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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Drew Daniel and MC Schmidt's two albums last year both represented departures from their trademark audio strategies. The Civil Warsaw the duo incorporating medieval and American folk elements into aseries of pastoral compositions while The Soft Pink Truth's Do You Party? was Drew Daniel's unique take on leftfield digital disco and bottom-heavy electro. Rat Relocation Programis a return of sorts to the old conceptual bag of tricks; a briefexperimental EP that utilizes the microtonal sampling techniquesfamiliar from Matmos' antebellum days. Slightly less academic than the"amplified neural activity of a crayfish" stuff the duo is known for,the sounds on this release were drawn from recordings of a rat humanelycaptured in the couple's San Francisco apartment. This descriptionimmediately recalls "For Felix (And All the Rats)," a track off of2001's A Chance to Cut is a Chance to Cure that was constructedfrom the bowed and plucked ribcage of their deceased pet rat. Becausethis is volume six in the Locust's Met Life series of "field recordingsand ingenious sound responses," it consists of two tracks: theunaltered recording of the rat protesting its incarceration, andMatmos' digitally processed musical response. I doubt anyone would wantto listen to the fourteen minutes of "Rat" more than once, consistingas it does entirely of piercing rodent shrieks and the sound of tinyclaws trying to breach the metal bars of its cage, with long silencesin between. "Rat Relocation" is a different animal entirely, a longformaudio narrative that preserves the poor creature's squawking, butanswers each shrill cry with a measured electronic response rangingfrom sudden attacks of pummeling drum n' bass, to psychedelic funkexcursions, to minutely detailed DSP fractures that sprinkle the stereochannels with fractal debris. The track feels strangely narrative amidits abstractions, not dissimilar to some of Nurse With Wound's moremercurial sidelong tracks. A clear empathy is created between themusicians and their captured pest, as Matmos attempt to vividlyillustrate the hardwired fight-or-flight instincts of a rat trying toescape its captors, whether they be pacifist animal-loving bohemians orwhite-coated lab technicians. It's an epic on a microcosmic scale.
Compiling a various artists collection isn't easy, especially for avery young label with a wide array of styles in mind and nobleintentions in their heart. Over three years after the passing ofJonathan Hicks, this collection has surfaced, featuring over two hoursof exclusive audio contributions from much admired acts like Tarantel,The Album Leaf, Jessica Bailiff, and Her Space Holiday, along with ahost of relative unknowns like Moonpony, The Potomac Accord, and UnwedSailor. Jonathan Hicks was a young man from Indiana who lost his battleto a rare cancer at the age of 23. Chris Bennett, an amateurphotographer/filmmaker made a short film entirely in Super 8mmfeaturing Jonathan, still alive and recently diagnosed, and completedit with the intentions of leaving his family an "etheral portrait ofJonathan." The film was sent to various musicians to make soundtracksfor the short film, and the submissions are amazing. While most of themusicians probably didn't know Jonathan, they have provided honorablesounds to go along with the film, from Tommy Guerrero's analogue beatsto the melancholy acoustic guitar and banjo work from Your Friend;pulsing electronic synths of Mikael Jorgensen to echoed piano, violin,and drums from Early Day Miners. Tunes like the Album Leaf's"Jonathan's Song" are simple yet rich with a beautiful sadness, whilethe compilation's closer, "Figure Eight," from Jessica Bailiff ispossibly one of the most chilling, yet wacked out pieces I've everheard bleed from her guitar. Additionally, the silent film is includedto play along with a favorite submission or to simply watch in silence.Most of the people who end up with this collection will never knowJonathan Hicks, but he must have been special enough for somebody to beas dedicated to see this project through to completion. Proceeds fromthe sale of the compilation will be donated in Jonathan Hicks' honor tothe Children's Inn in Behtesda, Maryland, a place where Jonathanreceived treatments for over two years.
Sure, Mute are trying to muster up enough support for Throbbing Gristlefor the festival at Camber Sands or to buy those expensive boxed sets,but is this the answer? Mutantis a pointless collection of people who generally bore me to tears likeCarl Craig, who's version of "Hot on the Heels of Love" does nearlynothing to the original other than loop a couple parts for an endlesslydrawn out house tune which goes nowhere. Two Lone Swordsmen don'treally remix "United" but do a lame ass cover which is equally asboring as Carl Craig, but, well, completely nauseating too. There havealready been three full-length albums of TG cover tunes: Entertainment Through Pain on RRRecords, We Hate You CD+7" on the Norwegian Jazzassin label, and In-Formationon Attention Defecit Recordings (later issued by Invisible); and allthree got the point: they're all entertaining while being completelypainful. As for the remixers collected here: Simon Ratcliffe: crap;Hedonastik: crap; Motor: crap! Carter-Tutti: didn't they alreadyremix/reinterpret TG on the EAR releases a couple years ago as Chrisand Cosey? I actually liked those versions. The second Carl Craig mixcomes around and opens with a little bit of promise, but it seems theonly thing he discovered in this version is the echo/reverb unit andpanning. Maybe I'm completely wrong, but I don't think TG was abouthomogenization on the dance floor, but completely hijacking culture. Atleast with Mute's Can remix album, Sacrilege, there were plentyof remixes so far removed and individualized and re-interpretized, thata lot of tracks stood on their own merits. Even the "Yashar" and "Nag,Nag, Nag" remixes of Cabaret Voltaire were pretty good. Maybe with thearsenal of talent at NovaMute's fingertips, something good could havebeen made, but this is just utter crap. Save the agony of 52 minutesand download the 60 second version free from Mute's site and enjoy allof this rolled up into one mix. 
Somebody was right when they thought, "you know, we're really going topiss some fans off with this one." I don't mind so much the twopiano-only bits which hint at a person taking a collegiate levelcomposition course, but the songs that have been the Clientele'sstrength for years are nearly completely absent. The new EP on Spain'sAcuarela label is inspired by the paintings of Giorgio de Chirico andcould have been either left in the group's archives or filtered in to afuture album. As a standalone EP, however, it's completely avoidable.The first real song, "Summer Crowds in Europe," is way too short andinstrumental. It's the pretty fanfare Clientele are good at with aresonant guitar leading a talented bassline and steady drum. However,the EP's middle piece can be completely thrown away. I have listened toa number of drones in my lifetime and will occasionally love them, but"The Sea Inside a Shell" completely sucks beyond belief. It's somebodysitting at an organ for 8½ minutes, adding one note at a time until thething's a complete unlistenable mess. (God my ears hurt more than thenew Pan Sonic record at only three minutes into the track!) This couldbe the longest 8.5 minute track known to man. (Only once have I made itthrough without skipping the track.) The second piano bit follows andfinally, at last (and after what seems too long), the group emerge withtheir only vocal track, "Impossible," which could easily make theirnext album great. The price of admission for this EP isn't worth it,however. 
Rammellzee was among the original NYC subway bombers, not only animportant graffiti artist, but a key figure in the downtown scene thatgave birth to the five elements of HipHop culture. With Jean-MichelBasquiat as producer, he created one of early HipHop's monumentalachievements: the ten minutes of "Beat Bop," with Rammellzee adoptinghis "Gangsta Duck" vocal style, trading elaborate linguistic puns andcomplex rhymes with fellow urban wordsmith K. Rob over a hypnotic avantgroove constructed from minimal violin and guitar. "Beat Bop" was anunparalleled classic of the original cultural zeitgeist of HipHop, soits strange that Rammellzee has only now, nearly 25 years afterrecording "Beat Bop," released his first full-length LP. Theintervening decades of obscurity have apparently provoked Rammellzee totravel further down his own idiosyncratic wormhole, combining hisGothic Futurist philosophies with baroque linguistics, bizarre humorand a clear penchant for the "black folks in space" imagery ofelectro-funketeers like P-Funk, Afrika Bambaataa and The Jonzun Crew.Legions of critics and old-school HipHop enthusiasts have been heapingpre-release praise on Bi-Conicals of the Rammellzee,hailing it as a ingenious comeback by an influential artist.Unfortunately, the quality of the music on the record just doesn'twarrant this kind of enthusiasm. In fact, the album seems weirdlydisengaged, a series of turgid, verbose monologues in search of a hook.Instead of hooks, producers Death Comet Crew and Munk provide a seriesof retrofitted electro tracks that aimlessly wander through "PlanetRock" clichés and never find their footing, with sudden mid-track tempochanges and arrhythmic laptop edits that don't help. Rammellzee'sgrowls are processed and vocodered for the most of the album, whichseems a poor choice for such a talented linguist. The messy aggro beatconstructions constantly overwhelm the rhymes, which never fullyintegrate with the music. That's not to say that this album iscompletely without merit. I enjoyed the too-brief "Pay the Rent," astandout track featuring Rammellzee's old colleague Shockdell, the oneinstance on Bi-Conicals where producer and MC appear to belistening to each other. The liner notes are also fun, containingRammellzee's eccentric metaphysical exegesis in the form of a fold-out,Paul Laffoley-style diagram explicating the connection between thehuman reproductive system and the cosmos. Unfortunately, a definitivealbum-length musical distillation of Rammellzee's peculiar genius hasyet to be released. Perhaps if I wait another 25 years, my patiencewill be rewarded, but that's wishful thinking. 
I'm not usually one to buy DJ Kicks or DJ mix records but when I saw this collection from the Kompakt label boss sitting in the used bin, I couldn't refuse. Usually, these collections are from artists, who, more often than expected, have pretty poor taste in music and rarely acknowledge any of their contemporaries. It often results in a comp which is of friends and buddies and doesn't hold together nicely as a unit. Meyer, on the other hand, being the head of a label I adore, is an interesting pick, as with his picks, he might choose a bunch of stuff he likes but wouldn't find a place for on his label.Fabric
It is a proverbial (nearly) continuous mix with the definitions of the songs mildly unclear, and a lot sound like they could come close to appearing on a Total compilation, with smooth rhythms and deep sounds, but a number of acts threw me a welcomed curve ball. "Oldschool, Baby," by WestBam and Nena are the first of these curve balls, as I've never cared much for WestBam and I'm scratching my head wondering if this is the same "99 LuftBalloons" chick. (But that's more of a curiosity than much else.) After it's over, the theme returns to the staccato beats of Richard Davis through his "In the Air" track. Through more languid beats and a couple break downs the collection moves like a train passing through different landscapes and countries, maintaining a constant motion without stopping. It seems that on journeys like this, certain familiar things seem to make their presence known, like the sequencing 303 on "Killerteppich" by Robag Wruhme and Wighnomy Brothers, and the sprinkling of Kompakt acts like Superpitcher and Magnet. (Get your cameras ready.) All bets are off, however, when the train makes a second round througvh Thomas Schaeben. The track "Really Real," done with Geiger Ft Schad Privat. The beat changes completely, as the previous track fades out, this fades in and Germans funk out completely to a story about a friend addicted to accident black spots. Words of the steering wheel and cold steel makes me think it's a tribute to the book or film Crash and/or "Warm Leatherette" by The Normal. The cowbell and bass are enough to make me want to seek out more from this Schaeben guy. What follows are more tracks that follow in a funk-influenced style, with more authentic sounding drums and vibrant basslines, and the disc doesn't return to the deep techno sounds that populated the opening. If these compilation albums are here to serve as an introduction to some unfamiliar acts, the prices should be far lower. At a used price, I'd say a mix like this is well worth it, but I am jaded enough to think they're not much more than a fancy packaged sampler.
Ten tracks of soulful, sophisticated synthpop by a Canadian trio withthe cleverly unassuming name of Junior Boys might well be exactly whatthe world needs now. Recent attempts at reviving the urbane electropopof Depeche Mode, Pet Shop Boys and The Human League—by Erlend Øye, ThePostal Service, and even The Human League themselves—have beenhalfhearted and largely uninspired. In their painstaking efforts torecreate the sparkling synthetic tones, drum machine rhythms anddetached vocal style of 80's new wave, they seem to have completelyforgotten about the qualities of innovation, creativity and originalitywhich were the original watchwords of the new wave. Luckily, JuniorBoys have not repeated these mistakes. Understanding the importance ofthe word "new" in the term "new wave," their Birthday and High Come DownEPs were beautifully crafted works of startling freshness, merging theromantic, cultivated elegance of David Sylvian's Japan with the jiggy,imaginative beat constructions of Timbaland. Now comes theirfull-length album on KIN Records, combining both EPs and adding a fewnew tracks. Pop music hasn't sounded this inventive and accomplishedsince New Order released Power, Corruption and Lies. I'm notexaggerating; I've had this record on constant rotation since Ireceived it, and it continues to reveal new charms and ingeniousdimensions with each listen. As I write this, I'm listening to "HighCome Down," a stuttering, off-kilter beat with staccato bass hits andhigh-end synth flutters. Jeremy Greenspan wraps his soulful,androgynous voice around a sad, fragile lyric that recalls the finestby Marc Almond or Dave Gahan. Junior Boys appreciate the value ofsilence and space, and they keep their songs refreshingly unadorned byextraneous composition, analogous perhaps to European MicroHouseartists but without the same annoyingly rigorous asceticism. There aresubtle sonic flourishes that seep into the music almost subliminally -a rattling dub echo or a synthesized chorus that underscores eachbreathy vocal refrain. Of the ten tracks on Last Exit, abouthalf are pure pop genius, and the others aren't too shabby either."Under the Sun" is a song that I keep returning to, a hypnoticseven-minute synthscape with one line repeated like a mantra: "You'rethe sweet one/The sweet one under the sun." This is repeated,trance-like, over a dark, Moroder-esque disco groove that slowlyunfolds to reveal a bright vista of clouds and sun. Junior Boys havecreated an impressive debut album that goes on my shelf right next to Violator, Dare, and Architecture and Morality. 
The plot of Perche Quelle Strane ... involves a cheesecake photo model in a swingin' Italian metropolis whobecomes the target of a mysterious serial murderer. Nicolai'seffervescent theme is perhaps among the most catchy tunes of hisrepetoire, bouncing its way through scenes of sexy photo shoots andflirtatious rendezvous. From there, the mood changes to outrightcongo-driven exotica for a strip-show-turned-wresting-match, but movesswiftly on to rapidly pulsating strings and funky base as the bodycountbegins to build. Nicolai adds creative flourishes to the mix like asoulful violin solo which ties in excellently with the plot twistswithin the film.samples:
Il Tuo Vizio, composed for a very liberal film adaptation ofEdgar Allen Poe's "The Black Cat," is accordingly somber and sinister,with more of a classical influence than Perche Quelle Strane.Its themes alternate between two slow movements using harpsicord andoboe with hints of harp and a multitude of strings, and create a moodthat is haunting and seductive. There are, of course, energetic burstswhen the tension is heightened. The results are beautiful, chilling,and often romantic. The pieces at times sound as if they could haveinfluenced Angelo Badalamenti's score for Blue Velvet or In TheNursery's delicate orchestrations. Because each of the releases arebased on one or two primary themes, listening to each as a whole feelrepetitive on an initial listen. But once carried away, it's hardlynoticable. Not only that, but it's entirely possible you'll be hummingthem in your head for days afterwards.
The howling winds which open MíQ's third full-length record areominously foreshadowing of what lies within. The group, now down to acore trio, have moved even further away from their first releases ofpretty prancing techno fairies sprinkling happy dust over the morningdew, delving into deeper exploration of a more sad beauty that doesn'tcome without a sting. It's like admiring the beauty of the blue sky andbright sunlight after drowning, sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Thefirst real song, for example, even aches of sadness with the titlealone, "Weeping Rock, Rock," and with an arsenal of instruments, thesound swells to a thick heaviness the group only let bleed throughoccasionally on 2002's Finally We Are No One.In the studio this time are live drums and percussion, guitar andbanjo, mandolin, accordion, organ, horns, strings, and plenty ofunidentifiable objects while the digital glitchery has been reduced toa bare minimum, used only ever subtly for effect. Taking center stageis the even more matured, bold choices the group is taking with songstructure and production. Whispery vocals are brought to theforeground, allowing for every imperfection to be audible. Imperfection is, after all, what makes humans distinct from each other.The album's first single, "Nightly Cares," should be an indication forthose lucky enough to find it, as it moves slowly, with doubled vocalsand airbrushed drums and a muted trumpet that reminds me Mark Hollis isoverdue for a second solo album. Fans of the first releases should bewarned: MíQ have created a record which is almost completely void ofpredictable pop ditties that make for crossover radio hits, despitevocals appearing on nearly every song. Perhaps the group has taken someinfluence from the uprising in bands to challenge the almighty popstructure. Unlike a lot of their contemporaries, MíQ have effectivelybalanced that stretch for originality with a listen that's equally ascaptivating. Often times, things seem almost alien in nature, withbleak reality distortions that could even give Matt Elliott theshivers. MíQ have succeeded in making an album that's very shy atfirst, unassuming and timid. But, with a growing curiosity and opennessfrom the listener, bit by bit, more gets revealed, and I'm stilllearning. Those who appreciate a nice package might want to hold offthis week as some limited edition version in a book is due out butdelayed due to manufacturing issues of some kind
Tortoise are the undisputed heavyweights of that hopelesslyoverpopulated field of instrumental music dubbed post-rock. Aftervirtually christening the genre with their 1994 debut, then pushing outthe boundaries with the superlative Millions Now Living Will Never Die, Tortoise seem somewhat content to rest on their laurels. Their new effort, It's All Around You, the band's first full-length album since 2001's Standards, shows the band attempting new strategies, and falling back on old reliable techniques. Following a similar blueprint to Standards, this new album is yet another step back from the techno and dub influences that saturated Millions and TNT;most digital processing has been concealed in favor of stressing thetypically harmonious group dynamic. The deliciously over-mic'd drums,distorted keyboards and fuzzy guitars of Standards have beencarried over into this album. As ever, producer John McEntire isextraordinarily proficient in his ability to turn what amounts tohigh-concept elevator music into alchemical gold. If Krautrock, dub andIDM influences flavored their past efforts, the primary inspiration on It's All Around Youappears to be film music. Many of these tracks have an epic, cinematicsweep redolent of film composers like Ennio Morricone and Nino Rota."Crest" swells and subsides along with emotive string arrangements,with squalls of anthemic guitar punctuating each passage, like Hendrixjamming along to a soap opera soundtrack. The album maintains aconsistent MOR sunshine-pop vibe, with a sparkling atmosphere ofheroism and patriotic grandeur. The sampled chorus of breathy "aahs" on"The Lithium Stiffs" recalls the atmospheric light-rock of 10CC's "I'mNot in Love," not exactly a popular reference point for cutting-edgeindie rock. Much care has been taken in sequencing these songs, withthe first half of the album threaded together into a continuousnarrative. "Stretch (You Are All Right)" is pure Tortoise-by-numbers,with its point-counterpoint conversation between vibraphones andguitar. The songs on this album seem more composed than ever before,excising the elements of chance and improvisation almost entirely. Thisresults in an album that at times feels a bit calculated andover-composed, the same problems that have plagued recent efforts byStereolab. However, with musicians as talented as Tortoise, even aneffortlessly tossed-off record like this one can prove to be quiteengaging. Although the album loses much of its momentum in its lasthalf, "Salt the Skies" reconnects with the themes from the opening songsuite and serves as a fittingly bombastic conclusion. There is no doubtwhatever that Tortoise are an immensely gifted group of musicians, andit seems a shame to complain that an album as lovely and accomplishedas It's All Around You seems phoned in, so I'm not going to. I'm just going to shut up and listen to it. 
They Were Dreaming They Were Stones can't be considered apurist's field recording composition, as Murmer's Patrick McGinley doesincorporate "operated" devices like a car seat massager and telephonefeedback/ringtone; however the majority of the five-part piece wasgathered from locations as idiosyncratic and rich with colorfulassociations as the resulting music. McGinley takes sound from elevatorshafts, airplane cabins, a Turkish football victory celebration,Hewlitt's Cove Marina in Massachusetts and the Brooklyn Bridge amongother disparate spots, transforming them into a diverse current ofnoise dominated by thin drones and loose textural scatter, never busyand nicely blended. The artist seems more interested in creating musicwith its own private momentum and internal reference points thaninstigating the kind of environmental illusionism or detail-oriented,"investigative" technique common to the field medium. Even afterreading the liner notes and discovering the origins of McGinley'srecordings, it remains near-impossible to pin certain sounds onparticular sources to the exclusion of all others. When, at the end of Stones'"Prologue," traffic sounds from the Brooklyn Bridge begin to interruptthe shrill tones of telephone(!) feedback, the cars are far fromdisruptive, hardly cars at all and more suggestive of the low rumblesthat come from the 600-gallon steel watertank that appears in "PartFour." The creaking wood and chiming mast sounds from the marina in"Part Three" only reveal themselves when thrown into relief against thevacuous thudding of the elevator shaft, which could itself be thewatertank or part of the airplane's ghostly interior. Through carefultiming and expert fades, McGinley manages these discrepancies withoutmaking the resulting confusion the focus of the piece. The artistmatches the rhythmic and tonal structures of his individual segments,splicing them together so that points of flux do not emerge arbitrarilywith the chance swells of a particular component but at calculated andanticipated moments in the whole. Recognizable melodic turns, viaringtones presumably, reappear throughout several parts, reinforcingthe involved, almost symphonic character of Stones. Only once,during the piece's first part does McGinley run into trouble. Thecyclical rhythm of an old gas meter in his basement provides thedominant noise during this part, and the artist could've tried harderto submerge the meter in the surrounding atmospherics, as the rhythm,while appealing, stands out as too forced or persuasive an elementwithin the otherwise sublime, organic progression. McGinley recoverswith the longer, climactic "Part Four," which (somehow) drives theaforementioned watertank and cabin ambience into a heavenly chorus ofdroning activity, almost Eno-esque in its resounding warmth.
