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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Since the late '80s, the Birmingham, UK quartet Pram has released a steady stream of albums and EPs marked with a cinematic and childlike character. Their obsession with dolls, toys and all things antiquated and ephemeral (as evidenced in titles like "Penny Arcade" and "Paper Hats", not to mention the band's name and their album artwork) give me the impression that they should be scoring films for the Brothers Quay.
After their brilliant 1995 album, Sargasso Sea, the band seemed to start losing focus, and the quality of their records took a downturn. The resulting output was often mediocre and meandering. On Dark Island, however, they have once again come into their own, recapturing the cohesion and clarity of their early work. Pram's overall sound is generally the same: it's as if the band were locked in a toy store after it closed for the day, and recorded an album with anything they encountered that could produce noise. Add to that the light, endearingly imperfect vocals of Rosie and her lyrics that read like pages torn from someone's diary of dreams. What makes Dark Island not only different, but more successful than previous works is that it manages to be diverse while maintaining a sense of wholeness. Opening the album is "Track of the Cat," a playfully exotic instrumental piece layered with echoing, slithery rhythms which parallels a later track, "Sirocco," which would have been perfectly at home in one of Jess Franco's late '60s psycho-sleaze movies. The film noir styling of "Penny Arcade" and "The Pawnbroker" precede the gleeful "Paper Hats" and the moody yet warm "Peepshow." Chimes, whistles, xylophones, and lilting keyboards can be found in every nook and cranny. "Goodbye," the eighth track, starts to wind Dark Island down with a lullaby which stands out as one of the best songs the band has ever done, and the delicate cosmic twang of "Leeward" sounds as if it could have come directly from Brian Eno's Apollo. Pram have truly outdone themselves on this delightful record.
In print once again is the CD edition of "Sumac," a 71+ minute extended version of the same track which originally appeared on a one-sided transparent 12" single released in 1997 by Robot. For the duration of the track, a solid bass tone underscores while unidentifiable flying objects and whispery homemade wind instruments play and reverberate madly.Integrated Circuit
At loud volumes, the experience is nothing short of intense. Listening to the full duration, however, is most certainly an exercise in patience and stamina. What makes this recording so eerie is perhaps the fact that it's actually going backwards, something that's not strikingly clear until the last moments, where it seems every phantom instrument, shrouded in effects, reveal themselves only in time for everything to come to a sudden, and unexpected halt.
Possibly the reason why this fetches for such a high price at online auctions is its striking similarity to drone recordings by Chalk with Organum years before this. While this is a marvelous recording, I don't recommend paying exorbitant prices for it and now that it's in print again, it's not necessary.
Amidst the flurry of 21st Century Throbbing Gristle activity quietlycomes something new from Genesis P-Orridge. The appearance of this 7"is modest enough—black vinyl with no more than credits on the whitelabel and a see-through sleeve—but what's hidden within the grooves ismuch more colorful. Side A is a collaboration with Carl Abrahamsson andThomas Tibert, now known as Cotton Ferox (formerly known as WhiteStains circa their 1990 collaboration with P-Orridge on At Stockholm).The foundation of "Word Ship" seems to be ethnic percussion loops as anambient haze fills in patches like a fog. Genesis matter-of-factlyanswers his own questions, like "where do you live?," "I travel,""where are you from?," "I just travel," "where were you born?," "I'malways traveling," "what do you do?," "I travel," and finally, "wherewould you be?," "traveling." The track taps the same sort ofpsychedelic dream vibe of Psychic TV's under appreciated Trip Resetalbum from 1996. The "Cosmopolitan Dub" is altogether differentmusically with more sound effects and chorus-effected beats. Side B isby Thee Majesty, GP-O's post-PTV group with Bryin Dall on guitars andLarry Thrasher on percussion and samplers. "Soul Searching" wasrecorded on Alcatraz, oddly enough, and complements the sound of theother side nicely. Genesis recites words in a narcotic deadpan over adirge and deep drum loop reminiscent of PTV's quasi-tribal-technoperiod. What a pleasant surprise. I'm happy to hear Genesis and friendsfurther explore these auras. Side B also includes 23 (of course) lockedgrooves, recycled matter from the songs, by Deftly-D of VoidstarProductions. More blasts from the past are on the way as much ofPsychic TV's back catalog is being reissued by the UK's VoiceprintRecords, beginning in March.
In the 1990s, the Young Gods could have been found releasing albums onsizable international record labels and touring with big acts likeMinistry. Things have been relatively quiet, however, in the last fiveyears for the Swiss-based 21 year old group. Various side projects byAlain Monod as Al Comet and Franz Treichler with Heaven Deconstructionwere indicative of a split, but after recruiting Bernard Trontin ondrums in 1999, the Young Gods began working on this, their sixth studioalbum. Treichler's vocals are more tamed now than before, set against acrystal clear produced version of futuristic space rock. More thanever, the Young Gods sound like The Doors of the space age or apsychedelic version of their fellow countrymen, Yello. Comparisonsalone, however, don't do them justice. The Young Gods explore aslightly creepy, unsettling urban atmosphere. Starting off withstraight-forward drum and bass-influenced electronic rock in"Lucidogen," they get more and more into their own strange breed ofmodern psychedelia. The album builds in a suspense song after songuntil it reaches its peak with "Toi Du Monde," the album's longesttrack. Here, a heavy beat is paired with whispered French and Englishvocals, resulting in a crushing sound with irresistable grooves, andperhaps an attempt for the "Young" Gods not to appear middle-aged, whencompared to the light-hearted instrumental, "Love 2.7." Hopefully,there won't be another 3-4 years until the next album as it seems theYoung Gods have only begun to build up steam again. 
With last year's Octopus Off-Broadway,Parlour showed their rare ability to set your cerebral cortex ablazetrack after track. The album just never let up. In keeping with thistheme, Tim Furnish and Co. release Googler, only nine monthsafter Parlour's debut, not letting fans of the first album catch theircollective breath. From the looks of things, Parlour may be able tokeep up this pace. All of these tracks were recorded three to fiveyears ago, suggesting that this group has a lot of music in the canwaiting merely for polishing and mixing. It's anything but canned,though: Googler is certainly a polished release. Again, Parlouris able to keep me glued to the speakers with infectious grooves andtrippy elements. From the first track, it's almost business as usual on"Jololinine," where interweaved guitar lines and thudding bass lay thegroundwork for percussions, both real and sampled. "Distractor" isalmost a departure, with a workhorse beat and driving energy, driven byan almost manic bassline and steady powerful drums. Then it's back toclassic Parlour: "Over the Under" is the Spider-Man theme of the 21stcentury—an underneath-the-skin builder with great effects and hypnoticrhythm. Parlour just make it all sound so easy. Maybe too easy. Some ofthe same tricks on Octopus are also here, with "Hop Pife,"containing the same eerie effect from the first track on that album butextending it out far further and with greater success. Thus, eventhough you may hear some of the same elements you've heard before, themusic never bores you. "Pife" is one of the album's best tracks, thesoundtrack to any number of my future dreams with no explanation, andalso its longest. The album closer, "Svrendikditement" brings it allhome. Distorted beat samples, keyboard washes, and xylophone make forstrange bedfellows, but it's still utterly compelling. I call it a vastimprovement. The song "Over the Under" is available in its entiretyover at Temporary Residence.com if the 60-second samples below don'tsatisfy. 
After two excellent albums that marked a daring new direction, it seemsthat Nick Cave has decided to stop and smell the roses. This album ismore a reflection on the twenty years of music he has made with the BadSeeds than it is a step forward. Instead of picking up where 2001's No More Shall We Partleft off, Cave has attempted to craft an album that marries the rawsound of his earlier releases with his more refined recent efforts. Theresult, unfortunately, is a schizophrenic album whose best songs sufferdue to a lack of cohesion.
Tradition and innovation are powerful forces, always tugging, tearingat each other, one struggling to hold on, and the other struggling tobreak free. This is a tension observable right now in our culture, asthe means of producing electronic music becomes available to mostanyone with a personal computer and an idea, these new concepts of whatconstitutes artistic expression often clash with established notions ofwhat makes something real or true. These are cultural growing pains, asensation of vertigo that comes with progress and the flexing ofboundaries. On Death of the Sun,Cul de Sac takes both tradition and innovation and uses themingeniously to create harmony from tension. The members of Cul de Sacbegan by assembling a myriad of sources and samples from antique vinylrecords to ambient forest and city soundscapes. These sources were thenelectronically manipulated and modified to serve as a musical spine forthe piece. Throughout the album, fuzzy, distant voices drift inmomentarily amidst clicks and static. The electronic foundation issolid, and its intricacy makes this an amazing headphone listen. Addingeven more layers of complexity, the members of Cul de Sac respond tothis electronic foundation, counter-pointing the synthetic and thetreated with acoustic instruments like violins, guitars, melodicas, anddrums. Their response was not to canned, prepared pieces, but toelectronic sequences that were played live and on the spot duringrecording. On "Dust of Butterflies," a lone acoustic guitar unfolds amusic box melody that itself is sampled and looped over theelectronically modified snapshot of a five-part harmony found on arecord from 1933. "Turok, Son of Stone" consists of a building chorusof primeval percussion that is visceral in its attraction. Thepercussive theme continues through the dark, insistent "Death of theSun," churning dirt and dust before fading away with an aching violin.The final piece, "I Remember Nothing More" samples a minute of an old78-RPM record of Creole songs released in 1940. The singer, AdelaideVan Wey's voice peeks through the tender acoustic guitar, the vinylscratches and fuzz casting her like a faraway, fading transmission. Theeffect is eerie, listening to her soulfulness repurposed in thismanner. The clash between traditional and innovative comes togetherhere, and for a moment, Cul de Sac has made them one concept, oneexpression of clarity. Death of the Sun is a fascinating album,fusing so many seemingly dissonant threads and melding innovative ideasand techniques with traditional sounds and sensibilities. 
While not ground-breaking, this certainly is a fun LP. A decentlyturned out LP is always fun. There's something generous and luxuriousabout them and all the more so in these times of miserable little"jewel cases," measly graphics and microscopic text. The cover of thisLP is satisfyingly nostalgic, looking like a French fusion record fromthe early eighties with, for some reason, a picture of the Osmondfamilly. The inner sleeve is simply delightful - you really have to seeit. If this had been put out on a CD it would seem a scam since it'sonly about 31 minutes long. As for the music, nearly all the elementswe have learned to dread in French music, avant-garde or otherwise,are, if not exactly absent, adequately restrained. Of the star-studdedline up, Jerome Noetinger, Lionel Marchetti and Jean Pallandre arenoted as playing magnétophone à bandes while Marc Pichelin plays synthé analogique and Laurent Sassi handles the enregistrement/mixage (live). It is a fairly chaotic collage of material, sounding sort of like improvised musique concrèteand it's the surprise and contrast of the different material that isthe primary technique. While things eventually get excited enough to benoise art, the starting point is a rather self-concious sound art.There are many references to European music of the 50s and 60s, inparticular the Schaeffer and Henri and the electronic music of Cologneand specifically Kotakte, though I don't think it uses direct quotes.It isn't in bad taste but, frankly, the fashion for this materialbecame tiresome years ago. The sound of variable-speed tape machinesdominate with tapes starting and stopping, rewinding, slowing andaccelerating and the sound of tape being manually yanked through theplayer. In many aspects the music is very familiar but the overallcombination of elements is not and is actually quite fresh and, whilethere's nothing that's truly remarkable or of dazzling brilliance, itis indeed fun.
For those of us who do not have our very own lavish, sunlight-flooded house with a private lake in the backyard, the trio of Charles Atlas has captured the all-encompassing scenery, beauty, and fragrant air, and packaged it for our livingrooms and headsets. Once a pet project of Charles Wyatt (former guitarist for Dart and the one who clearly put the "magic" in early Piano Magic recordings), Charles Atlas soon became a fulltime duo with the fulltime involvement of former Rosemarys keyboardist Matt Greenberg. On this, the fourth album, they have expanded to a truly mesmerising ensemble with the addition of Sascha Galvagna.
Each song has a timeless instrumental delicacy, patiently developing bit by bit with hypnotic, cyclic guitar riffs, piano or organ, and occasional pulses, chimes, and even a performance on the first track by vocalist and saw player Denise Bon Giovanni. It's minimalistic in the number of sources used, but the result is never droning or predictable. At no points in this album does their sound ever become dull, tired, or boring, even on the 12 minute opener which, like a number of the other 7+ minute songs, could easily go on forever. At times, like "The Deadest Bar," the piano treatments are highly remeniscent of the classic Harold Budd/Cocteau Twins collaboration, The Moon and the Melodies. The variety of instrumentation from the throb of "One Foot Under," to the guitar-piano counterpoint of "Factotum," to the drum machine-colored "Strategies for Success Boxes," to the piano-led "Port, Noise Complaint" is what separates the trio of Charles Atlas from other quiet instrumental groups whose sleepiness can easily assure them a spot in the record store on the shelf next to Yanni. The trio, who are now based in San Francisco, will be on the road with Jessica Bailiff shortly. I hope the lucky ones who can make it do their damndest to make sure the sound of chatter and cash registers are kept at a bare minimum.
In 1981, The Clean's "Tally Ho!" single was the second release of the then nascent Flying Nun record label of New Zealand. This fact is largely responsible for establishing The Clean as the archetypes of the New Zealand/Flying Nun sound which sprung up mostly in the 1980's (and has persisted to the present). The sound was poppy, drony, distorted, melodic, tremulous, and brilliant. But as The Clean Anthology proves, the band did not just embrace this school of sound more fully than anyone else: they helped build it. Merge
Anthology compiles singles, albums, compilation tracks, and oddities from 1981-1996 onto two CDs. The only thing omitted is The Clean's most recent album, Getaway, from 2001 (a savvy omission as it is still easy to acquire, whereas much of the other music here is quite scarce). The first disc contains four EPs and four compilation/oddities tracks, while the second disc contains three full-length albums plus some outtakes. "Tally Ho!" begins Anthology rousingly, and I'll be damned if the first Modern Lovers album does not come to mind every time I hear this song. From there on out, each song will make you want to dance around your room, or stare lovingly, perhaps even leeringly, at the wall, or call a pal up and talk softly just so they can slightly hear the music in the background and unwittingly share your smile. Among the errata, the most memorable is the prudently cut "Ludwig," an outtake from the Modern Rock LP, which features subdued shouts and jamming as a bed for a faux-German accented rant about a man named Ludwig who has not only the good fortune of living in a castle but also the good grace of having Walt Disney visit and compliment his monolithic abode. The contrast between "Ludwig" and "Wipe Me, I'm Lucky," the next song and the first from the Unknown Country LP, is eyebrow-raising. At one moment, you have this entirely aberrational song with the German-American accentuation, and next you have a playfully plucked instrumental with New Agey vocal harmonizing that sounds like some lost Aboriginal tribe from New Zealand. I suppose "Ludwig" would have made a stark contrast anywhere, but here it seems particularly pronounced. The most telling aspect of the chronological ordering of these discs is that as time goes on, The Clean's sound gets cleaner. Drone and distortion is lost. Whether this is due to higher recording standards and better studios (Flying Nun claims that "Tally Ho!," The Clean's first single, was recorded for $60 on an 8-track home studio) or to the growth of the band's sound is something you are left to ponder. Answers could probably be culled from listening to the members' other musical projects which were born during The Clean's consistently intermittent existence. The Bats, Bailter Space, and The Great Unwashed are all good reference points as to how Robert Scott and David and Hamish Kilgour evolved outside of The Clean. What does abide in The Clean is their adherence to the spirit of the sound they created. Each song exhibits, to some degree, the angular sounds of England which The Clean imported and molded into their own particular brand of seminal post/art-punk, which in turn helped to nourish a healthy stock of New Zealand bands to follow. 
Calexico's lighthearted remix (or rather, remake) of Goldfrapp's"Human" single was my first exposure to the band, and it held a strongappeal to my kitschy desires. So, when presented with their newfull-length, I was expecting a fluffy yet fun slice of indie rock witha twinge of Mexican folk music. What I found instead was an album withan extraordinary blend of depth, humor and beauty for what isessentially an accessible rock album. Does this record make you want toget off your ass and flamenco dance? Absolutely; but it's alsosentimental, even mournful at times. Calexico, while heralding theirsouth-of-the-border aesthetic, don't rely on it as a sole gimmick.Don't get me wrong, that folksy lightheartedness is definitely present:"Sunken Waltz," "Guero Canelo" and "Attack El Robot! Attack!" comecomplete with the festive blaring trumpets and pedal steel and nylonguitars expectant of traditional Latin music. In fact, it is possiblythe band's use of stringed instruments in general that is their forte.The magnificent, melancholy "Black Heart" achieves its effectivenessmostly as a result of the heartbreaking violins. "The Book and theCanal" even recalls the band's Quarterstick labelmates, Rachel's withits somber stringed orchestrations and piano, while "Not Even StevieNicks ..." prevents a lapse into oversentimentalism with a dose ofhumor.
