A while back we listed/reviewed a split 7" featuring local heavies Kowloon Walled City and Southern sludgelords Thou, part of a super limited, subscription only series, which we were only able to get cuz we got some direct from the bands. We had sort of give up tracking down any of the other installments in the series (twelve singles all told, featuring Coffinworm, Fistula, Fight Amp, Pyramido, Fungal Abyss, Great Falls, Ultraphallus, The Fucking Wrath, and a bunch more we had never heard of), but then in walk aQ pals Rabbits, who just so happened to have a stash of their single in the series, and we grabbed as many as they could spare.
They share the split with Dead Elephant, an Italian noise rock outfit whose sound is massive, a churning, downtuned mathy freakout, wild drumming, dizzying riffage, progged out heaviness, laced with feral vokills and some super rad guitar harmonies, the sound lush and layered, heavily textured, dense and brutal, but with a super stripped down minimal stretch in the middle, that sounds like Shellac at 16rpm, all distant guitar melodies, dirgey bass chug, and skeletal drumming, a slow build into a roiling, hypno-rock psychedelic noise rock coda. Phew.
Rabbits counter with something much more concise, sounding like a more metal Black Flag, throat shredding vox over slithery super distorted riffage, and wild chaotic drumming, a little bit sludgey, angular and atonal guitars draped over super distorted guitar buzz, devolving into a blown out almost industrial sounding outro.
Killer tracks from both bands. And like the KWC / Thou single, the cover art is super gorgeous, the packaging ultra deluxe, letter pressed and fantastically designed, and like that other one, SUPER LIMITED, very likely these are the only copies we'll see!
If only all electronic music sounded this sick, so heavy and distorted and twisted! From the same label that brought us Cloaks' Versus Grain records, a big favorite around here with it's noisy, chaotic, industrial crunch, Dead Fader do something similar, taking a root sound that's equal parts dubstep, electro, and that sort of synthy heavy Ed Banger stuff, and then cranks it WAY up, the beats are thick and distorted and crumbly, the synths are thick and fuzzed out and also WAY distorted, there's noise all over the place, rumble and buzz and whir and skree, feedback, glitched out damage, but all woven into super funky fucked up grooves, it's like some modern electronic record given an old school DHR makeover, reminds us a lot of Fever, for those of you who remember them, their record maybe one of the heaviest most distorted sort-of-hip-hop records ever.
The label compares Dead Fader to Burial playing through Slayer's backline, which isn't really that far off the mark, the sounds here are in-the-red, blown out, there are distorted almost black metal vocals buried in the mix, streaks of feedback, the beats and synths careen wildly, panned super hard, swinging from speaker to speaker, it's dizzying and relentless, dark and dense, abstract and freaky, with weird bursts of Goblin-y prog, thick pulsing synths, creeping monklike chanting, flurries of skitter and stutter, crumbling walls of electronic sound that are practically metal in their timbre and intensity, but for all its crunch and pummel, all its ferocity and aggression, and fucked up weirdness, it still manages to be melodic and groovy, funky and fun, the sort of dancemusic that we always wished existed, and it makes even the most intense jams and block rockin' beats from folks like Daft Punk or the Basement Jaxx or the Chemical Brothers or whoever sound downright flaccid.
Electronic record of the year? Quite possibly...
Every batch of tapes we get from our pal Jason's Ormolycka label, is like weirdo music nerd Christmas. But instead of getting socks or a sweater we get some obscure Japanese grind, or some damaged electro, some goofy white boy hip hop, or some lost psychedelic rarity. There's some seriously demented curatorial music genius going on, and this latest bunch of tapes is no exception. Instead of overwhelming you with all of them at once though, we'll pick a couple of our favorites, and review them all over the course of the next few lists. But if you do want them all, and why wouldn't you, just ask, and they can be yours!
Dead Gakkahs are from Korea, and deliver a bruising, furious fastcore, short sharp burst of punk rock fury, with shrieked dual female vox, imagine a much more raw and primitive Melt-Banana maybe, simple punk metal riffs, loose pounding drumming, and paint peeling vocals, all wound up into jagged blasts of hardcore intensity, but with a weird pop sensibility that lurks just below the surface. A couple of the tracks are covers, but you'd never know it, and the band they're covering, Sugar Pie Koko, we'd never heard of (although now we're intrigued for sure). It's short, 7 songs in less that 7 minutes, but it's cheap too, and Dead Gakkahs is that rare sort of sheer punked out energy and sonic intensity that that'll likely have you flipping this tape over and over and over again.
Found a few of these tucked away in the closet, just four copies of 2007's self titled full length from this now defunct Belgian black metal horde, which features members of Gotmoor, Paragon Impure, Verloren, and a bunch of others.
While this is definitely black metal, it's more on the 'black 'n' roll' side of the grim black spectrum, meaning that blasting beats and buzzing riffs are wound into more rock arrangments, the band sounding like a filhty crusty D-beat juggernaut, serving up crushing slabs of double bass driven downtuned chug alongside Entombed style melodic black metal, lumbering deathmarch style midtempo plod, twisted chaotic noise rock and full on muddy and murky blackend buzz-drenched heaviness. Killer.
For years now, the cryptically (and coolly) monickered Dead Letters Spell Out Dead Words has been quietly and consistently releasing some of the most haunting and beautiful minimal dronemusic we've heard, a blend of soft skittery glitch, brooding guitar loops, deeeeeep drone, dreamy drift, and experimental post-everything soundscaping, that is as good if not better than anything produced by the legion of overhyped sound makers constantly fawned over by the public and press alike. We've only managed to review two DLSODW releases so far, both sadly out of print now, but the release of this new one, quite possibly his best, seemed like the perfect opportunity to finally throw our weight behind Dead Letters, and hopefully open some ears to these mysterious and wondrous sounds, and reveal to the hordes of dronelords and free music freeks just what they've been missing.
Dead Letters is the work of Swedish musician Thomas Ekelund, and over the years, his music has drifted from extreme near silent ultra minimalism, to warm whirring dronescapes to muted crunch and clatter to shimmering underwater ambience, but on Lost In Reflections, all of those elements are present, in lesser amounts, the perfect distillation of a lifetime of sounds, here presented more as background then the main event, that main event here being the guitar. Each of the six tracks, however distorted or refracted or fragmented or obfuscated, seems to be borne of the guitar, with Ekelund working his mysterious alchemy and transforming those buzzing steel strings into wholly new shapes.
The opener, "This Room Seems Empty Without You" held us spellbound from the very first few seconds, a bit of reverby guitar, moody and minor key, very post rock, slow core and abstract, the notes hovering in a dark expanse of overtones and deep low end shimmer, the guitar unfurling gradually, subtly processed, peppered with a strange percussive glitch, that gives the music a sort of downtempo vibe, still droney and abstract and free, but with a little Portishead or Bowery Electric mixed in. The glitches coalesce into an almost-rhythm, the end result is some strange minimal instrumental downtuned Galaxie 500 mixed with the brooding barely there drift of Bohren, and a sort of late night lugubrious skitter.
The next track, "Lost & Losing", takes a whole 'nother tack, beginning with bits of scrape and creak, amp buzz, muted harmonics, a subtly percussive textural soundscape, quietly and slowly surrounded by a gorgeously hazy sea of sun spots and solar flares, taking the shoegaze-y shimmer of Nadja and Jesu and dialing it way back, until it's a glimmering sheet of prismatic buzz, all the while those strange sounds from the song's beginning continuing to weave a buried barely there rhythm, everything locked into deep woozy bleary eyed swells.
We have the tendency to go song by song, describing the sound of each, which is not necessarily a bad thing, but often it's not just the sound, it's the mood and the vibe and the feel and the deft and delicate arrangement of those sounds. And Ekelund is a master, taking simple strummed guitars, and wrapping them in a gauzy patina of blur buzz, locking the original riff into a loop, and then gently adding bit of melody, bits of texture, turning something simple into something complex and gorgeous, there are hints of Earth all over Lost In Reflections as well, a particularly abstract bit of fuzzy drift, will suddenly part to reveal a dark elegiac guitar line, slowed way down, creating some sort of underwater blues, while elsewhere, the twang and pluck of the guitar strings is wreathed in sonic sunlight, the sounds allowed to overlap and tangle up, the notes and melodies all wound up, spinning slowly and spitting out sparks, bits of glitch and high end tones, streaks of feedback, until those sounds are smeared into one long undulating stretch, and over the top a string of chiming notes are hung like Christmas lights on a tree, the, guitar often disappearing completely, leaving just a bit of twang to hover and then fade away.
The final track is a monster, nearly 20 minutes, imagine Nadja, Merzbow and Tim Hecker covering Arvo Part, and you might be close. This is some sort of soft noise, blindingly effulgent upper register ur-drone chorale, the streaks and shards of guitars sound like voices, the distortion thick, the effects crumbling and swirling, a glancing listen reveals a wall of sound, but headphones are like a diving bell, allowing us to sink into this roiling sonic sea, that seems to stretch out forever, bottomless and endless, part way through, the song changes shape, that which constituted the whole of the sound up until that point is relegated to a background for these new sounds, a sweeping, loping epic bit of post rock, still washed out and woozy, but with a simple propulsive rhythm, and a gorgeously melodic chiming central riff, darkly fervent and slightly ominous and hauntingly epic, the swirling sounds around those new elements growing more frenetic, thickening, while the song just grows and grows, sprawls and expands, as if any second the heavens will open and the song will become the sonic manifestation of the rapture. So totally intense and powerful and moving and majestic, and simply breathtaking.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
This is the first time we've reviewed anything by Swedish dronescaper Thomas Ekelund, aka Dead Letters Spell Out Dead Words, which is weird as folks around here are big fans. It's not for lack of releases, he's been pretty prolific, it just one of those things, so many releases, artists, records, so little time.
Well, we aim to change that all right now, with this, the latest from Ekelund, a limited cd-r released on night-ocean-drone label Mystery Sea, and Ekelund's sounds here sound right at home. Three looooong tracks, the first, ultra minimal, it takes minutes to get going, but once it does, it's a fantastic expanse of ultra minimalism, so minimal in fact that much of it borders on Francisco Lopez territory. But turn it up, and listen close, and Ekelund's soundworld will reveal itself to you. A washed out murmur, peppered part way through with footsteps, the sound of metal on metal, some sort of random field recording, of men working, the clang and clatter overshadowing the whispery sounds beneath, but by the end of the first track, those whispery sounds have built into growling swells, thick smears of muted melody, crumbling and almost industrial sounding when paired with the grind and creak of the workmen.
The second track starts off in a similar fashion, strange super close mic'd sounds, thumps and scrapes, crinkles and cracks, over a super busy microscopic dronescape, all hisses and whirs and little bits of almost invisible melody, but it doesn't take long for that track to also swell into something dense and thick, high end tones rest atop a pulsing sea swell like drone, the low end fading out leaving a strangely dreamy high end shimmer, eventually fading out and leaving just those strange clunks and scrapes and that whirling swirling whisper beneath.
The closing track is a continuation of track two, in fact, they all sort of fit together into one sprawling soundscape, but the closer remains murky and minimal, a subtle scraping floating on a thick, but soft and smeared low end rumble, it's only in the last minute or two that other sounds join in, strange twinkles and glimmers, like laying on the ocean floor and watching bits of sunlight slowly make their way through the swirling blue grey sea.
Amazing packaging too, full color tray card, numbered, the booklet a half booklet, leaving half of the cd face exposed. Very striking.
And as always LIMITED TO 100 COPIES.
NOW AVAILABLE ON VINYL!!! This recent Record Of The Week now on lp, lp AND 7" to be exact, as it was too much music to fit on a single lp. Fancy packaging, thick vinyl, very swank, and of course very limited!
For years now, the cryptically (and coolly) monickered Dead Letters Spell Out Dead Words has been quietly and consistently releasing some of the most haunting and beautiful minimal dronemusic we've heard, a blend of soft skittery glitch, brooding guitar loops, deeeeeep drone, dreamy drift, and experimental post-everything soundscaping, that is as good if not better than anything produced by the legion of overhyped sound makers constantly fawned over by the public and press alike. We've only managed to review two DLSODW releases so far, both sadly out of print now, but the release of this new one, quite possibly his best, seemed like the perfect opportunity to finally throw our weight behind Dead Letters, and hopefully open some ears to these mysterious and wondrous sounds, and reveal to the hordes of dronelords and free music freeks just what they've been missing.
Dead Letters is the work of Swedish musician Thomas Ekelund, and over the years, his music has drifted from extreme near silent ultra minimalism, to warm whirring dronescapes to muted crunch and clatter to shimmering underwater ambience, but on Lost In Reflections, all of those elements are present, in lesser amounts, the perfect distillation of a lifetime of sounds, here presented more as background then the main event, that main event here being the guitar. Each of the six tracks, however distorted or refracted or fragmented or obfuscated, seems to be borne of the guitar, with Ekelund working his mysterious alchemy and transforming those buzzing steel strings into wholly new shapes.
The opener, "This Room Seems Empty Without You" held us spellbound from the very first few seconds, a bit of reverby guitar, moody and minor key, very post rock, slow core and abstract, the notes hovering in a dark expanse of overtones and deep low end shimmer, the guitar unfurling gradually, subtly processed, peppered with a strange percussive glitch, that gives the music a sort of downtempo vibe, still droney and abstract and free, but with a little Portishead or Bowery Electric mixed in. The glitches coalesce into an almost-rhythm, the end result is some strange minimal instrumental downtuned Galaxie 500 mixed with the brooding barely there drift of Bohren, and a sort of late night lugubrious skitter.
The next track, "Lost & Losing", takes a whole 'nother tack, beginning with bits of scrape and creak, amp buzz, muted harmonics, a subtly percussive textural soundscape, quietly and slowly surrounded by a gorgeously hazy sea of sun spots and solar flares, taking the shoegaze-y shimmer of Nadja and Jesu and dialing it way back, until it's a glimmering sheet of prismatic buzz, all the while those strange sounds from the song's beginning continuing to weave a buried barely there rhythm, everything locked into deep woozy bleary eyed swells.
We have the tendency to go song by song, describing the sound of each, which is not necessarily a bad thing, but often it's not just the sound, it's the mood and the vibe and the feel and the deft and delicate arrangement of those sounds. And Ekelund is a master, taking simple strummed guitars, and wrapping them in a gauzy patina of blur buzz, locking the original riff into a loop, and then gently adding bit of melody, bits of texture, turning something simple into something complex and gorgeous, there are hints of Earth all over Lost In Reflections as well, a particularly abstract bit of fuzzy drift, will suddenly part to reveal a dark elegiac guitar line, slowed way down, creating some sort of underwater blues, while elsewhere, the twang and pluck of the guitar strings is wreathed in sonic sunlight, the sounds allowed to overlap and tangle up, the notes and melodies all wound up, spinning slowly and spitting out sparks, bits of glitch and high end tones, streaks of feedback, until those sounds are smeared into one long undulating stretch, and over the top a string of chiming notes are hung like Christmas lights on a tree, the, guitar often disappearing completely, leaving just a bit of twang to hover and then fade away.
The final track is a monster, nearly 20 minutes, imagine Nadja, Merzbow and Tim Hecker covering Arvo Part, and you might be close. This is some sort of soft noise, blindingly effulgent upper register ur-drone chorale, the streaks and shards of guitars sound like voices, the distortion thick, the effects crumbling and swirling, a glancing listen reveals a wall of sound, but headphones are like a diving bell, allowing us to sink into this roiling sonic sea, that seems to stretch out forever, bottomless and endless, part way through, the song changes shape, that which constituted the whole of the sound up until that point is relegated to a background for these new sounds, a sweeping, loping epic bit of post rock, still washed out and woozy, but with a simple propulsive rhythm, and a gorgeously melodic chiming central riff, darkly fervent and slightly ominous and hauntingly epic, the swirling sounds around those new elements growing more frenetic, thickening, while the song just grows and grows, sprawls and expands, as if any second the heavens will open and the song will become the sonic manifestation of the rapture. So totally intense and powerful and moving and majestic, and simply breathtaking.
God Takes L.S.D. is the provocatively titled follow up to 2011's Meanwhile... In The Midwest lp from Midwestern zoner folk / psych drone one man band Dead Luke, who is backed up by a whole mess of guests here, mostly a selection of drummers, which is odd, cuz the drumming on these jams seems to mostly exist to provide a steady pulse, a sort of primal throb, buried beneath the squalls of burnt out guitar fuzz, and languorous layers of fuzz and thrum. Like that lp, this tape is a dark, washed out collection of minimal psych throb, primitive druggy blues, beholden no doubt to Spacemen 3, the same sort of lysergic creep, woozy, weary, wide eyed grooves, that start out slow, and build momentum, multiple guitars, pulsing organs, swirling vox, heady and in their own bad-trip style, pretty goddang heavy. There are moments of pure poppiness, female vox here and there, bouncy basslines and the occasional bit of jangle, even some hooks, but the bulk of God Takes L.S.D. is a glorious sprawl of laid back bummer psych, bongsmoke wreathed mesmer, and driving motorik space-kraut garage punk minimalism, fans of the usual space/drone/drug/zoner/space suspects will flip for this.
We first caught Dead Luke's name on an older Zola Jesus album, back when it was all about the murk, grit and lo-fi griminess of her sound. Wisconsin was home to both artists at the time; but she soon left for Hollywood on a meteoric rise for goth-diva fame, and Dead Luke stayed behind inoculating himself from Midwestern boredom with his spring-reverb saturated, outsider psychedelia. With a name like Dead Luke, you might half expect a suitably depressive lo-fi goth thing (especially with a couple of singles on Sacred Bones along with that former connection to Zola Jesus); but Dead Luke's downer vibe is the result of being a stoner rather than an occultist, with his awesomely lazy psychedelic numbers that channel 13 Floor Elevators through the heavily sedated period of Spacemen 3. Contemporarily speaking, this album plants itself right between the rockabilly minimalism of Dirty Beaches and the shambolic retro-blast of Thee Oh Sees. Dead Luke tangles those archetypal blues chords and strutting basslines with overblown fuzz, lo-fi crunch, and swampy spring-reverb excess, with his songs always devolving out of the verse / chorus structure of the song and into a hypnotic groove rippling with melodic yet droned-out organs, as a nod to the Perfect Prescription era bleariness from Spacemen 3. He even does an old Bo Diddley number in "I'm A Man," albeit all mumbled and narcotized. "Paranoia Is A Flower Of The Mind" must be an ode to the side effects of altered states, even as the song is a sprawling, ramshackle number of drugged out American psychedelia. Yeah, it's that good. No download code, though.
Man, as someone who works with computers a LOT, I was listening to this record while thinking about what "dead machines" means to me and hmmm... wish they titled it Fan Works, Won't Boot Up.
And even though that's sort of a joking title, it would actually describe what this noise-scape record sounds like.
On an artistic level, there is something genuinely nice here. Very little variances in overall sound level and track length make this seem almost like some sort of stilted dialogue amongst a sea of dying machines. Or very similar to the background white noise folley from Blade Runner.
Dead Machines is actually a magical New York noise couple: John Olsen (Wolf Eyes) and Tova O'Rourke (Wooden Wand, Vanishing Voice). Parts of this album remind us of SF's own Patrick Mullins from Burmese who creates aural apolocalypses in the same vein, using a multitude of electronics and sound manipulation.
With a lineup like that you'd probably be expecting some sort of ear splitting noise free-for-all. A blasting batch of brutality designed to melt your speakers into little black puddles, to send your neighbors diving for the phone to call the cops, the sort of N O I S E that is gloriously and literally unlistenable. Well, in this case, you'd be wrong. Very wrong.
In fact all four sides of this quadruple live set, are downright listenable, if not actually lovely here and there. An epic 4 sided dark ambient dronefest, that while hitting the spot for the usual suspects, will definitely also appeal to the drone minded among you as well as the Earth / SUNNO))) dronedoomdirge obsessed.
John Wiese of Bastard Noise and about a million other projects starts things off not with a bang, but a rumbling whir, a slowly unfurling blanket of crumbling fuzz and hiss, muted minimal ambience rife with pulsing low end and thick rivers of black shimmer. This is dark ambience more than noise, strange disembodied melodies, drifting all ghost like, haunting and surprisingly pretty, but without ever losing its overall bleak and ominous vibe. Definitely the best thing we've heard from Wiese.
So at this point we sort of expected Dead Machines to kick it up a notch, and they do, sort of. Beginning with a grinding symphony of buzzing analog synths and fuzzed out feedback, but that quickly gives way to a very Wolf Eyesian industrial ambient wasteland, clang and rumble, creaking and crumbling clatter, barely there dreamlike whir, distant high end melodies, downright blisssful before a coda of thick buzz and roaring damaged noise (but even then, it sounds really fuzzy and washed out)
It's up to Romero then, to get things good and noisy, but surprise surprise, Romero follows suit, offering up maybe the most tranquil and drone-y set of the bunch, thick undulating low end throb, overtones shifting and beating against each other, sounding like a doom metal Phill Niblock. Gorgeous and dreamy but still dark and menacing.
The final track, taking up all of side 4, features this fearsome foursome, Romero, Wiese and the two Dead Machines, teaming up for an epic and one would assume chaotic and noisy collaboration, but once again, we're thrown a serious curveball. Instead of all four piling up on top of each other and making a huge loud mess, they deftly intertwine their sounds into a subtle dark drift. Only once exploding into a full on noise drenched onslaught, spending most of the time rumbling and whirring and weaving a dense and dreamy world of dark drones, and mysterious sonic shapes. Really fucking awesome.
Double lp, pressed on THICK black vinyl, packaged in super elaborate, three color silkscreened fold over sleeves and LIMITED TO 515 COPIES...
We kinda think that when we're reviewing a band's eagerly awaited new album, for instance their follow up to a debut we really liked, that it's not entirely unreasonable for us just to say, hey, please go read our review of that first record (or provide a brief summary, like in this case: awesome Swedish time trippin', '70s sounding stoner psych prog a la Dungen, Elope, Witchcraft) and then for us to go on to say, this one is ALSO awesome, so if you liked that one get this, and if you haven't heard either, get both! If you like this retro-'70s sort of thing, that is. Reasonable, right?
Dead Man's Euphoria is maybe a bit mellower than their self-titled debut, certainly much closer to the sun-dappled poppiness of Elope than to the Sabbathy proto-metal heaviness of Witchcraft. But it could definitely appeal to those into the moody folkiness -and- progginess of the latter.
They're still big time '70s throwbacks, they look and sound like bunch of long haired ol' hippies. Back to the land types, doing their thing out on some farm / commune someplace. Definitely a lazy, hazy, rustic vibe here, quite a bit Grateful Dead-y in point of fact. Some tracks are long (8, 9 proggy minutes for "The Wheel" and "Rest In Piece") while others breeze by in under two or three minutes. There's acoustic guitars and backporch bluesy bits (the singer asking someone for some lemon-squeezin' in "A Pinch Of Salt" ferinstance), and an overall placid, summery feel. Real pleasant, but ofttimes melancholic too. The vocals, particularly when handled by the guy with the wavery, breathy, close-to-tears voice, are quite emotive. (Those could be tears of joy though, the album's called Euphoria after all.)
And that's not to say that Dead Man don't heavy it up with the guitars now and then, they do, some swinging hard rock riffage certainly is heard, but this is mostly much lighter and gentler than you might be used to from the more doomy likes of Witchcraft, Burning Saviours, Graveyard... out of that Swedish '70s lovin' scene, Dead Man do the least to live up to the more evil implications of their name! But for melodiousness and progginess and flutey folkiness they're holding their own. We like!!
FYI, this will supposedly be getting a domestic cd release in June, we've just learned. Also they should be coming over to the US for a tour this fall, cool!
Ok, we don't know what sort of time warp technology they've developed over there in Sweden, but it does the job. I mean, if the US Navy ever wants to find out just what happened with that aircraft carrier or whatever from the 1940s (y'know, they made a movie about it, The Final Countdown or The Philadelphia Experiment wasn't it?), we'd say don't bother asking Michael J. Fox, get somebody over in Sweden to explain. They obviously have the time travel thing figured out. And best of all, they use it to make more rock and roll bands like in the good ol' days of acid rock and psychedelia!! Bands like Witchcraft and Elope and Dungen, who sound more 1970 than 2006. We've mentioned them all before, and if you know 'em and love 'em, well here's *another* group of Swedes that we think fans of those bands should check out. Dead Man! Long hair, bright harmonies, folky melodies, acoustic strum, heavy riffs, trippy vibes... even a 14-minute long experimental prog finale. Yep, definite time warp. Like Witchcraft and those others, they never betray their modernity. No anachronistic hints of '90s stoner rock or alternative rock or metal or anything. Really, though it -says- this debut full-length was recorded in 2005, it's like no rock music past, say, 1974 seems to have ever entered their ears.
Despite being called Dead Man this isn't particularly a dark album... just heavy psych in the old style. Some tracks are hard rockers, others spaced out and Floydian, even a little bit on the rustic Grateful Dead side of things... A couple of the guys in the band sing (in English), one of 'em with a wavering trill in his voice that reminds us a bit of Roger Chapman from Family, whereas the other singer has a stronger Swedish accent giving more of that Dungen flavor. The Norwegian '70s heavy psych act November could be one definite influence on these guys.
Again, although we do suspect the use of time-travel technology, we're also aware that Dead Man's guitarist used to play drums in Norrsken, Magnus Pellander's band before he formed Witchcraft. I guess he stole a page from Magnus' spellbook, temporal magic chapter. Meanwhile, two of the other members were in Swedish bands called The Strollers and The Roadrunners -- never heard them but boy those names are EXACTLY what the sort of '60s garage/beat bands that would have evolved into a band like Dead Man would have been called -- had this all really transpired 35 years ago like it sounds. Sure, not a lot of points for originality, but plenty for verisimilitude. We say, right on, Dead Man!
Dead Meadow time again, ah it's always so nice. It's like being told it's time to take an afternoon nap, a *heavy* nap that is, wrapped in the warm comfort of Dead Meadow's vibrations. DC's Dead Meadow are throwbacks to an earlier age, when bellbottoms and bongs were the order of the day and bands played 'head' music... Kitsch that might be now, but damn they're good and we can all use a good nap once in a while, 'specially one that'll let us do a Rip Van Winkle in reverse and wind up spending a blissed out afternoon in 1969, y'know? It's all very very stoned, Dead Meadow spacing-out more than ever before over the course of this 57 minute cd/double lp. More dreamy than heavy this time out, really, I mean it is "heavy, maaan" heavy, but not as Blue Cheery as before (or maybe they've gotten into the latter, less-well-known, mellower Blue Cheer LPs). Even with the addition of a second guitar player to the line-up, Dead Meadow are now more light and drifty than lugubrious and dirgey. Hypnotic as always, but the thudding riffs are taking a back seat to the melodies here, rustic hippy sundappled hazy smoke melodies. And it's a beautiful thing. I mean, don't worry, they've still got their Sleep's Holy Mountain moments but we think their Pink Floyd tendencies are getting the upper hand here. I guess they called it Feathers for a reason. But we're pretty sure that if you liked their last album Shivering King, you'll like this!
"Got Live If You Want It" (or maybe "If Yo Want It", which appears on the spine) is a surprise live release from a band with only two studio albums to their credit. Now, in the past we've given good reviews to Dead Meadow, really liking their retro stoner rock sound, heavy psychedelia derived from Blue Cheer and other past masters, along with tinges of their modern-day indie rock lineage. But we've always made one caveat: the singer's whiny voice simply sucks. One would hope that live, his nasal drone would be helpfully drowned out by the band's massive amp-abuse. But, on this recording at least, such is not the case. However, like their studio albums, much of this is instrumental anyway, and if you're already a fan, you can deal with this -- you either actually like the vocals (good god!) or have learned to tune 'em out (as I did) and will certainly enjoy wallowing in the spacey, jammed-out, lopingly heavy live Dead Meadow live experience as presented here: over 45 minutes (eight tracks total) of well-recorded versions songs from both of Dead Meadow's LPs, plus two we don't recognize (new tunes perhaps), all as performed live in Hoboken in the winter of 2002. Not much more needs to be said. Those new to the band would be better advised to start with either of their two albums on Tolotta: "Dead Meadow" and/or "Howls From The Hills" -- see elsewhere on our website for reviews. Or, wait 'til next year when they're scheduled to release a new album on Matador! (Where they'll fit in well with the likes of Bardo Pond).
Anything recorded at a "mobile mystic gnome studio" has got to be good, right? Well, at least if you're in the mood from some suitably stoned, retro-rocking, Blue Cheer worship from this very heavy and psychedelic Virginia-based band. "Howls From The
Old Growth shows that Dead Meadow have grown oh so very comfortable with their now trademark sound, one that hazily recalls the Black Sabbath/Blue Cheer thud of their early albums, but downplays that sort of heaviness in favor of the mellowed-out, more melodic lighter touch we loved about the dreamy, Floydian-feelin' Feathers, their previous album from 2005.
Maybe they've gotten just a little too comfortable with it, as this new one doesn't push forward too much further, their smoke cloud drifting on to settle over another set of loping, lazy stoner groovage, with whiney vocals mumbled in their usual style. There's a whole lotta psychedelic blues rock guitar, but not so much in the way of heavy riffing. Instead, a lot of this is sorta stripped down, the very first track "Ain't Got Nothing (To Go Wrong)" somehow reminding us of something the White Stripes might do. And it's definitely a "song-oriented" album.
It's probably a 50-50 proposition that fans of Feathers (the album, not the band) will either be well pleased with this or feel sorta blah on it, really depends on how these songs strike you. Some of 'em we really dig. Dead Meadow heads from way back might have been hoping this time for more heaviness, however.
Apparently time-travel is possible, 'cause there's just no way these guys could be of our day and age. With this, their third album and Matador label debut, Maryland thud-psych rockers Dead Meadow take things to an even higher, ahem, level of '60s/'70s inspired stoner delight. It's downer rock that swings like a pair of bellbottoms on a body hanging from a noose but is also certainly warm and enveloping, like a big fuzzy blanket. Heavy riffing with some nice mellow acoustic hippy jams as well. Basically drone-on bliss both ways. Kinda like if Sleep were a krautrock band.
We've said before that our only real problem with this band is the vocals. But on "Shivering King", although they're still super-nasal, they've managed via a combination of effects and mixing to somehow at last make 'em nicely palatable -- they're the high end counterweight to all the bass frequencies over which they drift. Fantastic!
NB. It's a bit weird Dead Meadow's on Matador now, but I guess they fit in with Bardo Pond (who've moved on to a new label, however) and it's not any stranger than the Champs being on Drag City!
Vinyl version is a double LP on 150 gram vinyl.
Some people have issues with live albums. Fair enough, but anyone who has seen Dead Meadow in concert will undoubtedly know that this is where the band truly shines. However, Three Kings is more than just a live record, featuring a couple of studio takes as well, and an accompanying DVD that the band sees as the main attraction here, with the audio portions serving as the soundtrack.
In the time that has passed since Dead Meadow's last live album, a good 8 years or so, they have risen from an obscure indie answer to Sabbath/Free/whatever stoner rock to pretty much one of the more legitimate legacies of those legendary heavies. Considering the generally lukewarm reception to their last studio full length, Old Growth (a shame to say, but...), it's nice to hear Dead Meadow holding things down expertly on stage, and we've been able to reassess some of the songs from OG as they are presented here and we're actually digging them quite a lot. The sound is nice and upfront, a fairly accurate representation of the concert experience, with warm fuzzy guitars, shitloads or wah wah, awesome sustained bass, drumming that's all over the place without sounding too busy for it's own good, and singer Jason Simon's love-it-or-leave it whine. The songs mostly come from the band's Matador catalog, with a few exceptions of earlier tracks. Just listening to all this stuff we were struck with the reality that this band has been around for a long-ass time now, building an awesome legacy for themselves and existing in a realm where most bands won't ever get to before throwing in the towel. Maybe the thing with Old Growth had something to do with them resting easy in their comfort zone after nailing a sound for so many years. But this makes us realize, or at least hope, that that album was just a slight misstep, and we're keeping our fingers crossed that they have plenty of great records still left in them. Honestly, to the Dead Meadow fans at aQ, so many of these songs sound, well, CLASSIC. Adventurous, highly melodic stoner rock that isn't afraid to wander, with some shoegazing grandeur and a heavy blues influence that would not fair well with a lesser band.
Oh, but there's more, and that comes in the form of the DVD. Judging from the cover of Three Kings, you might be inclined to think that maybe the boys in Dead Meadow have stepped off the deep end... but then you realize that this is EXACTLY what should happen! They've been at it since 1998, so we're all in favor of some minds being lost, and the band has pulled a bit of a The Song Remains The Same with some crazy visual renderings. Ambitious? Sure. Ill advised? Perhaps. But it's really something else altogether, a bit ridiculous, but in a good way, and it integrates the music with good results.
The film begins with the ramblings of a crackhead before fading to a shot of the band walking around in druid robes in the desert. Huh? It then cuts to Dead Meadow tearing it up on stage in their adopted hometown of Los Angeles. The professionally shot live footage is actually pretty amazing, showing the band in all their psychedelic glory with some close up shots revealing the nuances that might otherwise be lost within the sheer volume. There's some more desert wandering, which never overstays its welcome before going back to the concert. The vignettes are undoubtedly the results of being really, really high, and they are actually pretty funny at times (we hope that was the intention). I mean, can you really argue with the idea of drummer Stephen McCarty's amazing mustache and long blond locks as he stumbles through a mountain of sand in corduroys and a tank top with a seriously sun blistered face? Or what about Jason Simon chainsmoking and studying books on the paranormal? There's even some ultraviolence when bassist Steve Kille whips out a handgun and blasts the shit out of some dude in front of his chick. You really don't have to pay too close attention to dig what's going on, and whatever the replay value of the DVD might be, it's safe to say that after this many years, Dead Meadow has earned this. Three Kings is ambitious, weird, and a nice reminder of the power of a band that may have been taken for granted in recent years. Two thumbs up.
Another excellent outing from these stoners.
This band's most recent album, Feathers, was one of our favorites of last year so it's nice to get this opportunity to revisit their first record which has been out of print for quite a while, the label (Joe Lally's Tolatta) that released it originally went out of business and the record was sort of lost in limbo. Their stoner-psych-rock prowess can be found here in its full glory connecting the dots between Black Sabbath and Blue Cheer, Bardo Pond and Kyuss. One of Dead Meadow's best attributes is their ability to make records that totally grow on you and seep into your skin listen after listen. This has been hitting the spot for us so much as of late that literally not a day has gone by that this hasn't been blasting out of our speakers here in the store! Such a welcome reissue, and for sure a must-have if you missed it the first time around in 2001, when we said the following about it:
Dead Meadow are a retro stoner psych rock power trio playing fuzzed out space-jams in a heavy and rollicking yet still kinda mellow mode. For fans of Blue Cheer and their fellow Tolatta act Spirit Caravan. They're also reminiscent of a more jammed-out, psychedelic Sleep, but with some gentle touches -- there's even interludes of acoustic guitar indie-pop. This one grew on us! [See!] It's definitely more "out-of-time" than most other stoner rock efforts, harking back not to the arenas of the '70s but to the garages and hippie pads of the late '60s. As such it stands apart from the current legions of Kyuss / Fu Manchu clones. The one weak point, the slightly whiny vocals, hardly matter amid the instrumental majesty of the electric fuzz guitar and bass action that dominates this album!
Xemu should soon be reissuing Dead Meadow's 2nd Tolotta album Howls From The Hills as well, also a must for those working backwards from the band's excellent Matador output.
One of two new releases on Flingco Sound, the other being the new one from outsider black metal horde Wrnlrd, reviewed elsewhere on this list, and this one, a brand new 7" from a group called Dead Meat, who apparently call the Bay Area home, even though this 7" is the first time we'd heard of 'em. But we want to hear more, cuz these guys are SO right up our alley, and yours we'd imagine.
A twisted blend of old school noise rock, hypnotic spaced out psychedelia, gloomy post punk, and old school Midwest Touch & Go style pigfuck heaviness, the guitars crush and churn, the drums pound, the vocals lazy and laid back, drenched in reverb, the songs stretched way out, brooding and hypnotic, sinister and swaggery, exploding into squalls of full on crunch. Imagine maybe Killdozer crossed with Interpol, or Joy Division recording for AmRep, or Drunkdriver jamming with King Snake Roost, or Clockcleaner doing Wipers covers, however you slice it, this stuff RULES. We need more, NOW.
A little blast from our college radio punk rock past. I was 15 years old when this record came out, but I didn't truly appreciate it until I was in college and learned to like music other than heavy metal. Dean Clean, Joe Jack Talcum, Dave Blood, and Rodney
For the devout followers (particularly overseas) of this veteran Oregonian garage punk trio, their ninth album surely needs no introduction. For those less in the Dead Moon know, it's high time you got yerself acquainted. Punk rock grandparents (really!) Fred and Toody Cole along with drummer Andrew Loomis have been tooling out the hard livin' low-slung rawk tunes for well over fifteen years. They've not veered an inch from their straightforward rough-hewn path. Totally unadorned, honest and not always pretty, their sound is real down'n'dirty. These murky lo-lo-fi recordings truly adds to their unstable gritty glory. Dead Moon quite often prove to be an acquired taste, but those who do dig it are positively rabid. Are you?
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
One of three reissues from garage rock legends Dead Moon, part of a comprehensive campaign reissuing ALL of their records on cd, most for the first time EVER. Defiance was originally released in 1990, hot on the heels of their debut In The Graveyard, and the follow up Unknown Passage (both also reviewed on this week's list), and like those two, Defiance is another collection of impossibly catchy, raw garage rocking classics, with Fred and Toody Cole delivering the sort of songs that sound totally timeless, and crafting the sort of sound most contemporary garage rockers are still emulating today. Opening with a public domain blues classic, the band deliver a serious blast of fuzzed out, swaggery, distorted garage blooze that kills. And from there on out, it's just more classic Dead Moon, the buzzy, hypnotic crunch of "Not The Only One", which just oozes pathos, super anguished emotional vocals over dark minor key jangle, some tracks are all twangy and croony, like the dark torch songy "Dagger Moon", and when Toody takes over on vocals, like on "Johnny's Got A Gun", the sound is total sixties girl group radness, but still plenty raw and stripped down, crusty and fuzzy, and the AC/DC comparisons that we never really got before, still apply here, on tracks like "Kicked Out / Kicked In", with Fred's Bon Scott like vox perfectly complimenting the stripped down heavy blues stomp.
We've been playing these three reissues to death, and we're already chomping at the bit for the next three!!!
Dead Moon are one of those bands that seems to be revered and loved by everyone who's ever heard them, but considering how long the band has been around, it's a little hard to believe just how few people that is. SO we're pretty psyched that Sub Pop decided it was time to rectify that. With a massive double disc collection, gathering up all kinds of rare and essential DM tracks.
Dead Moon seem like they've been around forever, and they sort of have. The band formed in 1987, so we're talking almost 20 years. And husband and wife band leaders Fred and Toody were BORN IN 1948!! AND GOT MARRIED IN 1967!! Twenty years before they even started the band that would continue rocking to this day. And they pretty much out-rock any garage rock outfit you can think of. Dead Moon are classic, lo-fi, fuzzed out, stripped down, blues drenched garage rock nirvana. The drums sound like garbage can lids recorded in a cave, the guitars go from scrabbly thick riffing to reverby surf rocky fuzz, to smokey blues moodiness. The songs tend to be super simple, sometimes skeletal, but the band have a serious knack for the hook and they just kick out the motherfucking jams. Fred's got a killer Bon Scott-like growl and Toody has a cool sixties girl group sort of shout, and along with drummer Andrew Loomis every track they whip up is a winner, going from sounding like kick ass classic rock, to fuzzy garage groove, to psychedelic lo-fi blues rock, to some rare lost AC/DC demo, all slathered in Stoogesy swagger and swinging Stones stomp.
Finally, for the first time EVER on cd, the debut from garage rock legends Dead Moon, part of a comprehensive reissue campaign that will find all the classic Dead Moon records reissued. But for now, the first three are ready for digital consumption, housed in fancy digipaks, that belie the grungy, fuzzy, wailing jangle genius within. Fronted by Fred and Toody Cole, the sound of Dead Moon is at once raw and ragged, hooky and catchy, that catchiness due maybe in part to Fred's previous stints in various psych/garage pop combos, including The Lollipop Shoppe, but Dead Moon, while poppy and catchy, are not anything like a proper pop band. Instead, they craft a sort classic garage rock sound, beholden to lots of early rock and roll, but definitely sonically more aligned with groups like AC/DC, the Wipers, Blue Cheer, 13th Floor Elevators - killer riffs, simple drum pound, stripped down and totally rocking, with Fred's super distinctive vocals, keening over the top (which is where much of the AC/DC comes from for sure), with occasional vox from Toody, making for killer harmonies, as well as some lead vocals, like on their cover of "Can't Help Falling In Love", and really, every song here pretty much as tone cold classic. It's not hard to understand why Dead Moon have such a massive cult following, hopefully with these long overdue reissues, that cult will grow and grow.
"2 completely unreleased songs & 2 songs only available on the hard as hell to find 13 Off My Hook European compilation. Altogether 4 killer Dead Moon songs from 1989! Side A features 'Don't Hate Me' & 'Too Many People' -- both quality rock songs. The flip side has the utterly devastatingly beautiful ballad 'I'll Follow You' & the world weary tune 'Claim To Fame'. All not to be missed songs. Picture sleeve with unpublished photos of the band. It's hard to believe these songs did not make the cut for the early Dead Moon LPs."
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Dig it, whatever else is wrong with the world, at least it seems like there's always a Dead Moon reissue popping up, that's some good news. This week we're listing the Pacific NW garage punk legends' 10th (or 12th? we're not good at keeping count) album, circa 2000, newly back in print on vinyl, via Mississippi - and we also just got ANOTHER three Dead Moons, their earliest classics (In The Graveyard, Unknown Passage, and Defiance) at last individually reissued on compact disc thanks to M'Lady's...
Trash & Burn is full of energetic, atmospheric rockers in the Dead Moon tradition, frontman Fred Cole & Co. kicking out the lo-fi jams like they idiosyncratic vets they are - Cole has been at the underground rock n' roll game since the '60s! Lots o' fuzzed guitar, pleading/whining/weirdass vox, driving rhythms, murky swagger, you know the score, it's Dead Moon. You got this one?
The Dead Moon compact disc reissue campaign is upon us, the first three records from these legendary garage rockers now available on cd for the first time EVER, and while most folks are probably well aware of Dead Moon's sonic legacy, there are no doubt legions of potential fans who will be discovering this stuff for the first time, and whose minds will most likely be thoroughly blown!
To us, Dead Moon was always sort of THEE quintessential garage rock bands, Fred and Toody Cole delivering plenty of fuzzy jangle and raw, stumbling lo-fi bash and pound, but we'd always seen people comparing them to AC/DC which for some reason didn't make much sense, but holy shit, opener "Dead Moon Night" is a dead ringer for those Aussies, the opening riff, the stripped down swagger, the ridiculous lyrics, right down to Fred Cole's distinctive Bon Scott like yowl, not to mention a chorus that kills. And the rest of the tracks are just as good, with some of the tracks getting broodier, others channeling classic early rock and roll, like the heartfelt duet "A Miss Of You", with Fred and Toody, crooning together over simple drum pound, and twang flecked jangle. But then it's right back into it, with the classic "54/40 Or Fight", a ragged stumbling garage rock blowout.
This album has another great cover, this time the Chambers Brothers' "Time Has Come Today", which finds Dead Moon almost sounding like a noiser, more ramshackle Creedence Clearwater Revival. So good. We had sorta forgotten how much we love Dead Moon, but these records are just so goddamn great, long time fans will find themselves RE-obsessed, and if you're hearing Dead Moon for the first time, man are you in for a treat!
Dunno about you, but man, we've always loved some sax/drums improv skree. Its just a thing that rules. Going way back to John Coltrane and Rashied Ali out there in Interstellar Space, you know. This Dutch duo are totally in that tradition, but of course (as you might guess from their excellent name) taking it to the extreme, playing essentially "acoustic noise" in freeform shred mode, one of 'em blowing like crazy, the other attacking his kit - not for nothin' that this Utech release was mastered by Jazzkammer's Lasse Marhaug. Also it's perhaps worth noting that one track is named "Yamatsuka Eye". So, yeah, this disc is intense -not unmusical, but intense - with sudden frantic tangles of tenor sax blurt and spasms of percussion slamming into your skull. Pure pleasure in other words, if you dig Peter Brotzmann machine gunning style sax, Zornified jazzcore, and/or the most aggressive Jooklo Duo stuff! Only just about under a half-hour in length, but that's fine, cuz Dead Neanderthals give it their all for the duration, ripping it up here like the sax/drums equivalent of Slayer's Reign In Blood (RIP Jeff Hanneman btw).
From the same label that brought us the bafflingly brilliant WOLD record from a few lists past comes Canadian black metal juggernaut Dead Of Winter, who feature an old AQ fave totally out of his element, digital hard core technician Schizoid. In the past, Schizoid has hinted at his barely under the surface metal obsession by inserting all sorts of buzzing blackened riffs into his hyper distorted techno as well as once covering Burzum. But don't expect any sort of techno black metal hybrid from Dawn Of Winter -- this is full on, grim and frosty, lightning fast, spikes and corpsepaint black metal. A buzzy blurry mix of Darkthrone and Mayhem, furiously fast blast beats under a near drone of insectoid BM riffs and thunderous basslines. You can totally imagine these guys set up on the edge of a massive glacier, knee deep in snow, overlooking a blackened forest, blasting out a sheet of hellish black metal, in front of the swirling shifting northen lights, while lighting bolts rain down from the pitch black sky!
Droning dirge-y sludge records are a dime a dozen at this point. It's still a sound we love, but we're rapidly reaching a saturation point. The punk rock ethos of 'anyone can start a band' combined with the fact that everybody has a cd burner, and the seeming 'ease' of making doomy drone music, just means that now, it requires a whole hell of a lot of digging and sifting thought mounds of mediocre doom and so so sludge, to discover something as fucked up and far out as Dead Peni.
We first hear Dead Peni on a compilation a year or two back and were immediately smitten. The name evoked some sort of blackened take on Rudimentary Peni, but the sound was nothing of the sort, instead Dead Peni trafficked in an expansive sprawling riff based blackened doomdrone, that was anything but static, like a slowed down tarpit space rock, an even doomier murkier Godflesh, or Wolf Eyes with some rhythmic heft. It was hard to get a feel for what DP were capable of just on the basis of the music on the comp, but it was definitely enough to know we needed more.
And -more- has arrived, in the form of this three track, 47 minute, mysteriously monickered slab of blackened crush. 2-4+1 begins all hushed shimmer and deeeeeep low end whir, a sound that could be any cd-r, until some ungodly beastlike growl emerges from the depths and the guitar explodes, super distorted, crumbling and processed, but weirdly muted and warm. A single crash, allowed to ring out, transforming into a charged electronic buzz, streaked with feedback, and underpinned by that monstrous gurgling voice. Finally the drums kick in, a slow motion drum machined doomic plod, and we're gone. Total buzzing black doom industrial noise nirvana, lumbering and druggy, minor key and surprisingly melodic. A bit of Godflesh, a little Gore, some classic old school funereal doom run through a bank of Wolf Eyesian cracked electronics and malfunctioning effects, the weirdest part is the crowd noise, what sounds like the chanting of a rally or demonstration, snippets and samples, wrapped in rippling sheets of feedback, and woven into massive churning waves of crumbling distortion, a cinematic and weirdly dreamlike doom / industrial / noise hybrid. Like the sound of some super fucked up post apocalyptic political rally, tattered flags, burning buildings, a crowd of shapes and figures clad in rags, some mysterious shadow, on a raised parapet, delivering his message in a gurgling rumbling barely audible vocals, almost like goregrind vocals, but buried so low in the mix they end up sounding like another layer of droning rumble. One guitar weaves a soaring almost majestic melody, but still woozy and washed out sounding, while the track lurches glacially onward, the crowd cheering and chanting, the whole thing like some mysterious soundtrack to the end of the world, or at least the end of the world as we know it. But we can't help but willingly submit.
The following track begins with nearly 4 minutes of rain, thunder and lightning, voices, field recordings, laid over an almost imperceptible high end, which gradually grows and grows into a symphony of feedback, tones and overtones tangling and intermingling, creating all sorts of alien melodies, until finally the riff comes in, a super simple caveman dirge sort of riff, locked into a neverending loop, repeating over and over and over like some sort of proto metal mantra, while all the while, the rainfall continues, the random sounds drift in and out, the feedback swirls in little squalls and tangles, the only deviation, being some brief bits of classic doom like melody, before the riff inevitably returns to it's original looping dirge.
The final track begins with an explosion of blown out guitar and buzzing rumble, before drifting off, leaving the staticky detritus over a simple robotic pulse, and a sea of glitch and squiggles, the various elements finally locking into some sort of super abstract doom metal, but one that is hardly doom, or metal, more like some fragmented space drone, peppered with squalls of superdistorted guitar, the occasional clanging crash and crunch, all very muted and muddy, wreathed in a layer of gauzy distortion, voices, dogs barking, all manner of random sounds, and finally, a fierce howled processed demonic voice, wrapped in distorted riffage, and creating a super spare, spaced out sort of doom, where the riffs spend most of the time buzzing and drifting, only to rear up and spit out a bit of fractured melody and harsh hissy pummel, before recoiling again, and resuming its slow burning black drone. It almost sounds like Butthole Surfers ultra-doom, the same sort of effects drenched trippiness, and off kilter dementia, but way blacker, and way more fucked up and frightening.
Any of the three tracks could have been stretched out to album length, and we most certainly would have bought all three, but the three pieces here definitely work together well, as some sort of hellish, demonic, slow motion black doom drone dirge, that plays out almost like some impossible Wolf Eyes / Moss / Arvo Part mash up, if that makes any sense. Which it doesn't, but which is exactly what makes Dead Peni so amazing.
In addition to the 3 audio tracks, there's a fourth track included as a quicktime video, another blown out glacial buzz drenched dirge, this time accompanied by strange abstract visuals, black and white, giving way to green and blue, what seems to be buildings or ruins, but ultimately are so overexposed they just become shapes, the perfect visual representation of Dead Peni's abject black doom.
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Dead Prez fucking rule. Politically, musically. One of the best and seriously right-on groups in hip hop today. West Coast funk swagger, big ass, trunk busting beats, and classic loops, with biting lyrics that spare NO ONE. Another instant classic from a group doomed to stay way underground because of their unwavering politics. No "Hey Ya" for these guys. Fuck yeah!
Slightly puerile aside: You'da thunk they would have noticed that the title Revolutionary But Gangsta (say it aloud) is just a little too close to Revolutionary Butt Gangsta, eh? Especially in a genre rife with homophbia and continuous sexual boasting. Then again, maybe they did it on purpose. In that case, fuck yeah again!
Supposedly a more metal Lynrd Skynrd, Dead Rabbits (what an awesome name!) sound a bit more like a slightly Southern fried Pantera or Superjoint Ritual with a bit more twang. Pretty cool, nonetheless.
Weird-folk musician Smolken is from Poland, lives in Texas (to be closer to Jandek?), and records prolifically under the name Dead Raven Choir. Following up January's "Armoured Wolves", this is his second release on San Francisco's Jewelled Antler cd-r label, who must really love DRC since they usually only draw from their own Collective ranks for releases. According to Jewelled Antler's Glenn Donaldson, this was originally supposed to have been a collaborative project between DRC and Furisubi's Kris Lapke. But before Smolken got his tracks to Kris (or while he was waiting for Kris to complete them, perhaps?) he happened to send 'em to Glenn, who immediately persuaded Smolken to release them on Jewelled Antler just as they were, without any additions. The resultant spaciousness of the songs (a direction DRC was heading in anyway) really works well, and in the liner notes these silences are dedicated to Kris Lapke, so Glenn's story holds up. Harsh acoustic guitar strum, tangled melodic picking, droning strings, tape hiss, sudden voids of sound, and Smolken's dark, dramatic, accented vocals (lyrics this time all taken from Rainer Maria Rilke) -- it all makes for a stark and beautiful listen, the sparseness making every sound all the more portentious. It's (old-)country avant garde poetic stuff with a spooky black metal spirit, perfect for the campfires of your imagination. Smoken's voice is sometimes multitracked, spoken, whispering, and not quite as "difficult" as on some past releases, but every bit as eerie. Very nice.
MPEG Download: "Comforting Of Elijah" [/audio/deadravencomforting.mp3]
MPEG Stream: "Comforting Of Elijah" [/audio/deadravencomforting.m3u]
Dead Raven Choir centers on the person known as Smolken (a native of Poland, temporarily residing in Texas). Smolken contributed a track to the recent "Heat & Birds" compilation on San Francisco's Jewelled Antler cd-r label, and now this DRC cd-r becomes the first thing released by JA not to feature musicians from their Thuja/Blithe Sons/Child Readers/Franciscan Hobbies/Skygreen Leopards/etc. collective. So what got the Jewelled Antlers all so gosh-darn interested in DRC? This disc provides the reason: DRC specializes in a warped, weird old-timey folk music -- all sparsely strummed guitar, with dark cello drones, atonal piano, and spooky organ faintly heard in the background, over which Smolken sings, in a rather unique style. It's bizarre outsider folk made by a black metal fan. Imagine the dead bones of a rustic farmer, propped up on his back porch with a broken-down guitar, possessed by a spirit or vampire from the Old Country. This animated corpse is made to strum the guitar, and to sing and whisper in an oddly dramatic, Polish accented voice, in this case declaiming lyrics from the poems of Hilaire Belloc and Rainer Maria Rilke!! Eerily quiet (mostly, but for some violent outbursts), and very dark and disturbing, the strange Eastern European theatricality of Smolken's singing and his abstract, alienated string pluck creates a negative, but fascinating, psychological atmosphere. It reminds us a bit of Japanese avant-garde folk troubadour Kan Mikami, or the mysterious Jandek...but creepier.
