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Spider Monkey makes hard breakbeat moves on this 5 track CD-R whichfall somewhere between a less distorted, less hip-hop influenced 2ndGen and a lot of the Position Chrome label releases, but probably donewith more imagination and variation than the PC lot. "Drowning" hammersominously, but the following "H.L.S" drops down to a simple tickingwarped keyboard melody before the distorted driving beats pick upagain. "Isolation Chamber" pounds away in a linear bangin' technotunnel with manic sci-fi bleeps circling wildly around the perimeter.This track might seem a little dated to some perhaps, but it works justfine. "Feel Nothing After Dark" warps a vocal sample of the phrase "Theway I feel," which sounds great at unintelligible slow speed but edgestowards cheeseball territory sped up later on, however riding out on afeedbck drone is a smart way to finish the track. I don't listen to agreat deal of this stuff, so I'm not sure which kind of sub-genres itmight fit into or if that's even relevant anymore, but it's definitelymore fist-thru-monitor than headnod-shit. Spider Monkey definitelyseems like one to watch out for, and if the samples below appeal thencheck out the website for more.
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Some times I really just don't get Sub Pop. They've made some greatsignings in recent years, the best of which being The Shins, butsometimes you have to wonder what they see in some bands. That'sexactly what I thought when I first heard Beachwood Sparks, and I thinkit even more now. Another fragile-voiced, country-tinged rock band withmediocre imagery as the major tenet to their songs. The harmonies arefine, but not enough to carry the songs to airy heights. In fact,there's not much about this EP that is particularly memorable or worthyof praise. It's pretty uninspiring. On "Make the Cowboy Robots Cry,"the Sparks stretch their legs a little bit, performing some of theirmost experimental music yet. And it's all over the damn place. Thecenter piece is, of course, the fragile vocals, but now there is agreater emphasis placed on the instrumentation, and on sampled momentsof rhythm and strings. There are moments of brilliance, but they'remostly due to the guests on the release, as much as I can tell. ChrisGunst was apparently quite inspired by his work with Jimmy Tamborelloon the DNTEL release, so he invited Tamborello to appear here as aproducer/side man, and Mia Doi Todd is along for the ride, as well. Hercontribution, on 'Ponce de Leon Blues' gives that song a hauntingbeauty, and when she and Gunst sing together, there is a bit ofpromise. Maybe for the next DNTEL release. But not for BeachwoodSparks, sadly. The last song, 'Ghost Dance 1492', is just plain awful.In spreading their wings and trying out some new elements and sounds,and tweaking their base sound in the process, Beachwood Sparks havetried to apply this same energy in their songwriting, and they'vemuddied the water. If they'd applied these elements to their usualstyle of songwriting, the results might have been more awe-inspiring.Instead, we're left with this hint of what is to come on futureBeachwood Sparks music. And what will that bring? Hopefully somethingmore coherent.
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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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Turned on by a recommendation by Jason Bryant (of Riouxs, damn, he'snever wrong), this second release for the Russian label is the firstfull-length album by this Saint Petersburg-based duo. You won't findany bizarre experimentation with crazy rhythms, abrasive noises orharsh melodies within. Instead it's a delicate wash of gorgeouselectronic melodies and serene sounds. While it does wander thattrecherous border between early Orb and new age, I honestly find myselfpulling for this disc frequently when I simply want to tune out theincreasingly psychotic world and soak in some valuble personal "me"time. I reached track four, "At_First," in my car once late at night,driving on an urban highway at a relatively high speed through somewell-lit tunnels and that, coupled with the following beat-less auralmasterpiece, "Paintings," really solidified my love for this disc.Picture the blissful sounds of some of the first Tear Garden materialwithout abrasive cuts, vocals or samples, replaced by conjunct, languidtunes which would please anybody fond of musicians like UlrichSchnauss. If anything, looking forward, Edda and Vladislav might wantto look into updating their sounds when progressing onto their nextrecords, but in the meantime, this album works just perfectly. Sadly,only Riouxs seems to be carrying this label right now.Read More
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After two albums on TVT, Guided By Voices return to their label formany years, Matador Records, to release their latest opus, "UniversalTruths and Cycles." It was a surprise for many that TVT was the labelto pick up Pollard and co. after their split from Matador. Why wouldTVT, home to such bands as Gravity Kills, Naughty By Nature andSevendust want indie songsters like Guided By Voices? (And XTC, forthat matter, but that's another story...) Their return to Matador isboth unexpected and welcome. Rob Pollard has described the CD as acombination of "Alien Lanes" and "Isolation Drills," though in placesit seems to have more in common with "Mag Earwhig!" Either way, itbrings GbV one step closer to the perfect mix of high-and-lo-fi thatPollard's been striving for years to achieve, and it's a strongcollection of classic GbV. Rocking out of the gates with 'WireGreyhounds,' the album really gets underway with the second track,'Skin Parade.' With a little in common with 'The Enemy' off "IsolationDrills" - lo-fi beginning, with hi-fi interruption and continuation -the track unloads a furious guitar assault, with Pollard sounding likehe's genuinely having a blast with the "hoo-hoos" at the end of thetrack. Elsewhere, the band create soaring guitar and vocal epics('Cheyenne'), boogey rock of a new flavor ('Back to the Lake'), and oneof the darkest tracks GbV have ever recorded, while still rocking outin full style with gorgeous double-tracked vocals ('Storm Vibrations').Of course, the quirkiness is here in full force in the song titles('Everywhere with Helicopter', 'Father Sgt. Christmas Card', 'ChristianAnimation Torch Carriers') and in Pollard's lyrics ("loving arms attackyou/with promises for when you check out"). It's not a return to form,a regression, or a progression of their sound. It's simply anotherfantastic GbV record. And what more could you want?
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This compilation brings together several early and now hard-to-findsingles by Britain's prolific ISAN, comprised of Robin Saville andAntony Ryan. The tracks, which come primarily from 7"s dating from 1997to 1999 on labels like Wurlitzer Jukebox, Earworm and Bad Jazz, breathenew life into a genre which, especially as of late, has begun toflounder with acts that are virtually indistinguishable. "Autolung" isan exhibition of their hypnotic, haunting signature sound: ISAN's brandof electronic music is introspective without over-intellectualization,and is often childlike, but never infantile, particularly with regardsto the choice of vocal samples they sometimes use. "Damil 85", whichmakes use of such a sample, is brilliant, and quite possibly one of thebest tracks the duo has ever done. "Remegio" is full of a chilling andmelancholy beauty. Understated yet often playful beats ebb and flowseamlessly and consistently throughout every piece. Another gem fromfrom the lovely Morr Music.
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Grob
Fennesz 'Endless Summer' was the big across board hit of last year,obviously much more interesting in it's original invention thanRadiohead's thinly veiled Elton John impressions or Bjork's vaudevillesugar puff powderings. 'Endless Summer' appealed to blandpiggys andnoizheds alike and it was quite interesting to see the diverse music itrubbed shoulders with in all those yearend bestlisten lists. Fenneszstays visible with ever more recordings of varied live encounters, andalthough I haven't yet heard his Mika Vainio collaboration that got aslating from Nate Smith a couple of months back, I've always foundthat, like Otomo Yoshihide, for Fennesz quantity does not negatequality. This three way improvisation, recorded late in 2000, takes aclassic improvisation approach, in as much as AMM could be consideredclassic, but these artists are daubing from a very distinctive noisepallet. There are some very obvious similarities to AMM in the way theyslowly build up morphing dense layers from almost nothing, sewing inoccasional hacked fragments of radiopops. Fennesz might have started itwith a sampled fractious descending piano run, but then again itcould've been Gert-Jan Prins' kick off, or perhaps Van Bergen wasactually playing a piano? The haunting beauty unfolds fromradiocaptures and junk contraptions complimenting the familiar Fenneszgentle guitarshift distortion textures for Peter Van Bergen'sunderstated but understanding saxophone to unwind around, blurtingcamouflaged in strange new ruptured lung distortion fractions. Aquarter hour in he fires off some almost classic free jazz moves thatquickly get torn apart by effects and spat back into the whirling void,all mangled and digidiminished. Whilst the prospect of having to switchthe blip-attention spans on to a single forty two minute track mightput off some blandpiggys, and noizheads might make gripewater out ofthe ever dipping levels and relatively reflective yet murky pools hereand there, this is definitely more than just a worthy and curiousaddition to the ever expanding Fennesz ouevre. The crescendo at aroundthe half hour point is top notch liberating primal freenoise, piling upvariegated deep drones to breaking point. They drop down again to letpiano patter and metal chimes ring over the digisplutter and zoom focuslens splatter squeals but it builds again to a warped summer ending.These noisemakers play it organic, so that it becomes difficult toseparate any individual chaos panic. They also bring an intuitiveunderstanding of electro-acoustic sudden shock echoblam to theirconstantly mutating crunchy evolution. 'Dawn' makes me curious to hearmore from Van Bergen and especially Prins, whose noise patchwork freeskronking with Lee Ranaldo made for a surprising Radio 3 highlight acouple of years back, a recording which was made on a night when I wasacross London town listening to Wire. Sometimes it seems there's somuch happening you just need to split yourself in two to experience itall, which makes me glad that Fennesz makes these recordings of livesituations. When the sun rises, I will listen.
Fennesz 'Endless Summer' was the big across board hit of last year,obviously much more interesting in it's original invention thanRadiohead's thinly veiled Elton John impressions or Bjork's vaudevillesugar puff powderings. 'Endless Summer' appealed to blandpiggys andnoizheds alike and it was quite interesting to see the diverse music itrubbed shoulders with in all those yearend bestlisten lists. Fenneszstays visible with ever more recordings of varied live encounters, andalthough I haven't yet heard his Mika Vainio collaboration that got aslating from Nate Smith a couple of months back, I've always foundthat, like Otomo Yoshihide, for Fennesz quantity does not negatequality. This three way improvisation, recorded late in 2000, takes aclassic improvisation approach, in as much as AMM could be consideredclassic, but these artists are daubing from a very distinctive noisepallet. There are some very obvious similarities to AMM in the way theyslowly build up morphing dense layers from almost nothing, sewing inoccasional hacked fragments of radiopops. Fennesz might have started itwith a sampled fractious descending piano run, but then again itcould've been Gert-Jan Prins' kick off, or perhaps Van Bergen wasactually playing a piano? The haunting beauty unfolds fromradiocaptures and junk contraptions complimenting the familiar Fenneszgentle guitarshift distortion textures for Peter Van Bergen'sunderstated but understanding saxophone to unwind around, blurtingcamouflaged in strange new ruptured lung distortion fractions. Aquarter hour in he fires off some almost classic free jazz moves thatquickly get torn apart by effects and spat back into the whirling void,all mangled and digidiminished. Whilst the prospect of having to switchthe blip-attention spans on to a single forty two minute track mightput off some blandpiggys, and noizheads might make gripewater out ofthe ever dipping levels and relatively reflective yet murky pools hereand there, this is definitely more than just a worthy and curiousaddition to the ever expanding Fennesz ouevre. The crescendo at aroundthe half hour point is top notch liberating primal freenoise, piling upvariegated deep drones to breaking point. They drop down again to letpiano patter and metal chimes ring over the digisplutter and zoom focuslens splatter squeals but it builds again to a warped summer ending.These noisemakers play it organic, so that it becomes difficult toseparate any individual chaos panic. They also bring an intuitiveunderstanding of electro-acoustic sudden shock echoblam to theirconstantly mutating crunchy evolution. 'Dawn' makes me curious to hearmore from Van Bergen and especially Prins, whose noise patchwork freeskronking with Lee Ranaldo made for a surprising Radio 3 highlight acouple of years back, a recording which was made on a night when I wasacross London town listening to Wire. Sometimes it seems there's somuch happening you just need to split yourself in two to experience itall, which makes me glad that Fennesz makes these recordings of livesituations. When the sun rises, I will listen.
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I think there comes a time (or rather, a number of times) when a musicenthusiast/record collector finally becomes hooked on something theynever really paid much attention to for years and just think over andover again, "damn, what was I thinking?" This holds true for me andChristoph Heemann's work and the music contained herein is noexception. Originally released as a limited edition in 1997, the musicon this disc accompanies four short stories by Thomas Ligotti writtenfor David Tibet. The musical accompaniment by Christoph Heemann andSteven Stapleton is intense enough to stand on its own yet subtleenough to be read along to as recommended in the booklet. Low, rumblingdrones underscore fleeting sound effects and garbled voices throughoutthe opener, "His Shadow Will Rise to a Higher House" and a tuba melody"A Soft Voice Whispers Nothing," while echoed and layered bells ringout during the haunting "The Bells Will Sound Forever." Only rarelywill a voice pop in from Tibet, Andria Degens (Pantaleimon) or ShirleyCollins, narrating small portions of the text, essentially performingthe role as suggestive guidelines as to where the story should be. Thevoices aren't overbearing but I'm really in mixed worlds whether tothink the narration should run throughout or the music should becompletely instrumental. The stories by Ligotti are rather entertainingand a light read, but my lack of ability to respectfully critiquefiction can't go much deeper into them than that. All the text andartwork has been reprinted from the first edition, however, thisversion is unfortunately in a rather chinchy digipack when compared tothe hardcover original. Regardless, the music is essential for anyfanatic Mirror fan and could easily make a Heemann fan out of anyexisting C93 fan.
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- The Bells Will Sound Forever
- A Soft Voice Whispers Nothing
- When You Hear the Singing: You Will Know It Is Time
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Gastr del Sol, with their complicated arrangements, electronic interludes, and guitar work drawn from obscure North American folk and rock influences, would have been more than qualified to take a marketable place amongst the identikit post-rock outfits doing the rounds in the mid-nineties. But instead of achieving Tortoise-proportioned recognition, they remained a relative obscurity, and perhaps part of the reason for that was David Grubbs's unique vocal and lyrical contribution.
Drag City (North America) / Fat Cat (Europe)
Without any conventional rock affectations, his delivery is plain, personal and a little nerdy. His lyrics are unabashedly intellectual, ranging from impenetrable abstraction to philosophical investigations into everything from time-zone changes to the qualities of light. So Grubbs drew Gastr del Sol, and now his solo work, away from easy categorisation as post-rock. Yet I like to think of Grubbs as the unintended voice of the post-rock movement: someone who had the guts to put its geekiness into words.
Following on from 1998's 'The Thicket' and 2000's 'The Spectrum Between,' this record improves on both: where the former was heavy with addition musical backing, and the latter placed most emphasis on Grubbs's guitar and vocals, the production here is a nice balance. When Grubbs played recently at The Spitz in London, with acoustic guitar and occasional laptop playback, these songs seemed bare and hurried. But here they're more relaxed, improved by a small backing band which consists of some the usual stars, notably John McEntire and Noel Akchote, as well as drummer Dan Brown and some understated electronic and field-recorded assistance from Matmos and Nicolas Vernhes.
The album opens with the poppy "Transom," which starts with Matmos's electronics, turning to fast-paced electric guitar, before almost rocking out at the end. But 'Rickets' consists mostly of contemplative, occasionally upbeat songs comparable to 'The Spectrum Between,' discussing such subjects as dreams, air-travel nerves, and other things that are pretty inscrutable, to be honest.
Later on, Matmos get the floor to themselves on the short instrumentals "Precipice" and "Crevasse". Then Grubbs closes the album with "Kentucky Karaoke," a beautiful piano solo over which he slowly intones a simple lyric, while the piano slowly warps under subtle processing. It's reminiscent of the Gastr classic "Eight Corners," and is easily my favorite solo Grubbs track: an excellent ending to a more than usually solid album.
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"The name IAO is Kabbalistically identical to the Beast and his numberis 666." John Zorn's new album consists of a seven-movement suite thatbrings his obsessions with Alchemy, Metaphysics and the work of KennethAnger to the fore. Continuing Zorn and Tzadik's tradition of excellentpackaging, the CD is accompanied by a series of postcard-styledinserts, each bearing Kabbalistic signs, arcane scribblings and creditsprinted in a lovely but nearly undecipherable typeface. Musically,"IAO" is a consolidation of Zorn's recent artistic developments: thecomplex writing of "Madness, Love and Mysticism", the electronicexperimentation of "Songs from the Hermetic Theatre" and thefascination with easy listening/exotica explored on "The Gift" havebeen beautifully integrated into his syncretic style. The firstmovement, "Invocation," sets a strange scene: a knife is sharpened andwater or blood is splashed about as someone chants off in the distanceand Jamie Saft plays spooky organ. "Sex Magick" is more of CyroBaptista's astounding trance drumming, such as was heard on "Taboo andExile". The mesmeric, time-obliterating property of the piece isremarkable and it would, indeed, be a perfect compliment to the titularactivity. "Sacred Rites of the Left Hand Path," the third movement,combines Saft's jazzily syncopated piano with electronic sounds in atune filled with both whimsy and threat. "The Clavicle of Solomon" isthe deeply weird piece that follows, made up of high-frequency digitaltones and creepy microtonal melodies. The erotic resurfaces in thefifth movement, "Lucifer Rising," for female chorus. It is led by theincredibly sexy-voiced Jennifer Charles (of the wonderful group ElysianFields), who vacillates between menacing, incantatory and ecstatic asshe moans, groans, shudders and whispers through the piece. The aptlytitled "Leviathan" follows, a death metal monstrosity that collapses inon itself under the enormous weight of Bill Laswell's thunderous bass,becoming a howling vortex of noise sucking up backwards cymbals andMike Patton as he shreds his larynx. "IAO" then settles into the finalmovement, the dark and peaceful "Mysteries", which has a feeling ofresolution about it. As a whole, this record succeeds brilliantly. Itis, like all the best albums, its own sound-world to be explored, aworld of great mystery and wonder. Part of its genius is in itsconstruction. While Zorn never restates a theme, he consistentlyreturns to specific moods. In "IAO" the form is forgotten and thefeelings become the form.
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This is what happens when you grab a handful of Icelandic musicians andlock them in a cabin for a couple weekends by the fire until they'verecorded an album. For something as ad hoc, it remarkably sounds like aband who's shared a number of years and a number of beers, and for agroup which includes members of electro super-nerds Trabant (andreleased on the label that issued them and Múm), it's entirely organic,with a lazy, almost clumsy drive not entirely unlike Molasses or WillOldham records without the whininess. With one female and two malevocalists, the subjects covered are nothing deep at all, includinggirls, drinking, pimple-faced teenagers, mothers and the weather.Perhaps obsessed with a number of Louisville bands who made it out orromanticizing about playing in a cheap western bar where fat rednecksonly drink cheap beer from a can, the Funerals make me wonder why morebands don't play the truckstop circuit.
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