We've all been a bit obsessed with Varghkoghargasmal since we first got our hands on the Call Of The Raven cassette, a stumbling confusional chunk of what the band calls 'wooden metal', one of us was so obsessed, that he released a full length Varghkoghargasmal record on his label (Andee, we're talking to you!), which took that wooden metal sound even further, creating a gorgeously evocative foresty black metal assembled from wavery warbly keyboards, off kilter drumming, and strummed clean guitars. But we never stopped to wonder what that wooden metal would sound like in a more traditional black metal setting, blacker and more distorted, more frostbitten more grim, well, now we don't have to wonder, as Varghkoghargasmal mainman (and only man really) Avenger, has unleashed this dark opus, the latest from his -other- one man band Szarlem, ominously titled Night Of Blood, and you know what? It sounds exactly how we would have expected, exactly how we had hoped. The same sort of Viking tinged stumbling bizarre loping black metal, that in its wooden form played out like some sort of fractured krautrock, but here, imbued with fire and frost and black buzz, it becomes an awesomely fucked up collection of midtempo black metal weirdness.
The guitars are thick and crusty and distorted, churning and chugging, the vocals a WAY up in the mix maniacal growl, and the drums, just like in Varghkoghargasmal, wander and stumble, adding a whole other element to Szarlem's sound, giving the proceedings a sort of black metal Shaggs vibe. But rather than sound fucked up and demented (well, it still does actually), it flows perfectly with the rest of the sounds, with the music, the whole thing a woozy warbly, off kilter, blackened stumbling lope, sometimes locking into an almost punkish groove, other times unfurling slow burning Burzumic sprawls, some of the tracks laced with haunting keyboards, fluttering little Casio melodies draped over the lurching blackness below, the best moments are when those keyboards lock in with the guitars and conjure up haunting harmonies, creating creepy almost Goblin like black metal buzz, but those moments are fleeting, as the tracks usually slip back into some thrashing blackness or meandering buzzing drift.
Lo-fi, raw and demented, dark and emotional and weirdly epic, this is some truly inspired, truly unique outsider black metal. And is thus WAY recommended.
Two new releases from sound artist Nicholas Szczepanik, a long time aQ customer, whose releases have some how so far eluded us, until now. After a handful of super limited cd-r releases, this is in fact the first time we managed to get enough to review and list.
Astilbe Rubra is on Small Doses, another micro-label whose releases we just can't get enough of, every one lovingly and extravagantly packaged, which is surprising considering how limited the releases are. This one is no different, only 104 copies, housed in a gorgeous screen printed diecut fold over sleeve, with a printed insert, liner notes, and each one is hand numbered.
Szczepanik offers this release as a work in process, each track an unfinished idea, meant to be pursued and fleshed out later, but to our ears, these tracks sound perfect as they are. Deep, rich, lustrous sprawls of drone and whir and ambient shimmer. Heck there's even a track called "Shimmer", although it doesn't shimmer so much as crumble and grind and rumble. The opening track begins with a wall of soft white noise, that unfolds gradually, eventually revealing a warm chordal whir within, that stretches out into a long, dreamlike crawl. Lots of the tracks experiment with glitch and hiss and buzz, recording inconsistencies, meshed with abstract field recordings, some tracks are seriously intense, brittle, sharp and jagged, while others are murky and minimal, muted and introspective. Hard to believe these are just works in progress, but if they are, we sure can't wait to hear them when they're finished.
Latest release from one of our favorite dronescapers, this one super minimal and shimmery, a gorgeously hushed piece of abstract ultra personal drone music, a sort of sonic letter to Szczepanik's father, the result of a request by his father that his son write him a letter, a request that a younger Szczepanik didn't really understand and thus ignored at the time, only attempting to write that letter, in sound, recently, the result is Dear Dad, one of those rare records where minimal instrumental music manages to convey a surprising amount of emotion, no small feat, transforming childhood emotions, kept in check until adulthood, into sound, gorgeous lush droning sound, a hazy, gauzy brooding slow building buzz, that begins in complete silence, before becoming a whisper, and over the course of the next 20 minutes eventually a howl, a dense, ragged, blown out, noise drenched blast of crumbling corrosive crunch, still infused with buried melodies, but so intense, cathartic, a gorgeous sonic release, culminating in a strange bit of tangled melody, still in-the-red and blown out, but hauntingly lovely and lilting, wrapped in a constantly swirling squall of grinding buzz and glimmering caustic shimmer.
The second, shorter track is much more tranquil and serene, as if the catharsis of the first track purged any negativity, replaced regret with hope, the title "Forgive To Forget" seems to suggest as much, as does the music, a warm softly pulsing whir, all washed out, the soft focus edges eventually coming in to focus as the track progresses, the shapeless forms and indistinct streaks, becoming sweet melodies, the hushed whirs almost like soaring strings, a lush drone glowing with an inner warmth, that permeates all of the surrounding sounds, transforming sound into feeling, music into energy, notes and chords, textures and timbres into emotion. Not sure if it was the kind of letter Szczepanik's father was expecting, but it seems to be more than he could have hoped for.
LIMITED TO 200 COPIES. This is a replicated disc (not a cd-r)! Gorgeously packaged in a thick dark brown matte finish sleeve, with a printed cardstock insert, and all wrapped in a Japanese style cardstock printed obi, each with an actual stamp, every one unique.
Two new releases from sound artist Nicholas Szczepanik, a long time aQ customer, whose releases have some how so far eluded us, until now. After a handful of super limited cd-r releases, this is in fact the first time we managed to get enough to review and list.
This one comes from 200mg, the same label that brought us the amazing Man Is The Bastard No Skull Left Unturned collection, as well as a handful of other strange dark musics. Szczepanik's disc fits pretty much perfectly, a single long track, expansive and dense, shifting from soft breathless whispery drones, to throbbing crumbling distorted dirgescapes and back again.
Utilizing contact mics, field recordings, found sounds, keyboards, samples, shortwave radio and manipulated vinyl (in particular, according to the liner notes, Neil Young's Harvest!) Szczepanik manages to transform those various elements into a singular new sound, a buzzing, glowing streak of constantly shifting shimmer. Over the course of the track, the sound dips into melodic shoe gazey blur, growling industrial whir, delicate crystalline glimmer, haunting distorted chiming, and washed out soft focus hiss, each sound, every part, melting seamlessly into the next. Super nice.
Packaged in a cool oversized silkscreened cardstock booklet with a pasted on front image, inside a simple stark printed black and white booklet packed with abstract photos of trees and foliage.
A split release between bad ass French microlabel Basses Frequencies, and Szczepanik's own Sentient Recognition Archive label, The Chiasmus is Szczepanik's latest collection of dronology, and the first proper cd we've had (quite possible his first proper cd release entirely). We've long been fans, being the dronelords and ladies we are around these parts, and past Szczepanik joints have demonstrated a mastery of the drone, creating surprisingly lush and lustrous expanses of low end minimalism. On The Chiasmus, Szczepanik continues to move ever deeper, ever darker, five long tracks, each a different variation of drone, drifting from minimal black shift, to near Pop Ambient bliss.
Record opener is cavernous, epic, Teutonic and slow shifting, peppered at the beginning with bits of glitch and hiss, the song soon settles into an uneasy sprawl, ominous and dangerously grim, but still somehow warm and expansive and enveloping. The second track shifts gears completely, unfurling a gauzy bit of chordal shimmer, all warm and sun dappled and delicate and gauzy, gentle tranquil melodies played out over minutes instead of seconds, a little Eno for sure, as the song drifts and flutters and hovers dreamily in midair. The final three tracks hover somewhere in between, deep moaning post industrial whirs laid over dense metallic buzz, the two layers slowly seeping into one another like some blackened sonic spill, deep bell like tones ring out, their tones frozen in time and stretched out into softly undulating sheets of sound, slightly reflective and iridescent and kaleidoscopic, glimmering and glistening underneath some alien black sun, and finally, a loooooooong stretch of grinding muted buzz, spreading out in slow motion, it's black shimmer infused with streaks of melody, as if some strange black seas was slowly growing warmer and coming to life before our ears.
Fantastic, gorgeous stuff. Essential listening for the drone obsessed...
As a medium, the drone is liminal at best. Strip away too much and without making the very best of decisions, the drone gets boring very quickly. The success of any given composition grounded in the drone is often found at the sites of transition between ambient passages, atmospheric disturbances, and / or meditative properties. Whatever "truth" the Chicago-based dronemusician Nicolas Szczepanik may be seeking through the transience of the drone is dictated from one warm immersive drone into another. Szczepanik's tonal quality has brightened considerably in the past few years, his billowing, gaseous drones sounding radiant and hymn-like. Even when he dials up the distortion, as he does on the mesmerizing second-side of this album, the slow-burning intensity of smoldering noise refracts the fundamental drone with a jagged yet shimmering quality akin to a piece of pyrite reflecting sunlight. Szczepanik steers the track through a steady build, cutting the power at the end of the track. A nice trick for sure. The first-side of the album is more of a convoluted composition, with gong-tones and rasping digitalia dispersions jutting from Szczepanik's gilded hypnosis, almost sounding like Oren Ambarchi remixing Eliane Radigue, or vice versa. Really beautiful stuff.
Housed in a fluorescent lime-green sleeve with foil stamping, marking this another excellent album from Brandon Nickell's Isounderscore label. Limited to 300 copies.
