangement of "Lazy" turns it into a completely different song, however, this hope is almost immediately shattered when the first notes of Kid Dakota's "Lullaby" makes it sound like they want to be Low. Idaho's Coldplay-ish "Rope" makes me want to find one and the second version of "Words" is flat, tired, depressing, and drags on way too long (and coincidentally with some absurd accent). Thankfully the album ends on a very inspiring note, as His Name Is Alive with Nanang Tatang present a very graceful version of "Sunshine," which, actually isn't a Low cover, but that tune we all sang in kindergarten. (I also have the sneaking suspicion this is simply a Warn Defever remix of a song which appeared on Elizabeth Mitchell's You Are My Sunshine album a few years back, but I can't prove it at this point.) Luckily We Could Live In Hope escapes being the worst kind of tribute, but it comes dangerously close. If I just make my own CD-R and only use Halou's version of "Words" instead of the other two here, it's going to sound much better. 
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