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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The latest release from Norwegian supergroup Jaga Jazzist sees the much-anticipated follow up to last year's brilliant A Livingroom Hush with a slightly different approach. On The Stix,it would appear that more of the electronic elements on both theinstrumental and production sides have been employed, which in turncements the multi-layered, at times complex compositions. Opening withthe most interesting track I've heard in months, "Kitty Wu" blendsmelodic bass clarinet and vibraphone with dub bass lines, staccatoguitar and synth patches to drummer Martin Horntveth's programmed beatsand fusion-styled playing. "Another Day" is the perfect example of liveinstrument-augmented drum 'n bass with its plucked strings doubling thesyncopated rhythms for an interesting modal composition. The choppyAfro-Cuban groove interpretation of "Suomi Finland" is anchored byrolling vibraphone and warm bass sounds in which several differentmelodies are introduced on keyboard, flute and guitar throughoutvarious sections, eventually blending nicely into each other withoutbecoming a jumble. "Reminders" kicks off with busy, up-tempo drummingand half-time bass and vibes for subtle, muted trumpet to play off,which then grows into a full-sounding orchestration of horns and athick, multi-faceted rhythm section. The interestingly titled "I CouldHave Killed Him In The Sauna" moves from middle Eastern flavored pianoprogressions peppered with synth blips and scratchy beats to 70s progrock punches that are just this side of headbanging. Pretty, long-linedstrings, vibes, synth squelches and weaving, treated bass clarinet fillout the spaces and have one's jaw on the floor. Although the group'sname evokes the style of music in which instrumental soloists are theprime focus, such is not the case with Jaga Jazzist as they are amusical collective where the sum is greater than the individual parts.With such interesting compositions that marry up some creativeinstrumentation, several listens of The Stix are required to catch them all. -This special little nugget is a limited CD-R of rare archival material that was available at Steven Stapleton's recent appearance in Portland, Oregon to celebrate the release of his Beta-Lactam Ring LP. It's also available for a limited time from Beta-Lactam's website. The Musty Odor of Pierced Rectums contains thirteen tracks of never-before-released Nurse With Wound pieces, similar to 1989's odds-and-sods compilation A Sucked Orange. This release, although not unified by a single concept or containing a coherent flow between tracks, once again proves that Steven Stapleton's garbage is way better than 99% of the crap released by modern experimental musicians. There's a lot of different kinds of music here, most of it in the darker, more esoteric vein. Comparisons could be made to Nurse classics such as Large Ladies With Cake in the Oven and the harsher, more industrial noisescapes on early NWW records. Most of the tracks are typically absurd mixes of mutated sounds, bizarre samples, and dislocated audio dementia. Track two reminds me of Pink Floyd's "Several Species of Small Furry Animals Gathered Together in A Cave and Grooving With a Pict." Stapleton seems to be experimenting with the "glitch" a little more these days. At random points, the sounds will unexpectedly stutter and drop out, leaving gaping holes or "wounds" in the composition. These thirteen untitled tracks make for a very engaging listen. Nobody is going to declare this to be Stapleton's masterpiece, but for Nurse completists, this CD-R is essential. And for the rest of those who are not obsessive Nurse With Wound collectors, what the hell is wrong with you people?
Far too much music being released these days seems to be utilitarian in nature. Albums are touted as "great driving music" or "after-club chillout music." I've actually heard certain critics suggest that an album is best heard in a particular time and setting: "Listen to this in the early morning hours after your girlfriend dumps you." Ever since Brian Eno developed the concept of ambient music, there seems to be a concerted effort to turn music into the equivalent of a backrub: something purely contextual that functions as an emotional salve if applied properly. Since the early 80's, Nurse With Wound has been pushing the opposite concept. Steven Stapleton's music is not made to make you feel better, or as something upbeat to play while doing crunches. Stapleton's music is designed for active, deep listening. You simply can't just play it in the background as you converse with friends. Even his most ambient pieces are not meditative; they are designed as a complex drama to make you FEEL something.
Steven Stapleton's newest release is a full-length LP on the incomparably interesting Beta-Lactam Rings label. She and Me Fall Together in Free Death is probably the most approachable, largely "musical" album that NWW has released since Rock N' Roll Station. It's also one of his strangest concepts, a marriage of trance-inducing Krautrock grooves with a traditional jazz standard and some jarringly atonal musique concrete. Side A is the 20-minute title track: a slow-motion jam reminiscent of of one of Can's sidelong tracks on Tago Mago or the more avant-garde grooves of Tony Conrad and Faust's Outside the Dream Syndicate. The propulsive Jaki Liebezeit drumbeat is the foundation for a long jam session with what sounds like a dijderidoo and layers of guitar feedback. It's a massive, heavy sound, the kind that Julian Cope would devote a whole chapter to in his "Kratrocksampler." Side B is one long piece with three distinct movements. Beginning with those familiar, World Serpent-trademark windchimes, the listener is quickly ushered into Stapleton's singing debut (!) in a rendition of the oft-covered traditional jazz ballad "Black is the Color of My True Love's Hair." This was a favorite of the recently deceased Nina Simone, and also of the avant-jazz screamer Patty Waters. Nurse With Wound's version is backed by cello drones, repetitive guitar strums and tambourine, sounding very much like The Velvet Underground's "Venus in Furs." It's such a treat to hear Steven Stapleton's multitracked vocals cover this classic song, and this eerie version rates as one of my favorites. This song and the title track prove to the naysayers that Nurse With Wound is equally adept at rock n' roll songcraft as he is at demented sound collages. The creepy jazz cover seques into "Chicken Concret (For Missy E)," a truly warped tape-edit job that juxtaposes chicken squawks and sythesized birdcalls with random bleeps, speaker hiccups and gongs. Could this be Steven Stapleton's tribute to Timbaland and Missy Elliott's incomparable use of musique concrete techniques on their major label hip-hop anthems? Hard to say, but I like to think so. Side B ends with the hyper-sexualized "Gusset Typing," in which a mutated woman's voice describes her masturbation and orgasm in intimate, anatomical detail. Her monologue is set against an intense rhythmic throbbing that builds as she reaches her climax. At the end, she blows her load and the record ends. This certainly qualifies as an active listening experience, and it's also a great make-out record!
Named after Vic Darkwood and Gustav Temple's postmodernmanifesto for the modern gentleman, London's The Chap began life asKaramasov guitarist Johannes von Weizsaecker's side project—a startdocumented on their debut, 2002's 10" Fun. Since then, The Chaphave developed into a real band and added songs to the originallyinstrumental repertoire. Their sound is an arch blend of motorikrhythms, sharp riffs, languid solos, pop hooks, fat synth bass, andweird lyrics. Despite sharing with some contemporaries a fetish for newwave, post-punk, and krautrock, they manage to occupy a unique,futuristic position -- they just don't sound like anyone else. They'lloccasionally break from song structures into experimentation, and theymay baffle us with the strangeness of their subject matter, but there'sno chin-stroking austerity about them: The Chap have their tongue intheir cheek at all times.
Having played these songs live forabout a year, it's good to see that on record, rather than just layingdown their live sound, they've indulged in a bit of studiomanipulation, with both striking pan effects and microscopic sampletweaks to listen for, once again setting them at a distance from otherguitar outfits. They've also indulged their more contemplative side, ason "Volumatic Spacer Device", which ponders sagely the relative meritsof sex and asthma. This album doesn't have a bad song on it, but thestand-out track for me is the pseudo-operatic rocker "(Hats off to)Dror Frangi" (a forthcoming single), which combines a simultaneouslycharming and irritating "rah rah rah" chorus with a driving riff, totell the romantic tale of one person's need to find "samples in SMDIformat, for my Peavey SX Expander."
It's hard to remember that the 1980's—usually thought of as the decadeof new wave, college rock and hair metal excess—was also the decade ofa vitally important generation of underground experimental musicians.Post-industrial, noise and audio surrealism flourished during the 80's,and labels like United Dairies and DOM were the primary outlet for thisunique crop of artists. A lot of this music has remained hopelesslyrare and unavailable on the digital format. Luckily, last year saw somere-releases of HNAS' classic back catalogue, but there is a lot stillleft untouched. Where are the CD reissues of the Nihilist Spasm Band,Asmus Tietchens, Robert Haigh, Uli Trepte, Masstishaddhu and TwoDaughters? How about Limpe Fuchs, Smegma and Algebra Suicide? Come onpeople, this is a goldmine of great musical esoterica! Now that I'mthrough ranting, I can revel in the fact that Roger Doyle's Silverdoorlabel has now re-released his United Dairies masterpiece. Rapid Eye Movementswas originally released under the artist name Operating Theatre in1981, and for me it is an unmatched classic of tape collage. Nokidding, I like to refer to this album as the "Citizen Kane" of musiqueconcrete. I first heard the United Dairies cassette nearly ten yearsago when a friend played it to me while I was in an altered state, andI was baffled and awed by this strange construction of disparateelements and bizarre sound effects. Later, I listened to it again andagain in an effort to decipher the seemingly narrative progression ofthe tape edits. The United Dairies release contained only two sidelongpieces: "Fin-Estra" and "Rapid Eye Movements." For this reissue,however, Roger Doyle has added two earlier pieces as a bonus: "ThePiano Suite" and "Why is Killkenny So Good?" The former is athree-part, impressionistic solo piano performance by Roger Doyle.While the music is nice enough, it really sticks out like a sore thumbsandwiched between two lengthy, atmospheric tape collage pieces. Nooffense to Mr. Doyle, but I don't think that the inclusion of thispiece was a very good idea. In contrast, "Killkenny" fits perfectly onthe disc, an eerie cut-up of a 13-year old drug addict describing hisaddiction as dimensional sounds swoop and mutate in the foreground."Fin-Estra" is a dark, mental voyage filled with unexpected drama. andDoyle utilizes sped up and slowed-down tape queuing in an ingenius way.The sounds of an orchestra, children at play, and strange alien tonesare juxtaposed. The 25 minutes of "Rapid Eye Movements" is my favoritemoment in avant-garde music. A man trudges through the snow screaming"Madeleine!", a room full of foreign shoolchildren recite words,someone plays scales on a lonely piano in an empty room. It's the auralequivalent of a disjointed, ephemoral dream, full of deja vu momentsthat seem even creepier and more evocative with each listen. I'm on atleast my 100th listen of Rapid Eye Movements, and it still hasn'tbecome boring or predictable. 
After a week of spending some time almost every day listening to thisdouble CD set that compiles three previous releases by Icarus, thereare some bits that I've grown to really like quite a lot, but there arealso some bits that I like less with every listen. For example, thethree tracks from the UL-6 EP (originallyreleased on Output Recordings in 2001) that take up a good chunk of thefirst disc are initially quite impressive in their complexity,featuring off-kilter combinations of scattershot breakbeats and soundsthat seem like the final creaks and clanks of dying machinery. Onrepeated listens, that complexity begins to take on an air of aimlessnoodling, especially on the track "UL-6" which could definitely bear abit of shaving down from its 10+ minutes. Disc one is saved, however,by the excellent pair of closing tracks (taken from last year's Soviet Igloo12") which tone down the hyperactive elements and bring in a melodicside that bears some resemblance to Telefon Tel Aviv. The entirety ofdisc two is taken up by the 2002 album Misfits (previouslyavailable on the Not Applicable label), and the six tracks manage tostrike a decent balance between the skittery-clattery bits and themellow-melodic bits. Aside from one lovely track that appears to becalled "Xot Zioks" (sorry, the track listing is really small and in afucked up font), none of it is quite as pleasing to my ears as thosetwo Soviet Igloo tracks from the first disc. I also can't helpbut wonder—considering that the eleven tracks on this release have atotal combined length of around 75 minutes—why did this have to be adouble disc?samples:
Nothing musical has ever made me dizzy like this before. I don't knowif I was just tired, if it was the music, or maybe a combination of thetwo but it's doing it again now. The walls were wavering and I felt asif I were suffocating, the light that should've been filtering throughthe curtains from outside were swallowed up by the sound. I'm feelingsick. My skin is crawling, I can't keep my eyes focused and my headsimply won't hold up any longer. My skin itches; there's somethingunder my skin and it fucking itches. I look at the clock and it's 3:30in the morning. Ten minutes later I look again and it's 4:30. I'mlosing my mind. I try to stand up but sitting back down seems like thebest idea. There's something crawling up the back of my neck and Ican't quite swat it away. There's lots of them, they're biting, and nowmy eyes are closing. I can't go to sleep but I want to, desperately. Myarms are getting heavy, it's harder to breathe, my shoulders and backare starting to throb and ache. I know there's light in this room but Ican't feel it or see it. I'm getting paranoid, I want to scream butwhen my mouth opens there's no sound. Then it's gone. I can breathe,the sun is rising up over the trees in my backyard and I suddenlyrealize that I'm sitting on the floor and not in a chair at all. I feelmore awake; every sound in the room is amplified a thousand times,however. The hum of my computer is more obvious, the wind outside isdisasterous, when I take a drink of water it is almost deafening. I didnot go to sleep easily last night, the incessant chirping of the birdskept me awake until fatigue pushed me under. Now I'm going back to itlike a little fiend. The lights are out and I'm breathing heavilyagain. 
Tindersticks' first two albums, which appeared in the early 1990s, weremarked by an uncommon emotional rawness and seductive melancholy.Tracks like "A Night In" and "Tiny Tears" with their epicorchestrations and Stuart Staples' brooding croon rank alongside someof the better works of Nick Cave and Scott Walker. The albumssubsequent to their first two eponymous records, like Curtains and Can Our Love,contain occassional moments of that intial brilliance, but overall, theheart-wrenching, visceral gutsiness that once dominated their workbegan to fade. On Waiting for the Moon, their sixth album, itis all but gone. Tindersticks have seemed to lapse into the sameself-satisfied, vanilla territory of chamber pop as radio-friendlybands like Cousteau. The twangy guitar and insipid lyrics on thealbum's opening track, "Until the Morning Comes" set the uninpsiredtone. Even Stuart's voice sounds like a washed-out shadow of what itonce was. "Say Goodbye To the City," despite its crescendo towards theend, ultimately goes nowhere. Tindersticks have reached the point atwhich they've begun to sound as if they've run out of ideas. Despitethe fact that they thump out albums at a regular pace, it seems as ifthey would serve themselves better by taking time to re-evaluate theirdirection (or lack thereof). I was shocked to read that the pressrelease for Waiting for the Moon touted: "more sonicexplorations in sound" and a return to their "experimental" roots,because those statements couldn't be further from the truth. 
For those who are unfamiliar with the Norwegian trio Ulver, here's abit of background for you: They got their start as part of the infamousScandinavian black metal scene, and in the mid-90s released a trilogyof albums based on the darker aspects of Norwegian folklore that areconsidered classics in the genre. They then alienated much of theiroriginal fanbase with a sprawling double CD that placed readings fromWilliam Blake's The Marriage of Heaven and Hell over a variety ofsounds that included dark ambience, jazz and industrial noise.Interviews with the group revealed their strong interest inexperimental and esoteric artists, especially Coil, and subsequentreleases have continued to flit from one style to another, with theonly continuing theme being their movement to embrace electronic toolsas their primary sound source. This interest in technology comes to ahead on their latest project, the retrospective-cum-remix album1993-2003: 1st Decade in the Machines, on which 13 electronic andexperimental artists - including Third Eye Foundation, BogdanRaczynski, Fennesz, Pita, V/Vm and Merzbow - plus Ulver themselves havepulled material from the group's decade of work and in most casesmulched the material into something completely new. Ulver themselvesget things started in fine fashion with "Crack Bug", an excellent piecethat packs heavy doses of sinister atmospheres and boiling chaos into anice and compact three and a half minutes. Too bad Alexander Rishaugdidn't follow a similar "quality over quantity" rule for hiscontribution which follows, as his mixture of skittering glitches andfiltered guitars is already tired by the halfway point of its seeminglyendless eight minutes. Thankfully, the overall quality of the disctends towards to positive side of things, with highlights like"Lyckantropen Remix" from Third Eye Foundation which is a beautiful andsubdued work that combines a clicky backdrop with a quiet and moodymelody, and the orchestral and organic ambience of the epic "I LoveYou, But I Prefer Trondheim (parts 1-4)" by Adam Wiltzie (of Stars ofthe Lid) Vs. Stars Of The Lid. The album's main problem is one ofconsistency and flow, as many of the tracks sound drastically out ofplace next to one another. The cute video game melodies and punchybreakbeats of Bogdan Raczynski's "Bog's Basil & Curry PowderPotatos Recipe" sound especially lost amongst this collection ofgenerally darker and less perky numbers. It's not until thedisc-closing triptych of noise from Jazzkammer, V/Vm and Merzbow that aconsistent vibe is felt, and by that point, it's a bit too late (not tomention annoying for those who don't dig the noise thing). So on atrack-by-track basis, this one gets some high marks, but as a completealbum, it just doesn't work for me. 
After almost becoming another defeat at the hands of the major labels,finally the Jealous Sound release their debut full-length with theirold friends at Better Looking Records. Trust me: if the prevailingrumor about Jive having hold over them is true, it's justificationenough for the increase in darkness and aggression in their overallsound. That's just one area of growth and change brought forth on thisrelease, though, as the band finally delivers on the lofty expectationsbeing thrown about. It seems, actually, that now that Blair Shehan hasa proper band for the project he's settling in just fine to apost-Knapsack indie pop sound. Relentless touring and all that time inrecording limbo gave them the opportunity to create a cohesive and boldgroup of songs. Working with Tim O'Heir, they even found theopportunity to expand their sound, adding touches of keyboards here andthere, as well as some spirited backing vocals that it would be easy tomiss with their live power and Shehan's signature voice. Only onepreviously released song, "Anxious Arms," finds its way on to thealbum, and I honestly prefer the version from their self-titled EP. Allover this release they show the ferocity and keen grasp of melodyaudiences have seen for three years. "Hope For Us" is a call out to thedesperate attention leeches, with a hearty "Kiss me open mouth!" andloud swirled guitars on the chorus. "Naive" and "Does That Make Sense"are three-minute power pop gems, the kind where everyone jumps up anddown at the shows. Slower tempo tracks are sprinkled throughout, withthe six-minute "Recovery Room" showing the most promise, though thedouble-shot of "Guard It Closely" and "For Once in Your Life" with itskeyboard handclaps hold up the middle of the record quite well. One ofthe finest moments, though, is the keyboard drive of "The Fold Out"with its haunting "oohs" and freight train final minute. There's windin their sails, they've lasted this far, and now they're ready to takeover the world. And I'm ready and willing to let them.
Some might call Niblock single minded, in that he always approachescomposition in pretty much the same way. Take a living drone thendouble it, treble it, increase overlayed density until new harmonicovertones appear. What is nice is that he seems to be able to up theante with each release. This is his most mind-altering selection ofdroners yet, and its actually pretty difficult to listen to the wholething without zoning out into the void completely. Over two CDs thereare four different instrumental approaches foregrounded, and it's thedifferent textures of each instrument that characterize each ofNiblock's compositions. Even so, he seems to have more light and shadeand ebb and flow here than in some of his earlier more static tracks.Perhaps the stand out track is "Yam Almost May" with bowed and e-bowedbass drones played by Kaspar T. Toeplitz, sampled and superimposed byNiblock. This builds up ever expanding and enlarging swathes ofharmonic density, sounding more like a deep wind instrument than a bassguitar. The first disc also features heavy baritone sax C tone droneson "Sea Jelly Yellow" and similarly opaque clarinet, bass clarinet andbasset horn lockdown. The second disc is a four-part skullfuck thattakes the dear old piano to corners it rarely visits courtesy of anylon string tied to a single piano string and is seventy minutes longmostly because Niblock is seventy this year. The sound it makes is morelike Glenn Branca's symphonic guitar army than a regular piano, and Ikeep expecting those massive drums to come rolling over the horizon. Ofcourse the drums never come, leaving the massed ecstatic bass tones toboom on in eternal foreplay. The booklet includes photos of Asiansgrowing and making food and some thoughts on Niblock's drones fromGerard Pape, who makes a case for shape shifting 'timbre as space insuspended time.' Featured saxophonist Ulrich Krieger also comments onsome differing technicalities of pieces he's performed in collaborationwith Niblock, and guitar droner Rafael Toral raises some interestingideas about the emotional impact of various Niblock tracks. I findNiblock's music really useful for blocking out everything when I wantto rest and there's a lot of noise going on. It also seems to annoy thehell out of trendy fuckwits, 'that's-not-music' ignoramuses andattention seekers with low attention spans. The blocks seep by soslowly that change is almost imperceptible until some new overtonebrings on a seismic shift. His images of people working might be apt inrespect of monotony, but on another level, if you were to actually chopwood and lug boxes into boats with Niblock on full blast you'd probablyzonk out and fall in the river or accidentally cut off your poor littlehand. Lord let Phill fuck your mind completely!
