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For the first official live archive from Matmos, the duo have presented a number of exclusive tunes recorded live in various locations all around the world with fellow San Franciscan electro-cowboy, Jay Lesser. They make no obstruction of the fact that nearly all of these tracks are improvised, but as the A-team of electronica, you can rest assured that this is a hand-picked collection of the uttmost quality control.Vague Terrain
The first striking quality is the superb recording quality of everything, and from a collection like this, it's no easy skill threading everything together to sound like a congruent album. Performances culled from various tapes include both stage and radio station performances dating from 1997-2001 have been arranged and flow together like an album that these three would be expected to make. It's a mixture of organic and electronic sounds, samples. Few tunes use beats and pulses while a number of others which are completely all over the place, tracked in an order to give a healthy variety of the styles. Fans of their older stuff should most certainly not hesitate to get this now, as a large portion of the tracks are remeniscent of the first two albums, while tracks like the phenomenal tenth track could easily be an outtake from their third full-lengther, 'The West'. People more akin to last year's album and the more linear tunes from the group might find most of this a bit too weird, but if you have the most remote inkling to becoming turned on, you'll regret not ordering the limited edition. Oh yeah, don't forget to enclose a personal photo when you order.
 
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Not to be confused with the crap soft rockpops combo whose unwantedpromotional singles are overflowing from the bargain bins ofManchester's biggest secondhand record shop, this Ultrasound feature aformer member of Stars of the Lid (Kirk Laktas) scrawling out lushviola infused slo-mo ambient terrain. 'Hamesh' is the Hebrew for fiveand this is their fifth album, but having not heard the previous ones Ican't compare and so lazily fall back on the obvious ploy of comparingthem to Labradford and Stars of the Lid, which is apparently somethingthat happens to them quite a lot. If you can imagine a marriage of themore string driven drones of The Tired Sounds of Stars of the Lid tosome of Mark Nelson's almost-whispered vocals on A Stable Reference youmight see a portion of the picture. It's hard to imagine fans of thosetwo bands being disappointed by 'Hamesh,' which is a gorgeously craftedalbum. There is a bouyant feeling of calm immersive bubble charm in thedeep textural washes, which is appropriate considering that 'Hamesh' isalso a Hebrew hand shaped charm that keeps away evil spirits.
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It's been a while since I've heard something as delightfullymind-altering as this split record between Szkieve (also known asDimitri della Faille, of Hushush fame) and Ammo (also known as JohnSellekaers and C-Drik, of Xingu Hill/Ambre/Dead HollywoodStars/many-others fame). Szkieve's piece is, truly, a masterpiece. Itbegins subtly enough with some warm and inviting drones, but the funbegins soon after when gentle high frequencies (and I mean "gentle" -there are high frequencies present, but with my sensitive ears, mosthigh freqs drive me nuts, and these didn't) begin to massage yourbrain. The drones multiply, spreading quickly, and changing so subtlyyou only realize it once you think about how attention-grabbing thepiece is. For some reason the whole of 'Perturbacée' left me feelinglike there was a UFO hovering outside my window, locking me in astasis-field. In other words, this is damn powerful stuff (all 20minutes of it). Ammo's side is decidedly different from Szkieve's; theambient approach is still taken, but Ammo focus on using samples andcut-ups (including some beautifully somber small orchestral snippets)to create a mood. And they quite wonderfully do so. Sometimes lush andrelaxing, sometimes skittery, the Ammo piece was a nice cool-down afterSzkieve's mind-melding track. Further props must go to the lovelypicture disc (yum, moths!) and the excellent pressing: usually ambientmusic and picture discs go together like oil and water (Inade's"Quartered Void" 7", anyone?), but this record sounded wonderfulthroughout. A top-class release from the under-rated Ad Noiseam (andlimited as well, so snag it now)!
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- Ammo - Terra Amata
- Szkieve - Perturbacee
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For his sixth solo album Scottish born, Chicago based singer-songwriterChris Connelly really goes it alone. Save for some trusty old drummachine and specks of effects and female backing vocals, these vocaland guitar based songs are shorn of any other adornment. Connelly'ssolo compositions are poetic, melodic and romantic with vivid lyricsand rich vocals - quite a bit different from his work with industrialstrength rock clans such as The Damage Manual, Ministry, the RevoltingCocks, Pigface and KMFDM. Most of these eight new songs are of a jauntymood despite a bit of heartbreak here and there (women and lovenaturally being dominant themes throughout) and the waterfront is nevertoo far off. Chris confesses with a stuttered bellow "and it kills meto say I love you!" in the climax of the eight and a half minute opener"Harbour Days". The subject of "About the Beauty of Laura" isapparently one of the many lovely but indifferent girls that "have awonderful day capsizing the men". By the chorus of "Fortune StrikesAgain" you would be forgiven for thinking it's a classic early '70sBowie tune you've somehow never heard. "Lipstick in Labyrinth Park"best sets a love struck liaison: "a good night for perfume predictions/ my fictitious accomplice is wearing a dress colored sweet by the moon/ off her slim frame it falls and the light kissed her skin / Isubmerge in her anthems and labyrinths". "Samaratin" [sic] and "No OneIs Scared" are slower paced and maybe a bit more serious, Chrisadvising "when they cut within you / the farthest place to be is stilloutside" and "nobody's frightened even when you change for good". Oh, Icould go on and on but I'll spare you. Connelly is one of a handful ofcontemporary singer-songwriters whose every song is like magic to me.And like any songsmith worth their salt he proves his talent for thecraft here with just the essentials. Connelly will likely hit the roadalone in August in support of the album and a rarities enhancedretrospective is also in the works.
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Phonem is Elliot Perkins, a man with a fine taste for melody at thesame time that he has an intense love for loud electronic noise. He isalso a man with a political cause to inform you about on this, hisfourth release overall and his third for Morr Music. "Ilisu" is themoniker of the release, so named after the dam the Turkish govermentplans to build upstream of the Syrian and Iraqi borders? And the dam'smission? Publically to provide power for a notoriously failing Turkishpower infrastructure. Privately, it will force the evacuation of some78,000 Kurds from the 313 square kilometers that will serve as thedam's reservoir - a relocation that continues the Turkish persecutionof the Kurds. Obviously, this will notbe a cheery release by any means. Phonem is angry in this music,releasing frustrations and educating through the song titles: 'Thirst','Displacement', 'Water Rights', and 'War By Any Means' to name a few.It really is a pwerful release, and pure punishment on your earsthrough headphones. But underlying all of that lashing out is a purelove of hopeful melody, as small, quiet bursts of keyboards and soundsmake their way to the surface. You can actually hear in the music -especially on 'Thirst' - the pain and other effects this dam projectwill have on the people of the Tigris River valley, effects compoundedby the fact that this dam will not help solve the power problems inTurkey. The only complaint I have is that the drum sounds are almostall the same on every track, which comes across as a limit in equipmentas well as creativity. But it is a strong release, probably thestrongest Phonem music yet. Check out the sound samples to be sure, asI haven't been able to put this one down yet.
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Load
Entirely too raw for any glitzy fashion-conscious New Yorker to releasethem, this power-trio have found a home with the Providence-based Load(Lighning Bolt, Arab on Radar, Six Finger Satellite) for their debutfull (?) length release (at 11 songs, it clocks in at an almost exact26 minutes!) This aneurysm-inducing onslaught of atonality is rich inabrasion, heavy with distortion and loaded with more adorable hatedthan a pimply, overweight, horny teenaged nerd. But it's hardlymathematic, metallic, (or "ironic") however, as each song is a directslice into the guts of anybody in its aural path. The feverent energyis somewhat refreshing as it takes a much different path to get fromthe slaughterhouse to your table, stopping in the underworlds of withavant-garde social terrorists rather than concrete jungles of post-punkbrats from good homes with bedhead or leather jackets with DC bandlogos, all the while, remaining bleedingly truthful. (Eat your heartout, Thurston O'Rourke.) This disc is anything but clean, yetremarkably consistent, almost as if you can turn it up loud enough andfeel like you're actually there in front of the miked amplifier with anunavoidable strong stench of body odor festering in your face. Yeah,it's fucking harsh, but then again, when was rock and roll ever aboutpleasing your parents? In a year filled with a slim amount offavorites, I'm happy to now have this in my collection.
Entirely too raw for any glitzy fashion-conscious New Yorker to releasethem, this power-trio have found a home with the Providence-based Load(Lighning Bolt, Arab on Radar, Six Finger Satellite) for their debutfull (?) length release (at 11 songs, it clocks in at an almost exact26 minutes!) This aneurysm-inducing onslaught of atonality is rich inabrasion, heavy with distortion and loaded with more adorable hatedthan a pimply, overweight, horny teenaged nerd. But it's hardlymathematic, metallic, (or "ironic") however, as each song is a directslice into the guts of anybody in its aural path. The feverent energyis somewhat refreshing as it takes a much different path to get fromthe slaughterhouse to your table, stopping in the underworlds of withavant-garde social terrorists rather than concrete jungles of post-punkbrats from good homes with bedhead or leather jackets with DC bandlogos, all the while, remaining bleedingly truthful. (Eat your heartout, Thurston O'Rourke.) This disc is anything but clean, yetremarkably consistent, almost as if you can turn it up loud enough andfeel like you're actually there in front of the miked amplifier with anunavoidable strong stench of body odor festering in your face. Yeah,it's fucking harsh, but then again, when was rock and roll ever aboutpleasing your parents? In a year filled with a slim amount offavorites, I'm happy to now have this in my collection.
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Trevor Wishart's legendary electroacoustic trip from the yawning YorkUniversity breakfast table into the off planet starmind vacuumoriginally span onto two bits of vinyl way back in 1973. Now Paradigmhave rescued it to aluminium bit-coded posterity, in all it's lo-ficollaged glory, with a slightly off putting sleeve note from thecomposer who seems embarrassed by the naivities he now finds in theexecution of his first release. Three years in the making, 'JourneyInto Space' mixes up free improvised junk toy fiddling, clocks ticking,rocket launch blasts, slamming doors, heartbeats and haunted chainrattling, with a hell of a lot of tubular bell bashing along the way.Wishart mixed and remixed field recordings and captures with improvisedand scored contributions from 48 musicians, including Steve Beresfordand Jonty Harrison. The opening thirteen minutes of deep bowed stringdrone, gurgling grey hospital limbo groans and creaks and jinglingbells might feel right at home on your favourite Nurse With Wound albumor sat alongside the admittedly more tidy and better recorded ThrobbingGristle masterpiece 'Journey Through a Body.' This is a perhaps agenuinely seminal work, which might have had as much if not moreinfluence on the outsider industrial scene as the academic corridorsfrom which it crept slowly. The "Birth" intro winds out with distantchoirs singing odd hymns to a crying new baby. The least successfulsequence is the man waking, yawning, belching and generally fartingabout that starts the almost fifty minute 'Journey,' which continueswith a car zooming off into the quaint honking city. Suddenly a fanfareheralds a rocket launch amongst the dwindling traffic noise and thescene shifts, planets dwindle, time slips. The rocket engine roar eatseverything until discordant anti-vacuum bells dissolve into the silenceof space. Strange new worlds open up in alien instrumention. Distantradio crackles in from homeworld. Chiming into the void new forms takeshape from hazy fluting, and an alien city emerges from the blue bellfog. Inside they're having a good ol' B-movie tentacle party, rituallysqueezing honk horns, until the nightmare giant babies google in fromthe black and white swamplands and the first word is spoken by chantingnose-monks. It's hard to hear this without being reminded of early1970s sci-fi classics 'Solaris' and '2001.' 2002: Lost in space theland that time forgot is remembered and reissued.
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Once upon a time, the late '80s to be precise, My Life With The ThrillKill Kult fabricated some killer singles, EPs and albums for theseminal Chicago based label, Wax Trax! Records. Then began the downwardslide into major label "success", self parody and just plain bad ideasand music. Remember the god awful "Sex On Wheelz" song and video forthe "Cool World" movie? Yikes. I gave up on them after that and everytime I tried a new album I was disappointed. Fast forward to today andthis project finally sees the light of day. Recorded 1998-99, DarlingKandie paired TKK frontman Groovie Mann with venerable one man band,the late William Tucker, to whom it's dedicated. As the liner notesexplain this is some of Tucker's last work (demos in fact, though itsounds complete), his career having included recording and/or touringwith most of industrial rock's inner circles: Ministry, the RevoltingCocks, Pigface, Chris Connelly, Foetus, Thanatos, Chainsuck, etc., notto mention TKK's 'Sexplosion' tours as "Amber Guitarstar". I think it'ssafe to say that most if not all of the music here is Tucker's doing ashis unique guitar and programming imprint are instantly recognizableand Groovie's primary role in TKK is lyrics and vocals. Together theyrevisit the tongue-in-cheek evil of classic Kult, with a Tucker twist.His slinky grooves are solid backdrops for tons of silly samples andGroovie Mann's campy tales of naughty young girls, drugs, sex andsuicide. Horn-y hijinks ala Foetus spice up "Cobra Kiss" and "ClearfireFor The Fallen". "Secret Ceremony" conveys Tucker's sense of pop melodywhile "Randy Road" does the same for his skill at glam-hip hop rhythmamalgamation. And the title track and "Untitled End" best replicate thecreepy dark side of the Kult's back catalog. Frankie Nardiello's (akaGroovie Mann) insert photos of "Ultramodels" helps complete the mood.'People Next Door' is the best thing Thrill Kill Kult haven't done in adecade and a testament to the talent of the much missed E. WilliamTucker.
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Here's a perfect example why strikingly original bands should neverup-and-move their ass out to the West Coast to "make it big."Multi-instrumentalist/producer/one-man-act Gary Wilson recorded thisremarkably entertaining debut album in 1977, and hand-packaged every LPwith autographed photos and other inserts for all the copies eithersent out to various college radio stations or sold at concerts in andaround NYC. After heading to San Diego, the band never signed a deal,despite gaining a bit of underground attention from experimental radiostations along the way. Don't believe the press about this record,however, he would have never been a superstar, but he could have easilycontinued to record underground anthems in the form of curious albumsyour cooler older brother might have kicking around. 'You Think YouReally Know Me' predates Prince's debut record by a year, but hasenough soulful make-out jams (like "6.4 Makeout" and "Chromium Bitch")to make you believe he was listening to the hairy purple midget andspending late nights in run-down Atlantic City casinos with second-ratelounge singers. Unfortunately, it's slightly too misogynistic foracceptance in the late 1970s as "irony" wasn't really in style. Wilsonplayed every instrument and produced the album entirely, and tossed ina healthy serving of tape splicing, sound effects, and cheesy synthsamidst the elogant organ, acceptable drums and phenomenal bass guitarwork. Picture HNAS meets Steely Dan in some of the trippierinstrumental bits. Thanks go out to the Dust Brothers for introducingWilson's music to Beck (he name drops Gary Wilson in "Where it's At"and somehow I don't think Mr. Hansen would have known of Wilson withoutthem), because that may have sparked the interest of the people atMotel for tracking this guy down. I could be wrong, entirely too jaded,but somebody needs to be thanked for making this peculiaralmost-masterpiece readily available.
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- 6.4 = Make Out
- Groovy Girls Make Love at the Beach
- Chromium Bitch (didn't Prince have a song called "Irresistable Bitch" in the late 1980s??)
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Genre bending tribute albums tend to be lame unless the ideas are as amusing and well executed as Opium Jukebox's. Centered around Martin Atkins (Pigface, The Damage Manual, Invisible Records, Underground, Inc.) and Bobdog Catlin (ex-Evil Mothers, Pigface, Pseudo Buddha) plus Julian Beeston (ex-Nitzer Ebb, Shining) and Rahul Sharma, the group relocates well known Western ditties thousands of miles to the East via sitars and such.Invisible
Their debut, 2000's 'Music to Download Pornography By', did it to such contemporary classics as "Smells Like Teen Spirit", "Head Like a Hole", "Cars" and "Whip It". Now it's classic Sex Pistols. Seven of 'Never Mind the Bollocks..' dozen songs, including two versions of "Anarchy in the U.K.", plus Vicious' calling card "My Way" are given the Indian makeover. The Pistols (or at least Malcolm McClaren and his cronies) churned out hilarious French language, disco and symphonic versions themselves, so Opium Jukebox's take might seem tame in comparison. You may or may not laugh, but you should at least be impressed with the musicianship and production. Sitar is the primary melody maker but other local stringed things and percussion are in the mix too, as well as tasteful samples and drum 'n bass fills. The covers are slower than the originals, some barely recognizable, though "Anarchy" and "God Save The Queen" certainly are. "My Way" gets an especially schmaltzy Muzak treatment which is perfect in its own weird way. So what's next for Opium Jukebox? I suggest Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" album.
 
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First and foremost, credit must go to STROM.ec for being a wonderfullydynamic act who manage to change their style of music on each releaseenough to make a new album a pleasantly unexpected surprise. For thoseof you following these talented Finns, "Dogs of Total Order" doesn'tsound like "Neural Architect" which doesn't sound like the "Glass Cage"7" which certainly does not sound like "Arma Christi." On "ArmaChristi," STROM.ec and fellow Finns Irikarah go "classic German powerelectronics" - i.e. Genocide Organ soundalikes. Therein lies mycomplaint - originality is not this record's strong suit. Regardless,both bands know what they're going for, and they go for the throat.STROM.ec's four tracks are powerful examples of this genre done well -repetitive, hypnotic, noisy music coupled with brutal, pissed-offvocals (which are often the "make-or-break" factor, and in STROM.ec'scase, definitely make it). Irikarah takes a similar approach, but soundquite different. Whereas STROM.ec focuses on repetition and vocals,Irikarah's sound is a little bit more dynamic and less vocal-heavy. Thethird track in particular is almost rhythmic (imagine that)! Suffice itto say, if you're a fan of this sound, you could do no better than toimmediately purchase this record, and scream and shout right along withSTROM.ec (fans of "Neural Architect" be warned, this record is a lotless dynamic). Myself, I'm getting a little bit tired of therepetitiveness, but I need a good dose of it every now and then, and"Arma Christi" hits the spot like a sledgehammer.
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