This music could give a new meaning to the word "accessible." On one hand, Merge is an album constructed from Ikeda's 13-year-old "sound diary," music created to "reflect [his] everyday life," and, therefore, arguably more approachable than something based, say, around a chapter from Ulysses or the story of a mythical lady buying a stairway to heaven. Music from the diary of a living, breathing human is necessarily less demanding than music involving the imagist pile-ups of fictional or narrative songwriting. True, any piece of music will impose a kind of narrative simply by progressing in real time, and, I will admit that upon first listening to Merge, I found myself unconsciously trying to reconstruct the events which inspired such a cold, often unsettling backdrop.Touch
I was soon aware, however, of something beyond simple documentation at work. Any attempt to recover the specific inspirations for Ikeda's snail-paced sine tone collages would be next to impossible anyway, and luckily this is not the artist's desire. Instead, Merge attempts a widening of communication lines between musician and audience, an environment in which little stands in the way of my grasping a piece of Ikeda's day (or night), and making it entirely my own. The sine waves play a big part in this effect. Music produced by pure tone generators avoids the dialogue among sources that occurs with turntable or sample-based music, as well as the idiosyncratic quiver of the guitarist's hand. While not "accessible" in the traditional sense, pure sound needs no preamble; it carries no baggage and is therefore easier to approach on neutral ground, come what may. Ikeda's tones ride the surface for most of Merge, guarding against the possibility of giving the music anything less than full attention. They are not forceful, however, and rarely occupy fixed states, oscillating smoothly between the uncomfortable and the inviting at the urge of the personality guiding them. Each song has its own set of droning waveforms blanketing all other activity in a way that is subtle enough to allow the background to filter through, without establishing a set relationship between the two. It?s almost as if the sine tones exist to prime the ear, making it more receptive to the abstract bell patterns and simulated string flourishes behind. The continual flux of tonal relationships, with sine tones becoming at once stage and concealing pocket for the delicate background, creates a listening experience valuable more for its process than for any lasting resonance. The relatively short songs offer concise, inviting trips through atmospheres that feel consistently new, while at the same time very personal. I have listened to Merge dozens of times and still encounter its strange pull in new ways.
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Past volumes of !K7's DJ Kicks series have featured the estimable talents of Tiga, Playgroup's Trevor Jackson and Carl Craig, each taking their turn at the mixing table producing extended DJ mixes that combined newer underground club hits with classic dancefloor material and the odd crate-digging gem. They each had their moments, but for the most part, they were entirely predictable. I mean, who couldn't have guessed that Playgroup's mix would lean heavily on leftfield disco, or that Tiga would fill his set with uber-sassy electro? For me, the gratification of a great DJ mix lies in hearing unexpected juxtapositions of the alien and familiar, or unearthed vintage rarities recontextualized to sound modern. The new entry in the DJ Kicks series, mixed by Chicken Lips, delivers on this promise.
Chicken Lips eschew the notion of a continuous, danceable groove, focusing instead on all manner of retro-cheese, bizarro disco, boogie and psychedelic lounge to create an eclectic mix perfectly suited to headphone listening. In this sense, it shares more in common with DMC's artist-choice Back to Mine series. Chicken Lips are the British duo of Andrew Meecham and Dean Meredith, the same pair behind early-90's acid-house outfit Bizarre Inc. As Chicken Lips, Andy and Dean are masters of the disco-dub, a British movement utilizing loops of inane and/or obscure vintage dance sides. In a bid to prove their undying fascination with the Weird Groove, Chicken Lips open their unique set with the deeply odd kraut-lounge of Brainticket, one of the more eccentric of the 70's kosmische groups. This psychedelic oddity segues into Herbert's beautifully trippy re-assembling of Karin Krog's Northern Soul classic "Meaning of Love." Then Chicken Lips take a sharp right turn, dropping the novelty hip-hop of Jimmy Spicer's "The Bubble Bunch," which sounds uncannily like "The Bertha Butt Boogie" (fans of Rhino's Super Hits of the 70's will understand this reference). This madness somehow morphs into the proto-sampling of 4AD's Colourbox and the outrageously fucked rhythms of Nina Hagen's "African Reggae." An extended selection of mutant disco tracks pave the way for the esoteric house of The Paul Simpson Connection.
A short stop in the dusty dub of Rhythm and Sound and the phased avant-funk of The Raincoats' "Animal Rhapsody," and it's time to pull into Freak Station with the wacky Tropi-disco of George Duke's "Brazilian Love Affair" and Chicken Lips' own hard-hitting funk number "Bad Skin." It's an eclectic mix with loads of personality, and the best DJ Kicks yet, methinks.