Few bands have managed as perfect an opening career salvo as Texas drug addled psychedelic noise rock weirdos the Butthole Surfers. Sure lots of bands have pulled off a perfect debut. And of those, a handful somehow avoided the sophomore slump, and even then, a few managed to make a third record as good as the first two, but by record four, we're talking a very select few, a handful of pantheon worthy bands, who made four records in a row, each one as good, if not better than the last, one of those rare bands would indeed be the Butthole Surfers. Their first four records are pretty much untouchable, their 1984 debut, Psychic... Powerless... Another Man's Sac, 1986's Rembrandt Pussyhorse, Locust Abortion Technician from 1987, and finally 1988's Hairway To Steven. Each a very different, very dementedly fucked up beast, but each a stunning milestone in knuckle dragging outsider psychedelic drug rock, and all four, recently reissued on vinyl for the first time in ages.
All four of these records are essential, and hell, even if you already have all four, these are the kind of records that are worth buying again, and again, and again. And if you've somehow made it this far through life without damaging your brain with these cranium crushing sonic gems, now's the time to do some catching up and start eroding those brain cells (and destroying those ear drums)...
Hairway To Steven, was the group's last truly great record, and truly great it is, worth the price of admission alone for the opener "Jimi", which is totally one of the greatest songs of all time, thick, buzzy guitar, killer twisted psychedelic leads, garbled processed vocals, low in the beginning, than pitched way up later on, the sound woozy, and warped, oozing and melty, and tripped out and absolutely confusionally warped and warble, and Paul Leary's guitar playing is like a Texas drug rock burn out Hendrix, knuckle dragging guitar god nirvana, and it just goes on and on, and somehow it just gets weirder and weirder and weirder, and then suddenly, after a blast of lazer beam electronics, the song turns into a detuned blues jam, laced with bird song, and the sounds of goats and other barnyard animal, dogs barking, the song trippy and creepy and a weirdly haunting coda to the dirge rock crush of the first half. There's also the classic "I Saw An X-Ray Of A Girl Passing Gas", which sounds a little like R.E.M. after a bad batch of meth, meaning AMAZING, there's the stream of consciousness WTF weirdness of "John E. Smoke", with some of Gibby's best lyrics by far, not to mention the crowd sounds, and more of Leary's amazing guitar playing, and of course "Backass", another track that displays the band as maybe way more accomplished than they pretend not to be, a moody psychedelic dirge that's hypnotic and hauntingly lovely. And like the other Buttholes records, that's only the tip of the iceberg...
Let's get the negative stuff out of the way first. The Butthole Surfers suck. Not in the 'Primus sucks' self deprecating ironic sort of way, they really do suck. They have for years now. Everything post 'Hairway To Steven' has been total dreck. And those of you unfortunate enough to have heard their most recent record thus bore witness to the saddest beck-meets-eminem-meets-land-of-the-loops-meets-king-missile bid for MTV stardom. And on top of that, they are total assholes, as evidenced by their greed-not-common-sense based lawsuit against Touch and Go records, who were basically responsible for their popularity, and who were already paying them probably the best royalty rate in the industry. But apparently that wasn't enough. So it's with a little bit of trepidation that we recommend you buy anything on the Butthole's label Latino Bugger Veil, but RECOMMEND WE MUST! 'Cause this collection of live tracks and outtakes is vintage Butthole Surfers, at their drug-addled, tribal-drumming, chaos-causing, club-crushing, strobe-lighted, naked-dancing, on-stage puking, audience-pulverising BEST! Lots of rare compilation tracks (from P.E.A.C.E., God's Favorite Dog, Cottage Cheese From The Lips Of Death, A Texas Trip, the Roky Erickson tribute), 4 track and 8 track home recordings, practice tapes, outtakes from the Rembrandt Pussyhorse sessions, alternate versions of album tracks, and more. Weird sickly sweet warbly ballads to full on tribal drug stomps, with war whoops and processed vocals careening all over the place. Supposedly culled from close to 300 tapes. Hope there's more on the way!
Few bands have managed as perfect an opening career salvo as Texas drug addled psychedelic noise rock weirdos the Butthole Surfers. Sure lots of bands have pulled off a perfect debut. And of those, a handful somehow avoided the sophomore slump, and even then, a few managed to make a third record as good as the first two, but by record four, we're talking a very select few, a handful of pantheon worthy bands, who made four records in a row, each one as good, if not better than the last, one of those rare bands would indeed be the Butthole Surfers. Their first four records are pretty much untouchable, their 1984 debut, Psychic... Powerless... Another Man's Sac, 1986's Rembrandt Pussyhorse, Locust Abortion Technician from 1987, and finally 1988's Hairway To Steven. Each a very different, very dementedly fucked up beast, but each a stunning milestone in knuckle dragging outsider psychedelic drug rock, and all four, recently reissued on vinyl for the first time in ages.
All four of these records are essential, and hell, even if you already have all four, these are the kind of records that are worth buying again, and again, and again. And if you've somehow made it this far through life without damaging your brain with these cranium crushing sonic gems, now's the time to do some catching up and start eroding those brain cells (and destroying those ear drums)...
This might be the most famous/infamous Surfers record there is, and a great place to start for newbies, it's definitely the weirdest, with the least proper 'songs' and the most warped sonic experiments, starting with the oft quoted opening intro, culminating in Gibby howling "SATAN SATAN SATAN�" before the band kick into their own damaged version of Sabbath's "Sweet Leaf", hear rechristened "Sweat Loaf", one of the group's finest moments for sure. Then we oughta skip ahead to "Human Cannonball", which is the Surfers at their poppiest, one of the catchiest jams in their arsenal, and were it by any other band would have been a massive hit, but here, it's just still to twisted and freaky and goddamn great. Then there's the truly terrifying "U.S.S.A", with some of the most intense and freaked out vocals ever, all over a weird bed of pulsing buzz, and balloon animal squeak, there's also "Kuntz", a pretty much straight up sample of some Southeast Asian folk song, with just the chorus manipulated to accentuate the unfortunate refrain, all twisted up and pitch shifted and somehow, it becomes crazy and confusionally catchy, and finally, there's "22 Going On 23", which takes a phone call to some sort of call in radio show, and sets it to some classic Buttholes dirgery, and transforms this poor woman's story into the 'lyrics', for one of the most haunting and harrowing songs in their catalog. And somehow between all these classics, there's still even more killer stuff...
Few bands have managed as perfect an opening career salvo as Texas drug addled psychedelic noise rock weirdos the Butthole Surfers. Sure lots of bands have pulled off a perfect debut. And of those, a handful somehow avoided the sophomore slump, and even then, a few managed to make a third record as good as the first two, but by record four, we're talking a very select few, a handful of pantheon worthy bands, who made four records in a row, each one as good, if not better than the last, one of those rare bands would indeed be the Butthole Surfers. Their first four records are pretty much untouchable, their 1984 debut, Psychic... Powerless... Another Man's Sac, 1986's Rembrandt Pussyhorse, Locust Abortion Technician from 1987, and finally 1988's Hairway To Steven. Each a very different, very dementedly fucked up beast, but each a stunning milestone in knuckle dragging outsider psychedelic drug rock, and all four, recently reissued on vinyl for the first time in ages.
All four of these records are essential, and hell, even if you already have all four, these are the kind of records that are worth buying again, and again, and again. And if you've somehow made it this far through life without damaging your brain with these cranium crushing sonic gems, now's the time to do some catching up and start eroding those brain cells (and destroying those ear drums)...
On one of the most perfect debuts EVER, "Concubine" starts things off with a detuned dirge, dueling tribal drumming, and Gibby's hysterical insane vocals, the sound loose, and unhinged, and weirdly crazy catchy. Which really describes most of Psychic, but other highlights include "Negro Observer", which might just be the catchiest Buttholes song ever, there's even some bleating sax, not to mention that main guitar part that is pretty much perfect. There's the old school punkiness of "Butthole Surfer", the stumbling, lumbering "Woly Boly", with its ridiculously demented vox, but then it gets really good. "Lady Sniff", is a lurching sound effects loaded psychedelic dirge, with Gibby doing his best raspy bluesman vocals, and did we mention those sound effects, pure genius. Then in rolls "Cherub", that's like the Buttholes doing krautrock, tranced out and motorik, and it goes on and on, every track here a WTF classic.
Few bands have managed as perfect an opening career salvo as Texas drug addled psychedelic noise rock weirdos the Butthole Surfers. Sure lots of bands have pulled off a perfect debut. And of those, a handful somehow avoided the sophomore slump, and even then, a few managed to make a third record as good as the first two, but by record four, we're talking a very select few, a handful of pantheon worthy bands, who made four records in a row, each one as good, if not better than the last, one of those rare bands would indeed be the Butthole Surfers. Their first four records are pretty much untouchable, their 1984 debut, Psychic... Powerless... Another Man's Sac, 1986's Rembrandt Pussyhorse, Locust Abortion Technician from 1987, and finally 1988's Hairway To Steven. Each a very different, very dementedly fucked up beast, but each a stunning milestone in knuckle dragging outsider psychedelic drug rock, and all four, recently reissued on vinyl for the first time in ages.
All four of these records are essential, and hell, even if you already have all four, these are the kind of records that are worth buying again, and again, and again. And if you've somehow made it this far through life without damaging your brain with these cranium crushing sonic gems, now's the time to do some catching up and start eroding those brain cells (and destroying those ear drums)...
Rembrandt Pussyhorse found the Butthole's sound getting a little more polished, but no less demented, starting with "Creep In The Cellar", a haunting, malevolent tribal dirge, with some great lyrics, a wicked hook, and some wild, psychedelic fiddle playing that makes the song. And of course there's the Surfers version of the Guess Who's "American Woman", which has to be one of thee greatest covers EVER, the woozy guitar, the heavily effected drum pummel, the weirdo vocals, the whole thing is just fucking twisted, and yeah, totally genius, with some wicked blown out psych guitar courtesy of an unsung guitar hero, Paul Leary. It's hard to review any of these records without going through the whole thing song by song, cuz they're all so good. "Whirling Hall Of Knives", creepy and weirdly lovely, "Moving To Florida", perhaps the creepiest, grossest blues jam EVER, "Waiting For Jimmy To Kick", piano driven, sample heavy WTF creep out, "TP Parter", who knows what the fuck is going on, or why it's so good, but it is, as is every single song here.
Now available for the first time ever on CD. It's hard to believe after the band has been around for what, over 20 years now, has been played on top forty radio and has seen practically everything they've released, down to the most obscure tracks, get reissued, has only now had their first two -- now practically legendary -- eps released on compact disc. "The Shah Sleeps In Lee Harvey's Grave" is practically a punk rock anthem, or no less than the genre's swan song. Depending on how you look at it, maybe both. For the band anyway, the track was every bit a standard as "Free Bird" was for Skynyrd. I don't know what's weirder, the fact that these haven't been reissued until now, or that the band -- who at one time seemed destined to a life of cult obscurity -- has acheived such enormous mainstream success. It's all urine under the bridge now though, as you can have it all on disc and then some. Along with the original self-titled (a.k.a Brown Reason To Live) ep, and the follow up live PCPPEP from 1984, there are an additional three live ("Gary Floyd", "Matchstick" and an additional version of "Something") and one studio ("Sinister Crayon") bonus tracks that make it hard for those of us who already own the vinyl to resist the temptation.
We're willing to bet that Kurt Buttkrieg is the only musician you can think of that calls Malta home. This is gorgeous otherworldly musiqe concrete. Far away drones, swoops of modulated electronics, keening feedback and speaker rattling low end
Been meaning to list this for a while... Sadly this is the swan song for this fine Vancouver band who decided to call it quits earlier this year. Yeah, we've always given them a good natured hard time over the years about their band name. Quite simply, we felt it seriously undermined their songcraft which was so much more than the goofy moniker expressed. Turn a blind eye to the name, and you'll find that you can't knock their music. With each album they've gotten increasingly dark, lush, smoldery and composed. The dramatic somberness of the Americana stylings (or should that be Canadiana?) is quite a contrast to their earlier hybrid of new wave synth pop and rootsy folk, but Cartography still finds the band striking chords and balances between seeming opposites. The rustic and the elegant. The intimate and the expansive. The stormy and the utterly serene. The subtly applied electronic instrumentation are much more integrated into their rich earthy tapestry. A vocoded vocal here, a softly blooping synth countermelody there. Fans of the deep velvety voiced solemn twang bands such as Lambchop, Handsome Family, Red House Painters and on the other side of the pond Tindersticks or Pulp even, take note! A beautiful brooding farewell! Recommended!
Okay, we mentioned this already a couple of AQ lists ago, but we've just gotta ask again... what's the deal with so many Canadian indie bands' names? Are they trying to prevent people from checking them out? Take this band for example, they're called The Buttless Chaps! C'mon, that rivals Corn On Macabre or Cream Abdul Babar on the wince-o-meter. Contrary to what almost everyone who has encountered the band's moniker has thought, they are not a joke band! They are in fact a mighty fine hybrid of country and '80s new wave pop... yes, their instrumentation includes a synth *and* a banjo! I know, I know! Even the description makes them sound like a joke band, but give these fellows a listen and you'll surely see things a little differently. They move effortlessly from barnyard boot stompers and moonlight porchswing ballads to ABC-esque synth melodramas - often fusing them together within a single song with nary a smartaleck wink nor a clumsy stumble. They seem quite sincere in their love of both genres. And we haven't even mentioned yet that lead singer Dave has a strong deep voice very well-suited to both musical styles (at times very Martin Fry or Jarvis Cocker). Truly, if they were only a country band or conversely only a retro synth pop band, they'd be a damn good one, and no eyebrows would be raised (uhh, unless they were still called the Buttless Chaps... wink!).
Getting a bit caught up with our friends to the north at Mint Records... We've just gotten in a few new and new-to-us titles on this fine Vancouver indie label (this one as well as some by Neko Case's early band Maow, The Awkward Stage, The Pack A.D. and Immaculate Machine)!
This somber earthy beauty is from a couple of years back, but still sounds fresh as a daisy today! Actually we also just got in the 'Chaps most recent, terrific (but alas final) album in stock too (it hasn't been reviewed yet, so if you'd like to order it, just ask!). But with regards to this album in front of us... What do you do when a band's name sends unforgivable groaning shudders down your spine... but their albums send warm good tunes to your ears? When a band's this good, you just have to grin and bear it, we s'pose! As we recall, The 'Chaps who made 2003's Love This Time were an unconventional fusion of the new waver and the lonesome cowboy. This time around it sounds like the ol' country boys have taken control of the reins. Still, these Vancouver gents keep us on our toes with occasional injections of cascading empassioned piano, flighty bright horns, and wordy mouthful lyrics like "migratory birds". Definitely for fans of deep voiced shadowy twang artists such as Lambchop, M. Ward, and Tindersticks!
Jean-Christophe Van Thienen formed the French new wave project Buzz in 1983, after several formative years spent in the UK soaking up the divergent post-punk scene which spawned the artful pop of Adam & The Ants, the majestic gloom of Anne Clark and The Cure, and the DIY energy of countless bedroom / shed / garage acts tinkering with drum machines, electronics, and tape. Upon returning to Lille, France, he found a local radio station who would let him use the studio during off hours; and as such he recruited a couple of friends and neighbors to come into that studio to flesh out the sketches he had made on a couple of synths and drum machine. See You Sioux was the result of those sessions, self-released in 1985 as a cassette with hand-assembled artwork and press-type lettering in an edition of 250 copies. Van Thienen takes up the elliptical, somber atmospheres of the Belgian post-punk outfit Trisome 21 as well as the eccentric theatrics of Fad Gadget. The songs work through urgent synth melodies, jittery sparkplug guitar scratches, and propulsive rhythms from a nice combination of live drums and drum machines, with Van Thienen conjuring more of a French rock persona, perhaps striving towards the stylings of a Jacques Dutronc. Another great find from Dark Entries.
Yes, your eyes and ears aren't deceiving you... this is a brand new Buzzcocks album! Back in 2003 we were caught plenty off-guard when these grandfathers of punk pop reassembled and released a new self-titled album, and now they've gone and given us another surprise wallop in Flat-Pack Philosophy. And again, the band picks right up where they left off. One thing tho' we sure wish the vocals were up front in the mix like the Buzzcocks' recordings of yesteryear, but no, instead they're somewhat buried. Likewise, we were wishing that the guitars were crisper and crunchier, but no, they're more the 'modern' thick wall o' distortion kind that they used on their last album. Sigh, can't have everything can we? We're yearning for the Buzzcocks of old, but the Buzzcocks of new haven't veered too far off their original course. One of the album's highlights is certainly the tenth song ("Dreamin'") with its catchy neat picked guitar counter-melody, but the song that hits closest to home is the second to last song ("I've Had Enough"). The vocals are prominent and guitars crackle with that familiar Shelley/Diggle electricity. Yeah, that's the ticket!
A total, absolute, complete, utter classic from this seminal punk pop band! So many hooks! So much energy! So influential! So damn good!
Who doesn't love this band? Who can resist those rapid-fire hooks or that relentless energy? Unlike many other veteran bands who've either continued sloggin' on long past their prime, or conversely broke up early only to reform in recent years, the Buzzcocks haven't stuck with the safe, the tried and true, nor have they become a tired, lackluster version of their former selves. They came together in 1975, kicked pop punk ass (and to this day have had an immeasurable influence on countless bands), split in 1981, reformed in 1989, and here they are fourteen (!) years later with a new super-charged album on Merge Records. As a band, they've not withered nor have they rested on their punk rock laurels. On the up side, the songs are still filled with lots of crunch, but they're also much beefier - often more reminiscent of the Husker Du/Bob Mould fuzzy wall of roaring guitars. On the down side, unfortunately the vocals are buried a bit deeper in the mix which somewhat obscures their wry lyrical wit. Actually come to think of it, this also adds to the Husker Du-iness. However, one thing's for certain, the tip of Pete Shelley and Steve Diggle's songwriting pen sure hasn't dulled over the years. Trademark Buzzcocks' hooks galore. Given that though, we would like to draw your attention to one song here that rang rather familiar not as a Buzzcocks tune but instead as one by the Gin Blossoms - weird! The Diggle penned "Sick City Sometimes" = "Hey Jealousy". Really! Give it a listen. This is definitely much less raw and immediate sounding that the Buzzcocks of old, but this is not at all troublesome nor disappointing, as they've successfully moved onto a much more refined and fleshed out presence. If you want the rambunctious, rough'n'tumble lower-fi pop-punk energy of yesteryear, don't waste another moment, revisit their classic Singles Going Steady. If you want to hear a band who've aged very very well, check out this self-titled album.
MPEG Download: "Jerk" [/audio/buzzcocksjerk.mp3]
MPEG Stream: "Jerk" [/audio/buzzcocksjerk.m3u]
Revelation: Sick Again is the legendary long lost unreleased final album from North Carolinian stoner sludge sickos Buzzov*en, and while recorded over a decade ago, it languished unreleased due to various legal difficulties, which were just the latest, for a band who essentially existed in a world of difficulties and dysfunction, be it jail, drugs, violent shows, band breakups, cancelled tours, but of course all of that stuff found its way into the groups nihilistic, heavy as fuck, drug addled sound. Recorded during a period of "exhaustion, drug-induced confusion and frustration" (although how that differs from other Buzzov*en records we're not entirely sure), Revelation: Sick Again is everything we've come to love about Buzzov*en: woozy, slithery Sabbathy riffage, sheets of feedback, big pounding drums, Kirk Fisher's whiskey soaked glass gargling yowl, songs that slip from blasting and frenetic, to wasted and druggy, long stretches of droned out blackened lumber dropped between bursts of low slung sonic swagger, and filthy crusty metallic crunch, the tracks peppered with strange samples and lots of grit and grime, the sound a gnarled melding of Black Flag's My War and classic Sabbath, sludgey, groovy, heavy, wasted and warped and so goddamn good.
Not sure why we never reviewed anything by these pot fueled purveyors of crusty sludge, could be that all of their records predated the list, but we have shown much love to post Buzzov-en stoner sludge combo Weedeater, the thing is, everything we love about Weedeater, existed in Buzzov-en, even more. Heavier, sludgier, stonier, crustier, filthier, these five songs were recorded right before the band disbanded in the mid nineties, and the band are on fire, lurching, churning, downtuned heaviness, KILLER riffs, caveman drum pound, vocals buried WAY down in the mix, from pounding dirge, the thrashing chaotic crunch, the band just sound relentless and fucking ultra intense here, could be that it was close to the end, could be the fact that the whole band was falling apart to problems with drugs, whatever it is, this stuff sounds fierce and violent and raw and on the edge. The sound is weirdly murky and muddy, blown out, but not super hot sounding, more blurred and buzzy, but it suits the mood big time.
There are of course goofy samples before most of the songs, which seems par for the stoner sludge course, and there's the totally demented drugged out 16 minute "Nod" which does in fact sound like the whole band nodding off mid song, captured on tape, a stumbling, abstract soundscape of guitar buzz, and weird voices, swirling effects, deconstructed riffage, total psychedelic sonic headfuck, which rules, but it's the other 4 songs that put most of Buzzov-en's contemporaries, past and present, to shame. These tracks may have been recorded 15 years ago, but they still sound incredible, and anyone into the current crop of drug metal heavies, who somehow missed out on these guys back in the day, well, now is the time to make things right. The liner notes mention a possible new Buzzov-en record in 2010 as well, we can only hope...
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
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Bwana are a super-obscure psychedelic-funk-jazz-rock band from Colombia circa 1970. Lotsa Latin percussion, acid rock guitar, jammin' organ... Spanish language vocals for the most part, although actually the majority of this consists of instrumental
When we first heard about this, we had to check the calendar to make sure the release date wasn't April 1st. But no, this is real, the latest collaborative project undertaken by everyone's favorite Japanese psychedelic heavy rockers, Boris, wherein they team up with, yes, Ian Astbury of The Cult!! Seems like something out of an episode of Ripley's Believe It Or Not, does it not? Well believe it. BXI is Boris + Ian (or times Ian?), and the disc's blatant/redundant title makes the concept plain.
So... what do we think? Well what do YOU think? Basically, a lot depends on A) what you think of Ian's singing, which may or may not depend on how big of a Cult fan you are or once were, and B) how much of a hardcore devoted Boris fanboy (or girl) you are. If you like everything Boris and/or Ian Astbury, then this is for you. Otherwise, maybe check out the sound samples before reflexively "adding to cart" just 'cause it's a Boris (related) release.
This 20 minute, 4 track ep includes 3 songs newly written by the BXI unit, plus a version of The Cult's "Rain", from their 1985 album Love, sung by Boris guitarist Wata. The fairly dynamic first track, "Teeth And Claws", finds Astbury wailing about how "animals will save us... yeah, yeah they will, yeah they will, yes they will" over some sub-grunge, big-beat, quasi-heavy quasi-psych that wouldn't sound out of place on most modern rock stations. The next song, "We Are Witches", is much "tougher" and more metallic, with chunky distorted guitar chug. After that, comes "Rain", which is the best cut here in our opinion. Wata's gentle, dreamy vocals are a nice change from Astbury's overwrought rock dude yowl, and guest guitarist Michio Kurihara's stinging acid rock leads are glorious. Though, if they'd chosen to cover "Love Removal Machine" we'd have been into it too... The finale, "Magickal Child" is slow and majestic, with Astbury being dramatic but not ridiculous. Still, it's the closest Boris has ever come to U2 territory, that's all. Kurihara also plays guitar on this track too, again a plus. It's kinda funny he's on this disc with Astbury, in a six-degrees of separation way, since Kurihara was a member of Tokyo retro psych act White Heaven, who sounded a lot like The Doors, whose frontman Jim Morrison was of course famously portrayed by Val Kilmer in a movie, wait no that's not it, it's that The surviving Doors recently toured with Ian "The Lizard King II" Astbury as their singer, didn't they?
Really, not bad as long as you don't hate Astbury. But also, not what we were hoping for (well, had we ever envisioned this collaboration in the first place). Boris definitely seems to be meeting Astbury much more than halfway here, this coming off more like Astbury with Boris as a backing band (or Boris paying tribute to him for some reason) than Boris doing some weird and heavy Boris thing and then making it weirder by having the guy from The Cult sing on it. Oh well, we'll admit we're Boris (and/or Cult) fans enough to pick this up just for "Rain" alone, and then can enjoy the other tracks to varying degrees, or not...
NB. vinyl coming soon (within a couple weeks).
Mathy, almost jazzy, instrumental post-rock from a band who manage to be as melodic as they are complex and quirky -- which is to say, quite. Lotsa warmth and emotion here, suffusing their dynamic and dramatic crescendos and deft musical twists and turns. Not so metallic as we'd been led to believe -- although they do rock out a bit here and there (apparently, on a child's drum kit no less!), this is pretty darn soft and sensitive at the same time. One of those bands that's definitely really good, but don't break out of the widdly post rock mold either. However, well worth it to fans of the genre! (That is, they fall somewhere amidst Mogwai, Don Caballero, Sonna, Thee Speaking Canaries, Lynx, Cheval de Frise...not bad company!)
This disc clocks in at five tracks, 30 minutes (which by the way is just long enough to make you go, dang it's over? and play it again when its done).
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Olaf Bender - founder of the Rastermusic label and member of Signal - provides us with Volume 5 of the 20 to 2000 series. As this series has been progressing, one gets the impression that each artist (or the curator of the series) is attempting to link these bursts of minimalist electronica into a cogent whole pieced together of disparate fragments. From the rhythmic shards of Ilpo Vaisainen & Komet violated by Ryoji Ikeda's blistering sine waves, the series took a pleasant shift into the minimalism of Coh and now Byetone, who has expanded the spaces of silence to wrap around warm hypnotic pulses which erraticly appear.
It's been a while since Pan Sonic released anything new, with four years passing since their 2004 4cd boxset of crunched post-techno and electro-shock minimalism. And it's actually been even longer since we've heard anything from Raster-Noton's Byetone. That said, we didn't recall Byetone sounding so much like Pan Sonic. With the lack of Pan Sonic releases anywhere in sight, a Pan Sonic clone is as good as the real thing at this point. On Death Of A Typographer, Byetone lays down plenty of low-slung breakbeats for his caustic hiss of electricity coaxed into arpeggiated melodies (think Coh, also from the Raster-Noton camp) and disciplined basslines (again think Pan Sonic). All of the digital clicks, distortions, abrasions, and pixel-points which comprise the Raster-Noton glitch aesthetic are present, but Byetone (aka Olaf Bender) does not seem to force any of these tracks into one of the conceptual frameworks which may have hamstrung some of Alva Noto's concept-then-execution albums. As a result, Death Of A Typographer is an immediately compelling electronica record, and who the hell cares that it sounds so much like Pan Sonic?
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It doesn't happen very often, but occasionally, TWO aQ staffers accidentally review the same record, and usually, we try to just cram them together into one (sort of) cohesive single review, but this time we figured, screw it, here's two different aQ-er's takes on the latest from Byetone, a record we liked so much we reviewed it twice! See if you can guess who wrote which!!
Review one:
It's weird to say, but it seems like the most compellingly funky electronic music is coming from a camp that pretty much perfected the ultimate cold clinical electronic sound. Raster-Noton for years has been home to icy cold collections of bleep and click, him and hiss, taking music and seemingly reducing it to it's most elemental form, and arranging it into machine like rhythms. Don't get us wrong, we LOVE that stuff, and hearing pristine arrangements of ultra low, rib cage rattling lows, and dog whistle highs, rhythms created from clipped static and 1 bit bursts, total mad scientist genius. But all along, it seemed like something lurked just below the surface. A funkiness that the artists seemed to be combating, as if the whole thing was an elaborate sonic ploy to keep the funk at bay. And then suddenly, one of the brave ones, decided to let a little of the funk seep into his audio experiments, and it was good. Too good. Too good to not let more in. And soon, it was too late, and then against all odds, and in an ironic twist of sonic fate, people like Alva Noto were crafting some of THEE funkiest sounds we'd ever heard, all assembled from the same elements, beeps and clicks, 1 bit bursts and sine waves, culminating in the recently reviewed Univrs record.
But then along comes Byetone, not to be outdone, takes those same elements, and decides to not just let the funk seep into his sounds, but to go all out, and craft lush expansive soundscapes, epic and cinematic, proving that those same ingredients could be twisted up into all new shapes, which brings us to Symeta, a gorgeously lush collection of electronica, that slips easily from super clinical click and buzz, to warm lush chordal swells, often in the same song, the various elements arranged into killer grooves and funky beats, with some of the tracks sounding almost Pop Ambient, that lush and lovely, while others stayed more clinical, and still others found a middle ground, which strangely enough sounds like a weird take on the whole Goblin/Carpenter sci-fi future-retro synthscape thing, but somehow cooler, and more -actually- sci-fi sounding, and more hauntingly futuristic, with Byetone coaxing some seriously gristly buzz and tripped out psychedelia from his strange sonic laboratory.
Awesome!
Review two:
Olaf Bender's Byetone project is hardly prolific, but he has proven to be strongly consistent in his clinical electronica, which nudges the signature Raster-Noton sound of glitch 'n' tone on a trajectory that might not be all that averse to the dancefloor. Symeta comes three years after the much acclaimed Death Of A Typographer; and like that earlier record, this one also owes quite a bit to the formative work of Pan Sonic and Mika Vainio's solo album Metri. The hypnotic, adrenaline-pulsed piece of minimalist techno on "Opal" is right out of the Vainio playbook, slowly ramping a militant drum-roll from Bender's drum machine out of a throbbing basspulse radiating ominous hisses and x-ray frequencies. "Helix" and "Black Peace" nod toward the latter Pan Sonic works of gnarled, distorted electronica through an excellent track of grimy blocks of electronic riffage, caustic blasts of noise, and dubstepping electro backbeats, in the construction of some exceptional, high-pressure chamber electronica. Lest you think that it's all Vainio all the time, the first three blips from the album opening "Topas" are devilishly close to the robotic sequencing that Kraftwerk used to build their onomatopoeic "Boing Boom Tschak." Another great record from Raster-Noton.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Third (but first we've had) in a new series of ULTRA LIMITED hand made drone / ambient cd-r's (we'll try to list the other two soon) from this new boutique label specializing in short form 3" cd-r's of dark drone drenched ambience.
This disc, Easter Invocation, features guitar, theremin (courtesy of Kris Thompson of The Lothars), and processed cello, all stretched and twisted, tangled and warped into a single 21 minute soundscape of gauzy creep and haunting shimmer. Simple, heavily reverbed martial percussion, muted and murky, more of a pulse or a throb than a pound, underpinning a landscape of distant low-end swells, slow building waves of creak and moan, soft swirls of hiss and fuzz, languorous stretches of slow motion rumble. Dreamy but also quite dark and ominous.
ULTRA LIMITED and painstakingly hand assembled. Tiny 3" black fold over sleeves, with a glossy full color image affixed to the front, sealed at the bottom with two rivets, tied with a ribbon, with a little circular badge. Inside the disc nestles between two sheets of gorgeously textured paper, hand printed and so lovely.
VERY RECOMMENDED!
What was once a 1970 double LP set of live and studio material is now a double cd, with the original "(Untitled)" now accompanied by an extra disc of previously unissued tracks. The lineup: Roger McGuinn, Skip Battin, Clarence White, and Gene Parsons. Worth it alone for the jammed-out sixteen-minute (a whole side of the original vinyl) version of "Eight Miles High." And with all the other stuff here, this is a great place to start with The Byrds as well as an essential item for longtime fans!
**SALE **SALE* *SALE**
Y'know the special $5 sale cd list we did a few weeks ago? Well, there's actually a few more really good $5 deals available that we'll try to list, while they last. We reviewed 1968's Notorious Byrds Brothers before, now here's another Byrds gem for just $5 (or, $30, if you wanna spring for the brand new vinyl reissue that just came out!)� Originally issued in '69, with its title track appearing on the soundtrack to Peter Fonda's countercultural film classic Easy Rider, this was The Byrds 8th album, and their last of the '60s, with Roger McGuinn the only original founding member still on board (the other Byrds here being Gene Parsons, Clarence White, and John York). Still, it's a great bunch of songs, including not just the aforementioned Dylan-inspired title track (he wrote some of the lyrics), but also a fine interpretation of Dylan's "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue" (its sad vibes perhaps appropriate for the end of the '60s, the decade's revolutionary promise on the wane). This album also boasts one of our all time Byrds favorites, the rousing, rocking "Jesus Is Just Alright", originally by gospel singer Art Reynolds. Elsewhere, the record is mostly all about melancholic country and old timey folk, lovely songs including a traditional sea shanty and a Woody Guthrie protest number and even a timely drone-folk homage to lunar-landing Apollo astronauts "Armstrong, Aldrin And Collins".
Regarding the cd, this nicely done reissue tacks on 7 bonus tracks, alternates and out-takes, including one written by a young Jackson Browne, and a spaced-out synthesizer / Appalachian folk hybrid from McGuinn called "Fiddler A Dram (Moog Experiment)". And, plenty of informative liner notes are to be found in the cd booklet. Well worth the five bucks for sure!
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Previously unreleased live concert recording from '69, with Roger McGuinn/Clarence White/John York/Gene Parsons lineup. Sixteen tracks.
**SALE **SALE* *SALE**
Oooh, we love 1968's Notorious Byrd Brothers. Well, most Byrds albums are pretty great, but this one's a reall beaut. Pedal steel and Moog synth co-exist exquisitely, along with 12-string guitar jangle and lovely vocal harmonies, there's songs about drugs and hippies and Vietnam, it's got "Space Odyssey" and other sci-fi mystical stuff while of course they're kinda country too. This reissue includes plenty of liner notes, and six bonus tracks, including "Moog Raga", which is exactly what you think it is, and rad.
Late Byrds album (1968) with Gram Parsons with many more classic songs than required to make an album essential. This inexpensive but nicely appointed reissue features eight never-before-available tracks/outtakes, including a GP vocal.
Late Byrds album (1968) with Gram Parsons with many more classic songs than required to make an album essential. This inexpensive but nicely appointed reissue features eight never-before-available tracks/outtakes, including a GP vocal.
In 1964 recording engineer Jim Dickson set down on tape the earliest incarnation of the Byrds, even, it seems, before they named themselves that -- they had also used the monikers Beefeaters and Jet Set (a Jet Set single is included here). This is what some
The cd comes packaged in a slipcase with an excellent accompanying book of liner notes, many darling photos (those guys were like 20 years old, so young!), 2 nice postcards, discographical info, & comments from all the bandmembers, plus Pamela Des Barres, Domenic Priore, etc.
Annoyingly, the LP version, while it is on 180 gm vinyl and features a nice gatefold sleeve for its two albums, only features 28 tracks. The cd version has 40! Huh? And while the 16 of the tracks on the cd version were previously unissued, only 9 from the LP version have never before seen the light. I never understand the logic with these things -- is Sundazed ripping off the LP buyers amongst us, or are they trying to tell us that the extra tracks on the cd version are kinda throwaways anyway? Sigh...
**SALE **SALE* *SALE**
Much like fellow art rock vet David Bowie, David Byrne keeps a finger firmly planted on the pulse of the music industry, but unlike Bowie he's never been one to jump on board trendy bandwagons. Both in Talking Heads and solo, Byrne has consistently remained ever the elegant and absurd music man with more than a few surprises up his sleeve. The gently lilting lead-off track to the restrained yet gloriously theatrical Grown Backwards is a prime example -- a light musicbox-y melody, smooth low strings, lightly tapped percussion, and Byrne's unmistakable vocals. Wonderfully composed with an ever-present air of slightly melancholic nostalgia, Grown Backwards sidesteps current trends and achieves a much more timeless appeal.
Brand new album from ex-Talking Head David Byrne. Big production with lots of guest musicians. Almost sounds like it was produced by Tchad Blake, but it isn't. The coolest thing about the album is the cover art and moiree effect slip cover. You can pass each panel of the fold out booklet through the slip cover and see: David Byrne blink, scream, a cup break, a hand pass through fire, a
The long awaited follow-up collaboration between these two musical giants is finally here in physical form, after only being available as a digital download. Although, this time it feels more like a David Byrne solo album rather than a revisiting of musical territory from their stellar My Life In The Bush of Ghosts. Not bad though, as long as you're a fan of David Byrne!
The sheepish smile of Julie Byrne on the cover of this album belies the plaintive, minimalist patter of her beguiling yet melancholy songwriting. The image could very well be a lone snapshot of this woman caught in the daylight and slightly embarrassed that her photo is being taken. The simple and earnest songs of this album paint her more as one who stays inside for the bulk of her existence, with her face shrouded behind that brown mane of hers, hunched in the corner of a bedroom where she gently strums the accompaniments to her weary songs - oftimes bittersweet, wistful, full of longing. Her intimate compositions are little more than acoustic guitar and voice (with that 'little more' often being some tape hiss, or a light wash of reverb, or the sun-flecked monochord organ solos that end each side of this album), recalling the mood of those early Cat Power recordings, Sibylle Baier's hushed hymns of everyday life, and even the moonlit folk ballads of Nick Drake.
This lp was dusted off from a couple of cassettes by Owen 'Casiotone For The Painfully Alone' Ashworth for his new imprint Orindal Records. Really lovely stuff!
Wonderful, wonderful clarinetist Byron and his band (including drummer Joey Baron of Masada) take on the music of Raymond Scott, Duke Ellington, Billy Steyhorn and John Kirby.
