AQ pal, experimental musician, yoga instructor and Root Strata label head, Jefre Cantu, was so in love with this record that he nearly insisted that he review it for our list. Being the overly busy beavers that we are, we were more than happy to oblige. Take it away, Jef.....
I have to admit it, I'm a late bloomer when it comes to the work of Arthur Russell. My ears didn't exactly perk up when I first heard his re-released early disco recordings a few years back (which says more about my taste for the genre at that time than his take on it). But when a good friend of mine passed along the collection of airy rock/jazz/classical mutant instrumentals that are collected on First Thought, Best Thought I was floored. And hooked. It proved to be the perfect entry point for me into Russell's storied body of work, and lead me on a path to other equally addictive outings such as his hallucinatory World Of Echo, and the weird electronic funk of Calling Out of Context. And now, thanks in no small part to Russell's long time lover Tom Lee, we have Love Is Overtaking Me' a lovely set of folksy pop songs culled from (literally) hundreds of cassette and reel to reel tapes that span his carrier from the early '70s to the year before his untimely death in 1992. I'm happy to say it's a real pleasure to listen to, as this collection highlights a side of Russell's work that's hardly been hinted at before. Tunes like the opening "Close My Eyes" or "Maybe She" are arresting to hear if for no other reason than how bare Russell sounds, his mellow croon laid blank against an acoustic strum. The opening passage on "Goodby Old Paint", a cover of a cowboy standard, may just be one of the most gorgeous things he's done, only disappointing in its brevity. It's the kind of thing I could listen to over and over for an entire Sunday morning. Joined with a full band for most of the disc, tracks like "I Couldn't Say It To Your Face", "Hey! How Does Everybody Know" and "The Letter" are sunny summer day pop songs, cast in lyrics about love, dogs, dads and full moons. Each one's a perfect bit of headphone candy, layered with hooks that may go unnoticed on the first, or even second listens, but ultimately stick to the sides of the brain for days on end. It's really staggering to think that the 21 tracks here have never been heard by the public before, and just as staggering to consider what could have become of Arthur Russell had he lived till now. Finally, the disc winds down with the heartbreaking romantic downer�"Love is Back", where he softly sings over a spare constellation of keyboards & electronic beats "Being sad is not a crime...."
Yesss! Everyone knows we love pretty much all sides of the late Arthur Russell. But as much as we love his avant composer and country pop tangents, we always keep coming back to his left-field disco productions of the late seventies/early eighties which is what introduced him to us in the first place. On this excellent compilation, we get 10 mixes from Russell's legendary Sleeping Bag Record imprint, and luckily it's not all a rehash of what's been featured on other Arthur Russell compilations. Using lots of different monikers, we get cuts from Bonzo Goes To Washington (Featuring Bootsy Collins), Felix, Dinosaur L, Indian Ocean, Sounds of JHS 126, and Clandestine (w/ Ned Sublette). With a penchant for odd sounds, strange vocal inflections, and long late-night dancefloor stability, Russell imbued his mixes with off kilter breaks and enough subtle rhythmic details that keep you invested in the groove without them ever becoming monotonous. Highlights include the Ronald Reagan cut up fuckery of Bonzo goes to Washington and the underwater hip-hop of Sounds of JHS 126's "Chill Pill" with its slightly staggered hard panned dual vocals creating a kind of Terry Riley "You're No Good" effect. But the star track is Walter Gibbon's 12 minute plus mix of Dinosaur L's "Go Bang!". We were a bit wary when we saw this wasn't the Francois Kevorkian mix, because in our minds that track is just about untouchable, it's so damn awesome. But Gibbons breaks down the original slowly stripping it to its essence and making a whole new song out of it that isn't so much mutant disco as it is early house. Yet he still manages to keep its oddities in tact: the shrill organ drones that last a little too long, the changes every 24 measures, Lola Blank's flat delivery (here cut up and reformed into new shapes). So awesome and Soooo Recommended!!!!!!
A lot of people have been dying to hear this stuff for a long time now. As the legend and legacy of NYC dance music pioneer Arthur Russell grows, so has the demand for his out of print wax. Now the Soul Jazz label comes to the rescue as they so often do, with this collection of Russell produced and/or penned cuts. (And, happily more A.R. just got released by another label, the Calling Out Of Context collection on Audika, soon to be reviewed by us as well).
We won't go into the whole story of Arthur Russell here, but a brief introduction is in order. Russell started off as a high brow musician, a cellist, with training in Eastern modes as well as the classical music of the West. But after moving to New York in the late '70s he became involved in downtown NYC's vibrant underground dance culture, producing 12" disco tracks for others (like Loose Joints) and himself (under the guise of Dinosaur L as well as his own name). His productions are light, minimalist examples of disco funk, not quite yet house or garage but its own early, original, and influential sound. You won't hear a lot of cello on these tracks -- just a little at the start of Arthur's "Keeping Up" for instance -- but you will hear what we can only describe as an angelic sort of dub disco, in perfectly blissful extended mixes, certainly clubby and campy as well (the disco diva vocals date this for sure). Sadly Russell died of AIDS in '92, but he's not forgotten. If you've heard and loved his cuts on those Disco Not Disco comps or Soul Jazz's more recent New York Noise collection, you probably want this!
Finally reissued on vinyl!!
Twenty-two years after his death, the music of Arthur Russell is more alive than ever. Mostly known as a left-field disco producer and classically trained cellist, Russell was also an accomplished avant-garde composer, as evidenced here. Listed by us recently on limited cassette, and once reissued on cd in 2006 as part of the Audika collection First Thought Best Thought that documented his orchestral work with luminaries of the New York Downtown Scene (Rhys Chatham, Jon Gibson and Peter Gordon) following his stint as musical director at The Kitchen in New York, Tower Of Meaning was originally released on Philip Glass's new music label, Chatham Square in 1983.
A suite of seven movements performed by an ensemble of horn players and conducted by Julius Eastman (whom like Russell, was a gay modern classical iconoclast), Tower Of Meaning has a slow epic funereal vibe reminiscent of Gavin Bryars' The Sinking of The Titanic, or indeed like a Philip Glass piece in slow motion. While not quite as emotionally devastating as the Bryars piece, the horns in Tower Of Meaning play out long plaintive tones simultaneously resulting in unusual intonations and harmonics as the tones overlap creating modalities of clustering chords that aurally seem to both march forward and float upward without ever quite resolving itself, the "meaning" in the title forever remaining elusive and out of reach.
The Bryars connection is a bit ironic however, because Tower Of Meaning was originally intended as incidental music to accompany a staging of Robert Wilson's Medea, but creative squabbling between the two forced Russell out and Gavin Bryars took over the project. The resultant recording is only a fraction of Russell's score which included voices and other instrumentation as well. Embittered by the experience, it was sadly Russell's final orchestral effort.
Twenty-two years after his death, the music of Arthur Russell is more alive than ever. In fact in addition to this tape, and the Love Is Overtaking Me repress also listed this week, we have the new Red Hot + Arthur Russell Master Mix tribute lp in stock, just ask! Mostly known as a left-field disco producer and classically trained cellist, Russell was also an accomplished avant-garde composer, as evidenced here. Once reissued on cd in 2006 as part of the Audika collection First Thought Best Thought that documented his orchestral work with luminaries of the New York Downtown Scene (Rhys Chatham, Jon Gibson and Peter Gordon) following his stint as musical director at The Kitchen in New York, Tower of Meaning was originally released on Philip Glass's new music label, Chatham Square in 1983.
A suite of 7 movements performed by an ensemble of horn players and conducted by Julius Eastman, Tower of Meaning has a slow epic funereal vibe reminiscent of Gavin Bryar's The Sinking of The Titanic, or indeed like a Philip Glass piece in slow motion. While not quite as emotionally devastating as the Bryars piece, the horns in Tower of Meaning play out long plaintive tones simultaneously resulting in unusual intonations and harmonics as the tones overlap creating modalities of clustering chords that aurally seem to both march forward and float upward without ever quite resolving itself, the "meaning" in the title forever remaining elusive and out of reach.
The Bryars connection is a bit ironic however, because Towers of Meaning was originally intended as incidental music to accompany a staging of Robert Wilson's Medea, but creative squabbling between the two forced Russell out and Gavin Bryar's took over the project. The resultant recording is only a fraction of Russell's score which included voices and other instrumentation as well. Embittered by the experience, it was Russell's final orchestral effort. Limited to 100 copies.
Having recently listed the highly popular Love Is Overtaking Me, we thought we'd bring in the other side of the Arthur Russell sound, World of Echo, a magical record he released towards the end of his life. We surprised ourselves realizing we never listed it previously, so it's time to do it some justice.
While Love Is Overtaking Me introduced a previously unheard side to Arthur Russell fans, it also brought in a new audience perhaps less in tune with Russell's more high-minded musical pursuits. World of Echo is a perfect in-between place for fans and new-comers. Released in 1987, World of Echo concentrates on Russell's use of the cello, percussion and voice filtered through a bank of effects. There is a minimalist oceanic dub vibe that weaves through these highly personal songs that are affecting, not so much by what he is singing but how. Soft and low, his voice quavers over spare echoing instrumentation that bends towards the beautifully abstract. Like floating in calm oceans towards the void of the sun, melting into its warmth, this is a record that influenced a generation of music makers (Grizzly Bear, Coconut, Final Fantasy, Juana Molina, Animal Collective / Panda Bear, Hanne Hukkelberg, etc) and continues to beguile us. Highly recommended!
Ultra limited collection of tape works from the last ten years, composed and performed by Mr. Dead C himself, Bruce Russell!
Five lengthy tracks, all super dense and heavily layered, some noisier than others, but all reflecting the sonic sensibilities of one of the men responsible for some of the most moving noise rock of the last 20 years. But don't be expecting any sort of Dead C action, although some of the sounds and arrangements sure could have found their way into some wild Dead C mash up. Instead, these tracks are serious experiments with sound, but surprisingly listenable ones.
Strange cricket like trills over stuttering distorted grit, to shimmering high end glimmers draped over helicopter like chugs, bits of vocals slightly processed, some clattery room noise (which does in fact sound a bit like some Dead C outtake), murky expanses of moaning creaking ambience, reverb drenched samples scattered throughout, massive low end reverberations wrapped in glistening streaks of distant skree, squalls of shortwave interference, ear piercing electronic squiggles, scribbled guitar lines all tangled up into messy splatters, looped tones and strange hiccuping rhythms, angular guitar fragments, mechanical squeaks and fuzzed out tape hiss, crumbling bits of crackle and whir slowly modulating and emitting random chunks of muted rhythm and more more more...
A gorgeously expansive sonic exploration, equal parts tranquil drone, blown out free noise, and all stops in between.
SUPER LIMITED!! Packaged in hand assembled digipacks, with full color photos affixed to the front and the inside, with extensive liner notes and in depth notes on the genesis and realization of each track.
New Zealand noise-guru Bruce Russell has taken some time away from his busy schedule running the Corpus Hermeticum megacorporation and recording with The Dead C and A Handful of Dust to release this solo recording. "Maximalist Mantra Music" perfectly describes the improvized clatter and guitar feedback wrestled into a hypnotic drone. So we'll just leave it at that, well, except to say this this is one of Andee's current drone faves.
Dead C main man Bruce Russell's latest solo record is a gorgeous slab of gurgling textures and humming buzzing drones. Built from a seven meter pre-recorded tape loop and slowed down thumb piano, these two lengthy pieces build from rich, soothing foghorn like tones into shimmering washes of high end feedback and rumbling clatter. Really, really beautiful and much less abrasive than a lot of Russell's work.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
British jazz guitarist Ray Russell has been having a renaissance of sorts, first with two albums early '70s albums reissued on import, now with this domestic double cd on Jim O'Rourke's Moikai label. Known for his guitar freakout on the Dr. No soundtrack album (?!), Russell has had a fairly low-profile career, but can count among his fans the likes of O'Rourke, Henry Kaiser, Rudolph Grey, and Alan Licht. The latter contributes very personal liner notes in which he compares Russell to Masayuki Takayanagi, Sonny Sharrock, Jimi Hendrix, and John McLaughlin, concluding that Russell is, for him, the ultimate free jazz/psychedelic rock fusion guitarist. Licht: "Heavy metal guitar heroes are getting harder and harder to find (after all, you don't see Brad Gillis on too many magazine covers these days), and free jazz can be a bore after awhile. This CD restores my faith in both."
Russell's band was definitely a jazz group, with sax, trumpet, piano, etc. appearing on most cuts, but with Russell's solid body guitar skree taking things into the realms of rock, psych, and beyond. Gorgeous stuff. This collection includes both live and studio versions of Russell's most killer composition, "Stained Angel Morning". Thanks, Jim, for making this stuff available!!
Latest blast of epic sprawling instrumental heaviness from this Chicago power trio, and with every record these guys just continue to get better and better, heavier and heavier, and their songwriting too, so much more intricate and nuanced with every record, which is pretty important, especially when your band is instrumental, considering the biggest problem with most instrumental bands is that you find yourself wondering when the vocals are finally gonna come in. But with Russian Circles, it doesn't sound like anything's missing, in fact, vocals would just get in the way at this point, these guys deftly weave dense metallic soundscapes that weave brooding slow building post rock to churning mathy metal, and they don't shy away from serious experimentation, whether that means stretching out sounds into spacey psychedelic drones, are mashing everything together into dense proggy blowouts, or even dipping their toes into some almost grooviness, but even those groovier moments typically splinter into something much heavier and mathier, slipping from chugging churn, to glistening soundtracky moodiness (like a more metal Majeure at moments), to full bore metallic crush, to almost krauty hypnorock, to crushing lumbering doom, to gorgeous almost shoegazey buzz, these guys don't miss a beat, effortlessly cramming all those disparate sounds into a single record, hell, into a single song. While we happen to be particularly partial to instrumental music, especially of the heavier variety, and even though there's no shortage of bands doing this sort of stuff, there are definitely few who do it this well, and who manage to craft a sound that is pretty uniquely their own.
Fans of all things instrumental and/or heavy and/or hypnotic a la Mogwai, Godspeed, Explosions In The Sky, Pelican, Circle, Magyar Posse, Salvatore, etc, these guys should already be in your pantheon. And metalheads who are up for some serious heaviness that's maybe slightly more hypnotic than heavy, would do well to check these guys out...
We've never actually reviewed a record by these guys for some reason, but at least some of us here have been fans for a while. Listening to this now, all we can think is that we don't remember these guys being so heavy. Or so metal. But for math rock / post rock, this is some seriously brutal and fierce stuff. It's definitely melodic and mathy, the band definitely finding inspiration in Mogwai, Godspeed, Explosions In The Sky, Pelican, Jesu, but rather than aping those groups, Russian Circles definitely make that sound their own. And one of the ways they do that is by making it HEAVY. They spend a good amount of the record chugging ominously, or locked into some epic riffing, the drums pounding, the bass an incredible grinding crunchy low end, the songs often following the sort of post rock template of slow build to explosive chorus, but just as often not, sometimes locking into long contemplative drifts, other times pounding away relentlessly on a single riff, and still other times exploding into a full on frenzied psych metal blow out.
In the time it took to write the above paragraph, two people came over to see what was playing, and when they were told it was Russian Circles, both responded by saying they didn't remember Russian Circles being so metal. Which is not a bad thing at all really, in fact, they've kind of out-Pelican-ed Pelican, the same sort of general sound, but RS are now the heavier of the two. But they still get pretty post rock and pretty, "Hexed All" is a gorgeous super mellow string laden meander, "When The Mountain Comes To Muhammad" spends much of it's time slithering and brooding all Slint style, and record closer "Philos" is a long sprawling post metal drift, spending much of its time hushed and abstract, and building briefly, but never to a full on metallic climax, but in between all this prettiness is "Malko" is a sort sharp blast of melodic heaviness, and even some of the pretty tracks are peppered with bits of crunch and pound.
Regardless of whether you think this is metallic post rock, or post metal, or if you even care, this is some seriously good shit, and anyone into ANY of the above mentioned bands, who might be looking for some melodic heaviness, should for sure check this out.
What would you think if someone described a band to you, as sounding like a mix of Butthole Surfers, Black Flag, the Brainbombs and black metal? Want if they went on to describe the band's sound in more detail, and they came up with something like "thick oozing ultra distorted, totally chaotic, drone drenched, drugged out, noisy as fuck, weirdly hypnotic, punishing and pulverizing, scuzz drenched doomic plod"? Well your first thought, if you were anything like us, would be "could such a band actually exist?" It does sound too good to be true. Your next thought might be "well okay, if a band like that did exist, not only would they be scary as shit, they'd also probably be my favorite band EVER."
Thus we have Rusted Shut. Going on 20 years now, these Texan noisemakers have somehow only managed two proper records and a single or two, each one of those jammed to overflowing with the abovementioned thick oozing ultra distorted, totally chaotic, pulverizing scuzz drenched plod. When we reviewed their Hot Sex ep, we alluded to the fact that if said ep wasn't an ep, wasn't vinyl only, wasn't over a decade old, and wasn't WAY too fucked up for most normal ears, it would have not only been out Record Of The Week, but our Record Of The YEAR. Of our EVER! Well, it's as if whatever God enjoys inflicting sonic torture on his children heard our prayers and conjured up this festering bit of blackened noise punk brilliance from whatever pit these guys call home.
It's rare that a band 20+ years old makes a record on the tail end of 20 years even half as good as the record that started it all, but we're tempted to say, this just might be the heaviest, freakiest, most brutally brilliant thing we've heard from these guys so far. Which is indeed saying a whole hell of a lot.
The opener "Home", is 5 minutes of blown out punk-drone, the guitars unwinding in thick gnarled tangles, moaning and rumbling and howling, a dense undulating layered swell of roiling sonic filth, fragmented riffs, squiggly downtuned Greg Ginn-ish guitar scrabble, the drums skittery and abstract clouds of cymbal sizzle, bursts of free rock splatter, while over the top, some sort of harsh, whiskey soaked punk rock testifying, spouting all sorts of misanthropic misinformation, like a post punk noise rock gutter scum Whitehouse. The music grows more and more frantic, faster, more freaked out, the various streaks of sound coalescing into riffs, that blur into still more smears of sound, the song an exercise in droned out filth caked tension.
Then there's "Heart Of Hell", total old school punk rock, but filtered through a sort of washed out lo-fi Brainbombs dirginess, the main riff, total classic punk rock, but locked and looped, and played over and over and over and over, totally trancelike, the vocals just as sneeringly scowly as on the first track, but once they drop out, the song locks into a total droned out punked up krautrock groove, that sounds a bit like Circle covering the Brainbombs, albeit doused in crumbling distortion and blurred reverb and delay.
Then comes "Intellect", 15 minutes of total blown out garage dirge bliss, the sound so in the red, that every time a cymbal hits, it swallows up the rest of the sound, the vocals so loud it sounds like the singer grabbed you by the head and locked his lips around your ears, you can feel his hot hellish breath and the spray of spittle. But all the while the music underneath, grows more and more distorted and somehow more and more hypnotic, so damaged and fractured that it sounds like the song might crumble into pieces at any moment. But that's just the first few minutes. Soon the band switch gear and the bass EXPLODES, like suddenly while the band was playing, the bass player went out to his truck and got 3 or 4 more amps and just let fucking loose, low end overload, everything acid drenched and psychedelic, the sound of speakers frying, of headphones melting, the vocals garbled like speaking in tongues, the bass unleashing a sludgey doomy groove, the song an endless noise rock blown out druggy musical brawl that makes the Butthole Surfers at their fiercest sound practically tame.
This song more than anything here reminds us of our first live run in with these weirdos. At SXSW this year, they played an instore, everyone was waiting to see the Mayyors, but Rusted Shut were just destroying the place, super noisy and scuzzy and awesome, and they just NEVER STOPPED PLAYING. The homeless-looking singer/guitarist guy kept getting shocked by the mic, so eventually he simply walked outside, after leaning his guitar up against his amp... some punk dude in the audience then picked up the mic, and freestyled some "I hate SXSW" lyrics... when he was done and threw the mic down, it seemed like the drummer and bassist would wrap it up, but instead they kept on jamming... and jamming... and jamming� then the guitarist came back in after being outside for what felt like (and pretty much WAS) ages, picked up his guitar, and then it seemed like, OK, this must be the grande finale... but that was only the beginning!! They literally kept on playing for another half hour at least. After a while, most of the crowd had gone outside to wait for the Mayyors, driven away by the bands wall of harsh vibes and skull stomping crush, and someone even joked that they should shut the doors of the shop and lock Rusted Shut inside...
These guys are lifers, they're insane, a total mess, which is the only way a piece of glorious sonic filth like this could ever happen. This is not music made by nice guys slumming it, by punk rockers getting their hands dirty, no, this is the sound of old guys pissed and insane, hell bent on punishing the rest of the world, a furious plod and pound fueled by hate, and misery, and drugs. Lots and lots and LOTS of drugs. And that instore, for all of it's confusional chaos, is pretty much the exact same vibe captured here. That is what this band is all about. About relentless endless riffing, hypnotic crustpunk dirges, wild damaged Neanderthal noise rock. The sick sick energy of Rusted Shut is an anomaly. This is not music, this is the sound these guys conjure up from their dead souls and black hearts, a fucked up noise drenched hardcore psychedelic space sludge whathtefuck that's just about the greatest thing we've ever heard.
Another filthy, fucked up slab of crusty chaotic blown out whatthefuck noise rock, from the same black bottomless pit that produced the Rusted Shut full length we went nuts for a while back. These Texan freaks kick up a wicked din, equal parts Butthole Surfers, Brainbombs and buzzy black metal. BUT, they take those pieces, chop em all up, dip 'em in liquid LSD, roll 'em in hash, light them on fire, then have the guys in Faxed Head record them onto a wax cylinder. They then relearn the songs, record them in a big metal shed, with broken mics and a busted up 4-track with all the levels stuck at 10. At least that's what it sounds like.
These guys should have been as big as their Texan noise rock brethren, Buttholes, Scratch Acid, Stickmen With Rayguns, but even in such drug addled freaked out company, these guys still managed to sound fucked up.
These 4 tracks were recorded in 1997, supposedly during the same sessions that produced the full length, but somehow these track sound even more far out and freaky than the record. Sheets of atonal organ and SUPER distorted vox over stuttery skipping rhythms and tons of hiss and distortion, that eventually slips into an organ drenched Brainbombs-y groove, throbbing bass, buried drums, and organ and vocals so loud, that every time they come in, the rest of the tracks almost disappear completely. Slowed down voices, rumbling downtuned guitars, a definite and distinct Buttholes vibe.
The flipside is a bit more atmospheric, the first track sounding like Goblin gone fucked up fuzz rock, all haunting and creepy and sort of ambient, but still roiling and noisy and harsh. That gives way to a pounding closer, big distorted drums, throbbing bass, all muted and muddy so it sounds like it's coming from the car behind you stopped at the light. How they make this racket is beyond us, it's inhuman, so heavy and noisy and drugged out. The instrumentation might be a clue, featuring "godstrike", "earthscreamer" and of course "dums" not drums.
At first we didn't know quite what to make of this, but repeated listens, have almost convinced us that if this were not just an ep, not vinyl only, over a decade old, and not WAY too fucked up for most ears, it just might be our record of the year. Still might be, but be warned, this is some seriously UNeasy listening.
Eye popping full color cover, nice cardstock insert, and pressed on nice thick vinyl.
Only in Texas. Any state that can produce the Butthole Surfers, Stickmen With Rayguns, Scratch Acid, and of course George W. Bush, must have something weird going on. The heat? The drugs? Whatever it is, we wouldn't trade it for the world (well except maybe for the Bush part). How Rusted Shut managed to remain so obscure is a mystery for the ages. The horrible grinding noise these guys can muster up out of a plain old rock band is mind boggling. It's downright harrowing listening to this disc. They've been around since 1986 (and part of this disc was released as a cd-r in 2003), but this is their first official release. A massive, pulverizing crush of simple, plodding, gritty, grimy, filthy, scuzzy, dirge-y sludge that is just obscenely heavy and the grinding buzz that permeates and suffocates every second of this disc has to be THE most distorted guitar sound ever. Sounds like the riffs are crumbling to jagged little pieces the second they emerge from the speakers, a Marshall stack and a suitcase full of distortion pedals run through a meat grinder and then flung at you like white hot shards of jagged metal. Like the sickest most doped up, deliriously deviant noise punk free-rock outfit, but all wrapped up in a fuzzy, sick black cloak of grim black metal buzz. Sometimes this sounds like the Buttholes meets the Brainbombs, sometimes like Celtic Frost meets Today Is The Day fronted by Cronos from Venom, sometimes like the Lightning Bolt dipped in hot tar with a heavy metal Captain Beefheart on vocals. So whether Rusted Shut sound to you like black metal, or dirge punk, or sludgecore, or all out noise, pretty sure after getting an earful of this you won't be able to hear much of anything else. At least until the ringing stops and the bleeding lets up a little.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Another excellent reissue of the work of French experimental / pop musician Thierry Müller (who we know from the reissues of his pre-Ruth albums under the Ilitch moniker, one of which we recently reviewed). Fast becoming a unanimous staff favorite, Ruth's
Remastered with three lengthy bonus cuts from 1982 and 1984 that teeter on more experimental ground, like Müller's celebrated work as Ilitch, which was more of a dark, droney, experimental prog guitar / synth project.
From the same label that brought is the amazing Starfuckers collection Ordine, and the My Violent Ego ep collection of blissed out shoegaze, comes this strange collection of home recorded 4 track artpunk gloompop noiserock from Paolo Miceli, a one time member of abovementioned shoegazers My Violent Ego, but as the title of this collection makes clear, this stuff was recorded back when he was 21 (circa 1998-2000), channeling the spirit of, as the label suggests, "Distorted Pony, My Bloody Valentine, Sonic Youth, Christian Death, Unsane and The Cure", which is indeed a motley lot, but does definitely hint at the nineties vibe and twenty something sonic angst on display here. More modern references would most definitely be Total Control, Night Control, Pink Noise, and if RVK were around today, there's a good chance they'd end up on Sacred Bones or Captured Tracks.
The guitars are buzzy and blurry, chugging and churning, sometime warm and washed out, other times super sharp and jagged, the basslines are woozy and wandery, a definitely gloomy Joy Division vibe, the drum machine is buried way down in the mix, more a pulse and pound than a proper rhythm, and the vocals, they're pretty down in the mix as well, a sort of nineties sad boy croon, the songs themselves, slipping easily from crunchy propulsive rockers to more midtempo almost dirges, the production gloriously blown out and in the red, the first few tracks are ultra lo-fi and murky, but somewhere around track 5, something happens, and the guitars get HUGE, the sound is essentially the same, a sort of shoegazey post punk gloom rock, but the guitars are thick slashes of fuzz and buzz, almost Dinosaur Jr style, but more minor key and blurry.
The record drifts all over the place, occasionally slipping into drugged out slo-mo psychedelic drift, or locking into some seriously propulsive chugging hypnorock, or some epic metallic guitarscapery, or even some murky buzzy tangled guitar dirge. But as the record progresses, chronologically we're guessing, the sound seems to shift from angry punky gothy to something more blissed out and poppy, maybe foreshadowing his eventual tenure in My Violent Ego, and as the sound gets glossier, his home studio skills improve markedly, so alongside these hazy dream pop jams, are plenty of twisted sonic experiments, drones and drifts and glimmery guitarscapes, this fuzzy blissed out second half perfectly balancing the low slung dirgey gloomy first half.
30 songs in 58 minutes, a collection of fleeting super short brief blasts of gloomy fuzzpop shoegaze postpunk noiserock, and within all these bursts of buzz and jangle and crunch, lurk plenty of hooks, and loads of melody, RVK displaying a surprisingly sweet pop sensibility, that informs even the least poppy jams here.
Killer stuff, and totally recommended for anyone into loner psych, bedroom post punk or fuzz drenched shoegaze gloom pop...
LIMITED TO 300 COPIES!!
In the 70s, Robert Rutman began tinkering around with steel stringed instruments and founded the Steel Cello Ensemble, which specialized in lengthy sonorous drones not far from the bowed metal work of Organum or the delicate sound sculptures of Harry Bertoia. "Zuuhh!! Muttie Mum!!" is a collection of 1998 recordings that featured Rutman, Rudi Mose (of Einsturzende Neubauten and Die Haut), Matthias Bauer, and Carsten Tiedemann. Rutman's steel instruments have a surprising dynamism that can achieve spindly gossamer textures as well as earth moving bass resonances. Excellent stuff.
Here's one that may appeal to those interested in the recent post punk reissues such as The Pop Group, A Certain Ratio, the In The Beginning compilation, etc. From the same label that put out the 'Select Cuts From Blood & Fire' compilations comes a reissue of London's Ruts DC. Originally known as Ruts, the group added the additional initials after losing their front man Malcolm Owen to a heroin overdose. The remaining members of the group restructured their sound, modelling it much closer to the reggae and dub that had informed their rock foundation. After the unsuccessful 1981 release 'Animal Now', the group hooked up with Mad Professor at his newly constructed Ariwa Studio the following year and hammered out the 8 tracks for 'Rhythm Collision'. Although they couldn't claim to be the first of the "second wave" of punk groups to cite dub as an influence, they certainly took reggae music to heart and the overall sound of 'Rhythm Collision' is perhaps the most identifiably "reggae" of any to come out of the London scene. Combined with Mad Professor's technical wizardry the album was impressive in its ability to absorb the aesthetics of dub while avoiding being merely Jamaican imitators. Depending on one's prior familiarity with the album the indelible eighties production stamp on these tracks can be an obstacle, as can the occasional harmonica solos and cheesy vocals. But thank the heavens their bassist avoids the funky / slap bass urge on all but one track. It's really not as bad as all that, sounding at times a lot like what Tones On Tail did years later. As a bonus to the original tracks from 'Rhythm Collision' are five bonus remixes courtesy of Mad Professor. AND, on top of the original album and the Mad Professor remixes, there's an additional disc of remixes by Zion Train which were executed at Ariwa in 1998 on Mad Professor's now antique, or classic, gear.
Thankfully, the original version of Walter Ruttmann's "Weekend" is presented here in its entirety, or else there would be relatively little context for the remixes from DJ Spooky, Mick Harris, Ernst Horn, John Oswald, To Rococo Rot, and Klaus Buhlert. "Weekend" was released a few years back on musique concrete label Metamkine's "Cinema For The Ear" series (which also included work from Luc Ferrari, Ralf Wehowski, Bernhard Gunter). Ruttmann's fractured cut 'n' paste collage of street sounds, rhythmic tappings, musical scales, and political speeches were years ahead of the musique concrete techniques of Pierre Schaeffer/Pierre Henry. Composed on an optical sound film using the so-called tri-ergon technique, "Weekend" was presented as a radically innovative radio piece, but was only broadcast once. This definitely remains one of those historical artifacts that is still fascinating to listen to.
And with the exception of the Mick Harris remix (which illogically includes his usual drum machine plod), the remainder of the disc presents some downright decent reinterpretations of the Ruttmann piece.
Two brothers from Humboldt County are RV Paintings - one is Brian Pyle, whose name should probably strike a chord as one of the principals in Starving Weirdos and recently has been generating some impressive work under his solo Ensemble Economique moniker; the other is Jon Pyle, who occasionally makes a guest appearance in the Weirdos but also operates in Nudge with Honey Owens, Paul Dickow, and Brian Foote. For all of the method acting from the brothers Pyle in getting stoned and jamming, they have been remarkably consistent and consistently good in all of their ruminations, with RV Paintings probably the best that they've mustered. The RV Paintings debut on Root Strata is three years out but is still a timeless, gorgeous dronesmear of bowed metals and elongated guitar; this was followed by a well-suited split with Taiga Remains on Blackest Rainbow, and now, they've got this stunner on Helen Scarsdale.
RV Paintings speak about, to, and from their own immediate surroundings: the moss, mushrooms, and mycelium of the awe-inspiring redwood forests, the heavy fog that hangs at the coast and from their bongs, and the weightiness of the Pacific Ocean just off to the west. The title Samoa Highway gives the impression that the two brothers were on their own trip during a cold, wintery day, gazing off to the southwest and pondering the warmer climate of American Samoa. But no, the Samoa Highway is located in Humboldt County, connecting Eureka with the small community of Samoa on the other side of the bay which was thought to resemble that of Pago Pago in the mid-19th Century. It's also the bridge that would get you to the Arcata/Eureka Airport.
So, the album begins with field recordings of airplanes lifting off on the jawdropping track "Millions," as sitar-like harmonics and ghostly, levitating drones emanate from the distance. It's a perfectly narcotized smear of echo and drift, hanging in space as the remnants of a particularly lucid dream or the foggy headspace from an afternoon of smoking pot and staring at the sun. This is a track that could spiral onward forever. So nice! Samoa Highway continues with "Mirrors" driven by melancholy looped melody from a cello that dissolves into a flurry of shimmered guitar fuzz, whose shoegazed mantra has been submerged under centuries of felled trees and lichens. Cyclical patterns of samples from dark yet pastoral orchestral passages rounds out the album. If it weren't for the delicate freeform clamor of the drumkit, tracks such as this wouldn't be that far removed from the 'pop ambient' cuts by Gas. Citations of Taj Mahal Travellers, Organum, Grouper, Barn Owl, and The Caretaker certainly hit the mark. Music for airports? More like Music for California airports! Fuck yeah!
And a download coupon is tucked within the sleeve as well!
The legend beneath the liner notes inside this disc from Starving Weirdos offshoot RV Paintings reads "Jam Nature!!!" Not sure whether it's a command or a description of their process, but just like the music they make, those words could just as easily come from the twisted musical minds of the Jewelled Antler Collective. Which is not all that surprising really. When we first heard the Starving Weirdos, what struck us was their deft blend of abstract found sounds, and improvised noisemaking. Anyone can sit on the floor with a bunch of instruments and fuck around, but only a handful can make magic.
This trio does just that on Trinity Rivers, utilizing the usual array of sound making devices, but incorporating some less likely devices as well, including most notable glasses and "fog-like layers". And it's those two elements that go the farthest in defining the unique sound of Trinity Rivers. The singing sounds of rubbed glass, make everything glisten and sparkle, a breathtakingly delicate shimmer that spreads out over the proceedings like the morning sun peaking over the tops of the trees. Beneath it, plenty of drones and whirs float and drift, as well as dense little flurries of rhythmic tangle. But no matter where the 'Paintings take their sound, it always seems to return to the tranquil drift and shimmer of the glass. The second track begins with a bang, a huge dense cloud of insect like buzz and intertwined with dizzying loops and hiccuping pulses, a swirling sonic chaos with a soft melodic center, barely audible through the buzz and fuzz, but by the end it's drifted back to the glassy glimmer of the first track.
The final track also starts out intense, with strange rhythmic guitar and deep droning swells, before fading into a bleary eyed foggy ambience, the sounds of gulls and lapping waves, hovering beneath wispy clouds of chimes and peals of high end skree, before gradually devolving into a slow fading stretch of hypnotic hand drums,
Released on Jefre Cantu-Ledesma's (of Tarentel) Root Strata label, packaged in a gorgeous black and silver metallic cardstock sleeve with a printed insert.
For some strange reason, we've never reviewed or listed any records by Arkansas sludge/doom outfit Rwake, which is crazy, cuz the heavy music obsessives around aQ have loved these guys for ages, this is after all their FIFTH full length! And like many of their metallic brethren, their sound has changed quite a bit in the last decade plus, but unlike many of those same bands, these guys didn't just decide to add some 'post' to their metal cuz everyone else was doing it, even way back when, Rwake were augmenting their metallic crush with weird samples and lots of sonic experimentation, and musically, they made no secret of their love of prog and bluegrass and classic metal, elements of those genres finding their way into most of the group's records, including this new one, which sonically is a logical continuation of their Relapse debut, 2007's Voices Of Omens, and in those 4 years, if anything, the band have crafted what has to be one of the most ambitious and progressive post metal records we've heard.
The record opens with what sounds like some sort of homage to Comus, all witchy acid folk, dreamy female vocals and fluttery flutes over sinister steel string guitar, swooping backwards effects and swirling low end drones, which leads right into the record's first epic, the nearly 12 minute long "It Was Beautiful But Now It's Sour", which opens all Neur-Isis-y, doomy and dirgey, but topped with some classic metal leads, and some bizarre vocals, which took us a while to realize they were actually backwards, flipping forward suddenly, the band locking into some classic metal riffage, before exploding into a pounding epic post metal blow out, the vocals anguished and howled but still melodic, seemingly having ditched the dueling high / low vocals from past records for the most part, which makes a big difference in the musicality of the sound. Suddenly the heavy churning guitars are joined by some cool sitar like buzz, giving the song an Eastern vibe, before lurching into a wild mathy bit of progged out heaviness, only to slip right back into it, eventually working their way to a meandering bit of acid fried psychedelia fused with a more melodic classic doom, which slips back and forth between that churning crush, and woozy minor key, tribal drum heavy psych metal. And that's just the first song, there are 3 more long ones, the shortest 8:45, the longest 16:07, the sound so heavy and psychedelic and completely catchy, the sort of metal that is rarely this hooky and anthemic, classic metal bits all tangled up with modern post metal weirdness, some serious poppiness tempering some unbelievable heaviness. Metal record of the year contender for sure. And we're guessing anyone into epic post metal heaviness (a la Minsk, Conifer, Isis, Tides, Pelican, Mouth Of the Architect, Rosetta, Indian, Angel Eyes, etc.) will agree.
We really didn't know what to expect from these guys (this guy), just what we read on various music blogs. This was one of those records that was getting hyped to high heaven, which definitely has us wanting to not like it. But damn if if this isn't some seriously gorgeous darkened psychedelic IDM. Yeah, it's dance music, but not the sort of music you'd hear on any proper dancefloor, this is the sort of mysterious electronica that is made to be the soundtracks for mysterious late night drives, strange encounters, dimly lit dives at the top of stainless steel skyscrapers, the sort of dark skitter that leaks from the headphones of darkened figures as they move through the shadows, the sounds at once lush and lovely, but raw and lo-fi, the low end buzzy and glitchy, the beats stuttery and gristly, the sound slipping from almost droned out mesmer, to near ambient shimmer and back again, never fully erupting into full on beat heavy crunch, but there is plenty of crunch nonetheless, the beats sounding like decaying tapes of chirping crickets one second, some sort of rumbling engine the next, while those beats are surrounded by swirls of sci-fi FX flutter and creaking post industrial thrum, the sound blurry and bleary and fantastically tripped out, the sort of electronica they don't really make anymore, and actually come to think of it, never really did.
Fans of the various mutant strains of electronic music would do well to check this out, but even the beat-phobic and dancefloor averse might find much to love in RxRy's twisted electronic underworld.
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One of our favorite tracks from The Numero Group's excellent Wayfaring Strangers: Ladies From The Canyon compilation was "Cricket" by Collie Ryan. A hippie devotee of Theosophy, Ryan recorded three lovely private press records in the early seventies that featured her stunning artwork and songs that subtly touched on mystical and Native American themes. Her high-pitch bird-like vocals, sheathed in reverb, and complex guitar arrangements fall heavier on the Linda Perhacs side of the Joni Mitchell coin than say, someone like Judee Sill, who also dealt with mystical themes but was more tied to a commercially viable singer-songwriter scene. The Hour is Now is a vinyl-only "best of" of sorts that combines tracks from all three records (yet mysteriously no "Cricket"...) and will save the less diehard fans from shelling out a couple of hundred dollars for the originals. The analog mastering was even supervised by none other than by J. D. Emmanuel! Beautiful stuff!!!
It seems with early seventies metaphysical songstress, Collie Ryan, you either get a little or a lot. We first heard her amazing track, "Cricket" on the Numero Group's great Wayfaring Strangers: Ladies of The Canyon compilation. Then at the beginning of the year, we were treated to a vinyl only best of compilation called The Hour Is Now. But now we have the completists dream come true of all three of her self-released records from 1973 (Indian Harvest, The Giving Tree, and Taking Your Turn 'Round The Corner Of Your Day) available on a 3cd set released on compact disc for the first time. 41 songs, phew!!!
Ryan recorded these songs (as well as making the paintings that grace her albums) as a means to further her spiritual investigations as a student of Theosophy. With just her voice, her unique guitar style and some cushioning reverb, Ryan's songbird voice soars through the heavens singing about mystical connections to nature, cycles of change, and thresholds of light. She only recorded these three records before going off the grid and painting hubcaps in the desert for a living. Though she can be compared to Joan Baez, Linda Perhacs and Elyse, Collie Ryan was really out doing her own thing unfettered by musical trends of the time. Three cds may be a lot to take in all at once, but such visionary singers come around so rarely that it's a truly a transcendent experience to be completely absorbed in her blissful cosmology.
We're pretty into twisted psychedelic music. The more twisted the better. And that mutant strain of weirdo psychedelia that is CHRISTIAN psych, somehow that seems even weirder and more ridiculous. Even though in some strange way, both Christians and psychedelic freaks were each trying to attain enlightenment, albeit by very different means. Which makes it all the more glorious, to hear the squares try to co-opt the super hip, in hopes of luring some of the lost toward the light. It rarely worked, and in most cases had the exact opposite effect, portraying the co-optors as painfully out of touch, and even more impossibly square. However, Brother John Rydgren might just be the exception. This Lutheran pastor very nearly pulled it off, due in no small part to his amazing voice, equal parts Ken Nordine and Orson Welles, his radio show a twisted dizzyingly psychedelic meditation on love and sex, war and death, set to some seriously fuzzed our psych rock. This double cd collects his three late sixties lps, which were originally only distributed to radio stations and churches (the radio stations instructed to burn them after broadcast, hence their rarity), and it's some of the craziest, coolest stuff you'll ever hear. Every once in a while, when we're playing this in the store, and people are freaking out, laughing, not believing what they're hearing, we sometimes jokingly ask if folks are ready to convert, but listening to this now, it's actually not that far fetched to imagine that back in the day, Rydgren could have really pulled it off, making Christianity cool and convincing druggies and hippies that somehow, that was the more righteously psychedelic path. Really, all it takes is a listen to the opening track, "Music To Watch Girls By", with its fuzz guitar crunch, and exotica vibe, all tropical horns, and groovy rhythms, Brother John intoning over the top, sounding way too lascivious as he describes one girl from head to toe, her lips, hair, her body, her lipstick, hearing that impossibly deep voice say things like: "She likes to be watched", "It's creamy", "Looks like she's ready for a happening", obviously there's a punchline, but it's a pretty uncomfortable wait, until he finally explains, that God created people, girls included, "Quite a design". "God made it", he explains, so you can think about it next time you're out watching girls, he doesn't want to take the fun out of it, it just makes girl watching... mean more! Holy shit, how cool is this Brother, it's okay to watch girls, just know that those gorgeous honeys were created by the man upstairs. And it doesn't get any less weird.
"Personality Doll Of The Week" is a weird anti-war sketch, where a nerdy scientist pulls the string on the back on the Personality Doll Of The Week, and she continues to say the same thing over and over, no matter what question he asks "I don't like war, I think everybody should love everybody else". Then there's "Mercy Mercy Mercy", which lays down a bluesy gospel groove, with Brother John, prosthelytizing over the top. Some seriously sweet sermonizing, and that voice, that VOICE!! Keep digging, up next is the "Hippie Version Of The 23rd Psalm", where Brother John rewrites that iconic psalm in hippie speak, with lots of baby's, and cool's, and dig's, and man's, all over a wild organ driven psych rock freak out. But it's the next track, "Rinky Dink", that sealed the deal, with Brother John's stentorian lyric reading, over another groovy fuzzy psychedelic jam, and thee most ridiculous chorus, Brother John delivering this line in a deep deadpan: "One, two, three, four, rinky dink". Groovy and ridiculous, and sorta crazy catchy too!
It stays relentlessly far out, warped and psychedelic, the music pretty great, choirs, sitars, fuzzed out surf guitar, tribal drumming, streaks of feedback, even some cool collaged experimental soundscapes, replete with samples of popular songs and fragments of Christmas carols, there's "To Sir With Love", a stately bit of baroque pop, over which various women describe love, and how to treat their man, and how their man should treat them, there's "The Happening", where Brother John interviews various people: Smokey Robinson, both Peaches and Herb from Peaches And Herb, one of the guys from the Association, one of the guys from Paul Revere And The Raiders, and bunch of others about God, and their faith, and how drugs are not the way to attain enlightenment, all peppered with Brother John again explaining: "They're young, they think, and some of them live what they think", there's the sultry sitar driven "Dark Side Of The Flower", with Brother John again sounding disturbingly sensual, there's a "Christmas Montage", that mixes Christmas carols, with horrible samples of news reports about people dying from drunk driving, rats overrunning neighborhoods, crying babies, so bizarre!
The whole second half of the first disc finishes with 20 one minute tracks called "They Say", each one a different vignette, delivered over some groovy psychedelia, each one finishing off with Brother John delivering the solution, beginning with the words "They say�" And again, some of them are disturbingly 'sexy', all about what men want, want couples need, etc., and of course, Brother John explains what 'they say' and ties it all back to God. Wow.
The second disc starts off with the "Cantata Of New Life", a sprawling 26 minute epic, rife with choirs, and orchestras, call and response vocals, very dramatic and cinematic, and of course the whole thing's peppered with plenty of fuzzy psych, and Brother John's deep sonorous voice, reminding us a bit of another recent Record Of The Week, William Sheller's Lux Aeterna. But then we get back into yet another collection of his radio broadcasts, and if it's possible, things get even creepier, Brother John in conversation with some mysterious woman, about dying young in car crashes, going AWOL, there's a track about computers, which is goofy and crazy, there's one about how God made rhythm, and more more more. Finally, the two part "This Is Silhouette", a weird collaged soundscape of fuzzed out psych, Brother John telling us how it is, and interviews with young people talking about God and drugs, and one final psychedelic sermon from Brother John!
Seriously incredible stuff, warped and wonderful, disturbing and inspiring in equal measure, fans of sixties spoken word, Christian psych, outsider music of all stripes, weirdo radio broadcasts, and other Omni releases, this one just might take the psychedelic Christian cake!
Packaged in a swank full color six panel digipak, with a huge booklet, with rare photos and extensive liner notes.
Long awaited full-length of crazy, noisy, quiet, mathy, spazzy...dare I say...emo.
This is high energy 70's, ironic, arena rock, heavily influenced by Kiss, Grandfunk Railroad, MC5, Cheap Trick and especially AC/DC. They have toured with The Fucking Champs and Drunk Horse, which is so appropriete given the tight muscianship, crazy riffin', silly irony, and love of all things 70's rock. Some songs vary from the formentioned style sounding remarkably like the Jesus Lizard, which I didn't like nearly as much, but all in all an energetic and tight lil' record.
It's good to see/hear that Rye Coalition continue to succeed where the seemingly likeminded And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead have recently fallen flat. That is, this NY outfit maintain a consistent level of intensity in their aggressive angry boy
We'd had a couple cd-r releases from Australian math doom trio Fire Witch, so we were super psyched to discover they had an actual cd that came out on a label in Japan, when we finally got the cd, we discovered it was a split with a band we had never heard called Ryokuchi. All it took was one listen to convince us that we loved 'em and needed to hear more!!! So while this is not a full length proper, it is a brand new record from this Japanese bass and drums duo, one thirty minute track, dense with all manner of low end riffing, blown out distortion and convoluted arrangements, mathy breakdowns, melodic drift and dark ambient shimmer. Ryokuchi call what they do�"Experimental doom tribal hard core" and that's pretty much what it sounds like.
The track begins as an atmospheric post rock jam, with blooping reverbed bass, and mathy percussion, sounding not unlike a more drum heavy Three Mile Pilot,� but a few minutes in, the distortion pedals kick in and the band lurches into a crazed doomic plod, heavy and chugging, loping and swaying, gradually slowing down to an almost full stop, before bursting back into action, with a bit of complex mathy Ruins-y prog. For the next 10+ minutes these guys wildly careen from dense proggy rhythmic tangles, to huge slabs of slow shifting doom, to blissy stretches of moody slowcore, occasionally peppered with super distorted vocals buried in the mix, everything recorded super hot and in the red, before finally, with about ten minutes to go, the band pulls back, revealing an ominous dronescape behind the curtain, cymbals sizzle and shimmer, low end rumbles sway back and forth, muted melodies drift intermittently amidst the strange bass heavy landscape, when suddenly and dramatically, the band crash back in, and we're off, a pummeling slow motion downtuned doom drenched sludge, plowing along endlessly, interrupted by brief spurts of splattery spastic prog, before terminating in a huge squall of wild drumming and explosive bass feedback.�
Phew. So intense and so amazing. Think the Ruins covering Corrupted, or a doom metal Three Mile Pilot. Or just drums and bass and distortion and doom raining from the sky like some lesser known plague...
Packaged in a cool cd-sized DVD-style plastic case, with a full color, two sided cover, and a little mini full color booklet inside that folds out into a mini-poster and hides a sticker inside.
Aussie noise rockers the Grey Daturas had been telling us forever about some killer band called Fire Witch, who they played with all the time. It took forever, but we finally managed to get a bunch of copies of their Critter / Kritta 3" cd-r, which of course sold like crazy and was gone before we knew it. We stayed in touch with the band, but had been unable to get anything else until now. The strange thing is we had to go all the way to Japan to get this, a split with Japanese duo Ryokuchi...
It was well worth the wait though. Fire Witch are another band who traffic in the slooooooooow and heavy, but they definitely give it their own twist. Not sludgy like SUNNO))) or their legions of followers, and not really noisy like many of their countrymen. Instead they're some sort of strange downtuned slowcore mathrock. Massive guitars churn and throb, the drums a crushing pound, over the top, drawn out wailing leads, all the makings of a proper rock band, but instead they fuck it all up, gloriously, lurching forward only to pause briefly, allowing the silence and bits of room sound to seep in, before launching back into downtuned action. And they go on like that for ages, never attaining any momentum, instead engaging is some crowd baiting bit of stop start torture, and we love it. A slow motion wall of psych guitars and slow shuffling drums.
Here and there, the band reels it in, allowing the drummer to just wander, while the guitars squiggle and oscillate, a dizzying warbly soundscape of tangled melodies and sea sick shimmer. They finish off with the brilliantly titled "I Spilled A Lot Of Blood To Get This Meal", a lengthy chunk of abstract soundscaping, reverberating metal, soft swells of feedback, lazy basslines, drifting harmonics, shuffling rhythms, eventually bursting into a dense doomy plod, but laced with all sorts of killer melodies, making it sound like a doomed version of June Of 44 or Engine Kid.
Fire Witch are teamed up here with Ryokuchi, a Japanese duo (what is it with Japan and duos?), just bass and percussion, who offer up an ultra dense, and relentless onslaught of mathy grinding doom-drenched metallized noise rock. Beginning with strange percussion and fuzzy minimal drones, the band suddenly launches into a massive wall of sludgy pummel, like a more hyper kinetic Eyehategod, or a doom metal Ruins. Relentless and hypnotic, the drums pounding away, the bass a swirling wash of blackened buzz, amidst the chaos duel vocalists howl and shriek. Fuck! And that's just the first track, their second number is way more spread out and sprawling, offering up some stretches of relative tranquility with affected bass and tribal percussion, sounding a bit like a more metal Three Mile Pilot, but the majority of the nearly seventeen minutes is spent furious and chaotic, grinding and crushing, a Tasmanian Devil of sound, going from wild thrashing to slow motion plod and back again in a matter of second. Dense and complex and convoluted and so fucking great!
Wu-time! 21 tracks of RZA, exploring his even-larger than life alter ego Bobby Digital. This'll be everywhere, so enough said.
