The moody, obscurantist ensemble Multer had its origins in the industrial / field recording outfit ABGS, who in turn had some connections to Cranioclast. Of course, these are references that mine the post-industrial currents of German experimental music; those dour atmospheres persist in the current Multer guise, but with an ear for what the likes of Village Of Savoonga had been up to (remember how great that band was?), in addition to all things Drone Records. The first of the three tracks on this 10" interweaves drone guitar chords into a two note melody that oscillates plaintively above of a set of electrical pulses. The whole ambience of the track is thoroughly evocative in its gloom that elegantly sits upon the lattice work of skittering rhythms and that simple turgid melody. The second cut wraps fuzzed out stabs of guitar noise above angular march of drum machines and electronics. Much closer to the Morr Records sound than what's ever appeared from Multer in the past. And the finale returns to the guitar drone, but blown out through distortion, all shoegazing and maudlin in its slice of noise that sheds all of its layering to reveal the melody hidden with. Really nice work found here; but limited stock!
One of two new releases this week on the Sleeping Giant Glossolalia label, the other, the debut from the new Mick Barr / Brooks Headley duo Oldest reviewed elsewhere on this week's list, and this, the debut from this rhythmic lo-fi post punk noise rock combo, whose sound is a super distorted, lurching, lumbering mathed out monster, all gristly guitar buzz, blown out rehearsal space drumming, the sound fuzzy and washed out, but dense and tense and thick. The songs tangled arrangements of churning downtuned heaviness, of stop/start math rock stutter, angular and chaotic, with the occasional weirdly almost arena-rock sounding chorus, in fact most of the songs have some buried melodies that transform Mutlicult's blasts of rhythmic frenzy into something much more than just noise rock workouts. The basslines are thick but brittle, the vocals a buried bellow, there's definitely an AmRep vibe, but there's also a sort of early eighties UK post punk thing going on, some of the jams downright groovy, everything wreathed in crumbling distortion, but the pop hooks are there somewhere, and seem to surface with repeated listens, but they are subtle, Multicult is more about woozy, dirgey, muddy heaviness, a sound that seems to melt and ooze, almost like someone is dragging their finger along the record as it spins, which only gives the sound an even more tripped out psychedelic feel. For all their pound and crush, the band don't shy away from the rhythms that drive their sound, often striping things way down, and letting the bass and drums take control, it's at those points that Multicult sound more like they could be some lost eighties punk/funk artifact, but as rhythmic (and at times, groovy) as these guys get, they never ever stray too far from another blast of churning skull caving noise rock crunch.
Packaged in a red 12" style sleeve, with a green and yellow sticker.
"Studio Retrospective" is a collection of six of Mumma's electronic compositions dating from 1959 to 1984. Four of the pieces were originally composed for the quadraphonic theater systems, and have been digitally remastered in stereo for this collection. Mumma's work is full of grinding metallic drones, (think Stockhausen, Nordheim, Ussachevsky) electronic pings & clicks, and buzzing FM synthesis. Evocative (and not too stodgy) academic work.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Another quite nice drone/bliss release on the ever reliable Time Released Sound label, available as per their usual operating procedure in two different versions: an ultra-limited edition in super deluxe packaging, and also a cheaper, no frills edition too. We're still enjoying TRS's previous release, by The Inventors Of Aircraft, and this other new discovery of theirs is equally dreamy. A thing of shimmering beauty, from a Japanese ambient artist we'd never heard of before. This may be his first release - we'll certainly be looking out for more in the future.
Ten tracks of slowly unfolding murmer and mesmerism, sunny sleepy afternoon music for sure, with gentle melodies (on piano, we think) and rhythms surfacing amidst the glimmering drones, Murkami's music seemingly inspired by nature and the seasons, possibly ghosts as well� Murkami thanks his ancestors, and one track is entitled "Vorie's Ghost Sanitarium".
The deluxe cd version is limited to 100 copies only, and comes in a handmade (stamped, sewn, assembled) six inch square booklet, composed of antique paper ephemera from Japan including fold out tissue maps and Meiji-era apothecary ledger pages, plus a double sided insert printed on bamboo. This booklet is banded by a strip of vintage 8mm film depicting scenes from the aftermath of the great Japanese earthquake of 1923, and is nestled with the cd inside a "clouded" translucent vellum envelope decorated with cherry blossoms. A Japanophile's dream! But if you don't want the fancy packaging, you can also get the cd more cheaply, packaged in a simple hand printed sleeve. Either way, recommended.
Another quite nice drone/bliss release on the ever reliable Time Released Sound label, available as per their usual operating procedure in two different versions: an ultra-limited edition in super deluxe packaging, and also a cheaper, no frills edition too. We're still enjoying TRS's previous release, by The Inventors Of Aircraft, and this other new discovery of theirs is equally dreamy. A thing of shimmering beauty, from a Japanese ambient artist we'd never heard of before. This may be his first release - we'll certainly be looking out for more in the future.
Ten tracks of slowly unfolding murmer and mesmerism, sunny sleepy afternoon music for sure, with gentle melodies (on piano, we think) and rhythms surfacing amidst the glimmering drones, Murkami's music seemingly inspired by nature and the seasons, possibly ghosts as well� Murkami thanks his ancestors, and one track is entitled "Vorie's Ghost Sanitarium".
The deluxe cd version is limited to 100 copies only, and comes in a handmade (stamped, sewn, assembled) six inch square booklet, composed of antique paper ephemera from Japan including fold out tissue maps and Meiji-era apothecary ledger pages, plus a double sided insert printed on bamboo. This booklet is banded by a strip of vintage 8mm film depicting scenes from the aftermath of the great Japanese earthquake of 1923, and is nestled with the cd inside a "clouded" translucent vellum envelope decorated with cherry blossoms. A Japanophile's dream! But if you don't want the fancy packaging, you can also get the cd more cheaply, packaged in a simple hand printed sleeve. Either way, recommended.
Murmer is the work of the lowercase / microsound newcomer Patrick McGinley, who has coaxed an impressive orchestration out of the transient, yet distinctly urban sounds of his native London. McGinley specifically cites the air vent on a 73 bus, the esclator at the Pimlico tube station, and the air vent of a Austin Mini, as well as datastreams, feedback, a malfunctioning gas heater, and other elements of any city's general din. Through a number of digital filterings, he polishes the rough source material into looped samples of lustrous tones. While not exactly a generative system of sound construction, Murmer strives to set up situations in which a number of slightly misaligned loops of complementary sounds, then step back to let those loops weave and phase amongst themselves.
While the tones that Murmer uses seem very much informed by the work of Richard Chartier, this album, with all of its complex interweavings, is much more conducive to metaphor, and to these ears has the feel of the 'classic' futurism of Jules Verne with guilded machines whiring in near synchronicity to achieve time travel. All in all, this makes for an excellent debut, if only a CD-R pressing. Fortunately, it's been very nicely packaged!
Patrick McGinley (aka Murmer) is a sound artist whose primary tools are field recordings and found objects activated within acoustically interesting spaces. While most of his impressive back catalogue of recordings finds him manipulating and treating those sounds into expressive drones and subtly dynamic collages, this double disc set is far more spacious and open-ended, given a slight shift in methodology. He explains in the liner notes that "the framework compositions are a series of experiments with untreated field recordings, exploring notions of musicality within the structures of found sound. The compositions were created with differing sets of self-imposed rules." Two of the four compositions deal specifically with voice, with "Framework 3" settling into a rather lovely passage of wordless vocal harmonics improvised in an open terrace by noted Estonian folk singers Mari Kalkun and Piibe Kolka. This track begins with a reprise of some of the sounds that McGinley used on his 2012 album What Are The Roots That Clutch, as heard in the dense burbling of water insects, building up through brightly resonant objects that shimmer with the minimalist fervor of an Angus MacLise composition. "Framework 2" is the other piece dealing with voice, with the grunts and wheezes of somebody snoring very loudly at the end of this 30 minute piece, which is mostly comprised of frigid wind-blown recordings and scabrous snippets of activity more on par with G*Park's ice-born recordings. "Framework 4" alternates between interior and exterior sounds emphasizing the psychological impacts of the incessant buzz of late-summer cicadas and the flourescent-tube hum of institutional space. Beautiful wanderings of sound that always have the potential to surprise, frighten, and delight.
Drone Records never fails to deliver great material on an unlikely medium: the manipulated drone housed on a 7" single. Here, the curatorial nod goes to Murmer -- the Murmer who recently released the impeccable We Share A Shadow album, and not the differently spelled Murmur. One of the two sides features drones extracted from pipe resonance amassing into a polyphonous chorus of timbre and frequency. the density of this drone doesn't become apparent until Murmer cuts the power on the drone, introduces a series of hissing crackle of tumbling sand, and then flips the switch for the drone to re-emerge. The flip opens with an ominous gasping sound that snaps into a deep-throated drone of distended wind-swept sounds. Tactile objects like leaves and forest debris begin to be tossed around with the tones lightening from those haunted frames of The Hafler Trio to the gilded timbres of Andrew Chalk or Aidan Baker. Limited to 300 copies!
Proprietor of the Framework radio show on Resonance FM for many years now, Patrick McGinley has implored his listeners to "open your ears and listen" to the world at large, presenting an impeccable series dedicated to field recordings and its use in composition. So, it goes with out saying that the field recording and the found object are commonplace within McGinley's own sound art constructions which he records under the moniker Murmer (and not Murmur, mind you!). Given his predilection for wandering throughout the European countryside for all that it has to offer (not just limited to environmental sound), his recorded output has been somewhat limited. We Share A Shadow is his first proper solo album in almost three years, although his collaboration with Jonathan Coleclough did stand out as one of the dronemusik highlights of 2006. Consisting of two very long pieces, We Share A Shadow is a notably restrained album whose dark beauty reveals itself with a slow and deliberate pace. The first untitled piece opens with sheets of cold rain scuffing the smooth arcs of bowed metals, whose Feldman-like swell and collapse recalls the late period work of Bernhard Gunter. As the rain gently fades, a composite drone emerges out of those rasps and vibrations from the bowed metals and intensifies through dissonant timbres subtly agitating the shimmer and filigree of the gilted drone. Throughout, windswept debris ricochets across the stereo field casting an ominous cloud onto the sustained tones. The second piece is an even darker affair with a motor grinding against a piece of metal in the distance while a somber, almost doomscape piano plods in the foreground. With plenty of low frequency rumbles and spectral activity lingering in the background, this piece is almost like KTL remixing Xenakis at 16 RPM. Needless to say, this is an incredible album.
Gorgeously packaged in hand water-colored / letterpressed sleeves, LIMITED TO 300 COPIES!!
In looking at his discography alone, Patrick McGinley (aka Murmer) might not seem to be such a prolific artist; although he's certainly dedicated his entire existence to the pursuit of the field recording, its use in composition, and avant-garde sound practices in general. Each week, McGinley produces the ever enlightening Framework radio series dedicated to those very topics, starting out of Resonance FM in London with syndication now reaching several dozen adventurous radio stations across the globe. He's also active in curating a quarterly series of small cd-r editions of sound ecology, phonography, and field recording based sound art; and he also is an active participant in the Estonian avant-garde, as he's currently planted himself in the university city of Tartu. What Are The Roots That Clutch is his first full album in nearly seven years. Has it really been that long? That said, McGinley did work on a brilliant collaborative project with John Grzinich and Yannick Dauby, and he released a 3"cd-r for Taalem, both of which came out earlier this year in 2012. McGinley quips that he put the recordings aside to this record for well over a year, which may account in part for the delay; but ultimately, all of the recordings from Murmer are timeless. What Are The Roots That Clutch is no exception.
The field recordings that McGinley collects hedge towards disturbances in any given sound ecology, as found in the abrasive textures from a busted exhaust vent comingling with the Aeolian harmonics from the sustained gusts streaming down from the North Sea. McGinley does include two relatively unaltered field recordings (probably some minor filtering, but that's all) within the thoroughly abstracted and droned out compositions. One of these features a very eerie fundamental harmonic drone, obviously being activated by the wind and coupled with a glistening rattle and an unfurled flapping. The three elements here make for a surprisingly musical, if totally alien sounding piece that's akin to the Alan Lamb wire recordings. The album's 17 minute centerpiece is a slow building blur of industrial resonance and densely layered aquatic filigree that melts into chunks of clattering ice (it could be wood or glass... but ice is just so much more poetic to consider given the context); but the album's finale is where McGinley really gives us something to sink our teeth into. A comparatively harsh stutter of electrical abrasion builds up to a crescendo through water-tank rumblings and fire and / or water textures. At the peak, McGinley snaps to a downright psychedelic raga of back-masked belltones, harmonium drones, and percussive clatter that all comes together in a minimalist chorale on par with anything that Angus Maclise mustered in his dervishes and mantras.
As great as McGinley's last record was, What Are The Roots That Clutch might be even better. Handsomely packaged in letterpress artwork whose ochre-yellow hue matches the color of an Estonian farm house he's quite fond of. Limited to 400 copies.
It's been raining Murmurs lately. Or Murmers. Or both. The last little while has given us the dark dronemusic of UK based Murmer aka sound sculptor Patrick McGinley. Then there's the dubstep pop ambient of the group Murmur with a 'u' that just came out (to be reviewed here soon). And there's definitely at least one other Murmer... and now we have -this- Murmur, also with a 'u', and we actually got an email from these guys about all the Murmurs and Murmers and they were talking about actually trying to do a three way collaboration! Cool.
This Murmur, is a loose collective of sound makers who gathered in an old decrepit brewery in New Orleans, where one of the players worked, and helped the others gain after hours access. The quintet dragged their instruments up into an old metal fermentation tank, dark and dank, with SO much natural reverb, that they couldn't even talk amongst themselves as the sounds would echo and overlap and turn into blurry smears of sound that would drown out the conversation. And so it was with any sound, the group had to barely play, barely breath, as every movement, every shuffle of the foot, would result in another layer of strange echoing sound. The building that housed the tank was subsequently damaged in Hurricane Katrina, then looted, and still stands abandoned and crumbling to this day.
Thankfully the resulting sounds are as fascinating as the story behind their creation. Using just acoustic guitars, harmonium, a tamboura-zither box, dobro, cymbal, Tibetan bells and vocals, the group, coaxed hushed sounds from their instruments, letting them interact with the alien acoustics of the tank around them. The various stringed instruments, their metallic buzz, billow into thick swells of reverberating low end, that occasionally transform into buzzing rhythmic pulses, always fading back into tranquil shimmers.
The organs wheeze, the vocals hum, the cymbals spread out like ripples in a pond, the percussion clatters and tinkles, the background rife with thumps and rattles, moans and creaks, but it's not just wispy drones and barely there rumbles, the band occasionally locks into some NNCK style shambolic freefolk, the guitars unfurling lazily, a constantly expanding smear of stumbling atonal riffage, drifting through a cloud of jangle and reverb, almost like a super lo-fi disembodied krautrock, the whole thing laced through with a nearly constant dronelike buzz, a sitar sounding shimmer that holds all the drifting sonic slabs together.
We've ballyhooed Brendan Murray's exceptional, yet perennially overlooked drone & din work in the past; but nothing could have prepared us for Commonwealth. Damn, this guy is good. No, wait; he's fucking great! After a handful of cd-r productions, a Twonicorn cassette, and a fine cd release on Intransitive of processed shimmer, shifting frequencies, and some low-end girth rumblings for our obligatory SUNNO))) reference, Brendan Murray has produced his best work to date with Commonwealth. Compositionally, it's incredibly simple: a drone goes up, and it goes down. It lasts a little under 50 minutes. But buried with this single minded composition, there are thick spun rumbles, reflective vibrations, sympathetic sub-harmonics, and rich tonal frequencies. Out of the constant tectonic whir that introduces Commonwealth, shimmering clusters sound like a battery of reed organs or hurdy-gurdies, slowly modulating into heavier, deeper drones. We've been told that the source material for these sounds is guitar, although you'd be hard pressed to hear anything guitar-shaped anywhere on the disc. It's far more like the hallowed minimalist sound of Charlemangne Palestine and LaMonte Young. Dare we say, it's better? Yes, Murray's drone hums like a perfectly tuned machine, with multiple pistons purring in a steady progress along Commonwealth's compositional arc. When Murray shifts the focus of the album downward, which begins not even halfway through the piece, the descent is noticeable; but it actually becomes Murray's most fertile work within Commonwealth. Here, low rhythmic thrumbs crawl beneath the surface of the slowly collapsing drone, precluding its inevitable terminus. Perfect trance-enducing dronemuzik. Fans of Aidan Baker, Andrew Chalk, and Phill Niblock should definitely take note!
This one is for the drone obsesses among you. Not the soft shimmery dronesters, although you softies might take a shine to this, no, this is a deeeeeeeeeeep dark doooomy drone, a massive 40+ minute single stretch of undulating organic rumble. Broken old Casio keyboards, found sounds, field recordings all woven into a huge rafter rattling, bass bin blowing, bone shaking, cranium cracking lowercase minimal dirge. Pulses and whirs, rumbles and growls, all rendered indistinct, painted black and folded in on themselves, a black hole, a thousand helicopters hovering in place, a hundred meters below the sea, two planets colliding, the shockwave traveling through the universe setting up sympathetic vibrations in every inanimate object in existence, until the whole galaxy is bombinating like a struck tuning fork. So awesome.
LIMITED TO 110 COPIES. We managed to get the last 20 so once these are gone they are gone for good!
Brendan Murray, we salute you! You get the reason why there should be a cassette resurrgence - the 90 minute tape! So many noise / drone / floorcore tapes have been released in recent years as 8, 12, 15, 20 minute running times, and it's totally baffling. If you're gonna put out a cassette, let's have the full 90-minute experience as was the norm for any self-respecting mixtape in the '80s and '90s.
So, yes the Boston-based minimalist has cranked out a stunning, slow-crawl tape of suspended tone, that was originally commisioned as some sort of installation thing at Weird Records. The A-side is a brain-drain smear of brass instruments turned into a brash atonal undulation that sounds more like a symphony of junkyard car-horns rather than french horns or trumpets (the more likely culprits). As a result, Murray's piece becomes this glacial recapitulation of a Hermann Nitsch style sonic violence, whose speed is crushingly slow but impossible to avoid. There are also similarities to Murray's highly acclaimed Commonwealth album and its long-stare contest of inevitable decline. If you sit and listen for anything to change there's nothing noticable in the perpetual shimmer and consummate drone; but get up leave the room for a couple of minutes and something will be different - a slight variation in timbre, a repeating form either added or subtracted, a lumbering rhythm oozing from the depths, etc. The B side is not an exact replica of the first, promoting more compositional leaps and starts. In reality these shifts are quite subtle, but given the anesthetizing affect of the A side, any transition is gonna appear like a huge mountain range on a flat surface. Put this up there with LaMonte Young and Charlemange Palestine. Limited to 150 copies of professionally dupped cassettes.
Oooohhh! Live Free Or Die is a re-configuration of Brendan Murray's acclaimed Commonwealth cd, also released by San Francisco's premier sound arts organization 23five. This limited edition redux was conceived as a "tour disc" in support of Murray's 2009 performance at the San Francisco Art Institute, opening for Tony Conrad. The title happens to be the motto for New Hampshire, and has more to do with his personal history in living in New England than anything else. As a teenager, Murray was living in New Hampshire when he and a friend ventured to Boston for a Table Of The Elements showcase that featured a performance from Mr. Conrad. In so many words, the concert blew his mind, and lead him to begin tinkering with sound, a process which lead him to become a mighty finer minimalist and phonographer in his own right.
In making Live Free Or Die, Murray drove Commonwealth (a stately single minded composition of subtly shifting harmonics and drones) through a handful of distortion pedals and effects boxes, changing the overall color of that golden recording with an ashen grit. Using these sounds as the source material, Murray presents two slowly building crescendos whose dynamic range of near silent valleys and speaker rattling peaks as the crux to Live Free Or Die. More Francisco Lopez than Eliane Radigue, Live Free Or Die makes for a very nice companion to his near perfect Commonwealth. There were only 50 copies of these things produced, and the bulk have already disappeared! Ack!
We reviewed Murray's last cd-r release not too long ago (and we actually have a handful of those left, re-listed elsewhere on this list) and we started that review with the words: "This one is for the drone obsesses among you. Not the soft shimmery dronesters, although you softies might take a shine to this, no, this is a deeeeeeeeeeep dark doooomy drone, a massive 40+ minute single stretch of undulating organic rumble." And heck, had we not already use those very words to describe another record, we could very well have used them to describe this one too. 39 minutes of barely shifting bottomless pit drone. Dreamy and pretty, sure, but this is not soft and shimmery, or wispy and gauzy, no, this is dark, and thick, and throbbing and pulsing, lots of layers and tonal color, melodies maybe, but if they are in there, they're stretched and smeared and almost completely lost in the slow crawl fabric of "Ocean Of Dirt, Mountain Of Steam." Close listening reveals plenty of microscopic sonic events, as well as some crystalline loveliness, and over the course of the disc's 40 minutes, the drone does twist and subtly transform, but for the most part this is a near static droneworld, ultra meditative, densely minimal, and surprisingly gorgeous.
Another new one from tape label Twonicorn, a label specializing in "basement new age crawl", finally new music from the highly underrated Brendan Murray, who as we mentioned before we would most definitely rank up there with Coleclough and Chalk as one of our favorite masters of the drone. Former missives from Murray have been of the harsher and heavier variety, gritty and buzz bottomless dronescapes, still ultra minimal but with some heft, bordering occasionally on the heaviness of SUNNO))) or other like minded sonic explorers. But on Scared In My Heart, Murray softens his sound, and offers up two utterly mesmerizing chunks of slow moving soft shimmer. The first, is all hushed ambience, tones that pulse and flutter, but are ultimately smeared into endless drones, allowed to shift and drift, seemingly simple and nearly static, but rife with strange tonal color, subtle dissonance, and all sorts of tangled melody. The second, is like a louder, more active version of the first, the tones sounding more like bells and organs, stretched out and smeared, wavering and warbling, notes beating against one another, all manner of implied motion and abstract melody, minimal but strangely active, intense and emotional, slow burning and quite beautiful.
As with all Twonicorn, gorgeously packaged, pro printed tapes, textured paper sleeves, and of course super limited, ONLY 100 COPIES!! Each tape hand numbered.
This is the first release we've had from dronelord Brendan Murray that wasn't either a cd-r or incredibly limited. And it's about time, cuz if you ask us, Murray is just as good as any of our other drone favorites, Coleclough, Chalk and the like. But Murray has his own thing going on. His is not so dark and minimal. Instead, his world of drones is an active one, alive with strange sounds that shimmer and shimmy, that buzz and blur, plenty of melody or at least a melodic sensibility that Murray seems to imbue all his work with. He often delves into near-noise, letting sounds grind and hiss, building industrial clatterscapes, jagged and harsh, and allowing them to settle into a not so obvious drone-like state. And his latest, Wonders Never Cease, manage to touch on all those various sounds and approaches and then some. From soft fluttering barely there drifts, to fuzzy stretches of muted minimal white noise, to dense and aggressive soundscapes of hiss and crunch, to the album's centerpiece, the 20 minute long "Seas", probably the most melodic track we've heard by Murray, strange disembodied melodies play out and then the various notes separate themselves from the melody and drift into the ether, floating weightless in a swirl of minimal low end pulses and distant keening high end shimmer. A twenty minute track that could last for 20 hours as long as we're concerned. The record finishes off with a 4 minute reprise of the opening track, turning its fuzzy bliss into a grinding crumbling slab of bob ambient splendor. Fucking awesome!
It's always exciting to get a new disc of droning mystery from soundmaker Brendan Murray. We went pretty nuts for past releases, which is saying something as it takes a lot these days for a drone record to really get to us. And for a drone artist to consistantly hold our attention record after record. Of course we love drones, so as a sound, we're as likely to be entranced by a huge humming piece of machinery as a meticulously crafted chunk of ultra minimalist dronemusic (hmmm, what exactly does that say about us?), but we're of course partial to the artists who can deftly fashion drones into new and fascinating shapes, or who create music using drones as just one of many elements.
Which is precisely what makes Murray's music so special, just that, it's incredibly musical. He's perfctly capable of kicking up a Sunn 0)))-like wall of downtuned dirge, or fashion a skeletal bit of hushed murmur, but even then he infuses those all to common sounds with strange melodies, and abstract textures, transforms simple tones and chords into strange sprawling beasts, sounds become actual songs, with melodies and parts, distinct beginnings and ends, each song is a journey, through thick fields of warm hissy blur, caustic crumbling crunch, chiming crystalline shimmer, deep machine-like industrial whir, clangy and clattery abstract angular guitar flecked noise rock, very Dead C here and there, gorgeously murky and lo-fi, and weirdly looped sounding, intense wall of pink noise whir and billowing clouds of near static organ hum. Dark and dense and mysterious and intense, but always so so gorgeous.
While they last, we have the limited version, that comes with a bonus cd-r, featuring a 30 minute live performance recorded last year, a super intense, ultra heavy exploration of some seriously woofer destroying bassiness. Deep rumbling whirs, sprawling into massive reverbeating slabs of black hole low end. Wow.
Here's the second pressing cd-r of a tour ep that these two New England noise+drone artists self-produced during their 2008 East Coast into Midwest tour. Nope, we never got any of that first edition; and perhaps if you didn't catch them tearing it up in Columbus, Ohio, this one might be new to you as well. We've been longtime fans of Brendan Murray's work, which has steadily developed into a very confident brand of minimalism thanks to such work as Wonders Never Cease and Commonwealth. Shiflet's numerous contributions to the American noise community have been splattered on cd-rs from every nook and cranny you could imagine, including his own imprint Gameboy.
For Sentimental Gentlemen, the two weld together each others aesthetics with remarkable panache. The first track is pretty much what you might expect, as Murray's arching compositional strategies couple with Shiflet's seering tactility, which is somewhat softened from such couplings with 16 Bitch Pile-Up and Carlos Giffoni that nonetheless is graced with an electrocutionist's touch. Shortwave radio static and cracked ether highly charged with electricity hang amidst harmonically unsettled sustained tones that slowly build over 15 minutes with phase pattern flutter. The second piece glibby entitled "How's Your Late 90's?" snaps into an abraded electro-acoustic chunk of clipped signals above a bed of low end sawtooth waves and motorized oscillations, that's much more on par with some of the hand built circuits that Joe Colley has managed to abuse over the years. Great stuff all around, and limited edition to 150 copies to boot.
Here's the first piece of vinyl from one of our favorite drone artists - Brendan Murray. Here, he's working with his Boston neighbors Perispirit, whose earlier recordings seem to lean much more toward the power-noise end of the soundscraping underworld, but actually ends up being a worthy compliment.
Brendan Murray offers an interesting twist upon his electrical orchestrations of uneasy minimalism for his contribution to this split. Here, Murray is working with the voice of Noell Dorsey as the only source material. Not all that sure of the background of Ms. Dorsey, aside from a few avant-improv performances in various spots in Boston; and Murray repurposes her voice within a churning insectoid drone which elegantly descends into a soft hum whose calm is disrupted through signal ruptures of Dorsey's cackling. These witchy vocalizations have all of the bloodcurdling empathy of Diamanda Galas, but Murray is more interested in dissembling that voice into a swarm of disquieting drone.
The Perispirit half of the record begins with a lurching splatter of air-compressed noise, broken up with tiny jittery silences and heavily gated signal processing, only to snap into a shadowy, lonesome ambient passage of lilting guitar tones, which gradually acquire a leaden sheen of heavy, downtuned distortion before cutting back to a rupture of those aerated noises from the first moments of the record. Another razor edit back to silence, and Perispirit makes another ramp of guitar-sourced dronescaping through atonal loops and layers of sound, whose density has the rapturous quality of those Chatham / Branca guitar armies, but coupled with some low-impact noisemongering below. Limited to 250 copies, pressed on off-white vinyl, and certainly recommended!
The Music Now Ensemble 1969 is a vital missing link between the arcane studies of Cornelius Cordew's Scratch Orchestra and the free-noise continuum of AMM's extended family. This huge collective featured Keith Rowe and Eddie Prevost (both members of AMM) as
International collective MEV originated in Rome in the mid-sixties as a vehicle for the live performance of electronic music. Seeking to transform "occupied space" into "created space," the group attempted improvs that might result in any three equally valid outcomes: space would be transcended immediately, "magically;" or only after necessary duration as the result of hard work;
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Total "Arctic Hysteria" here people! We liked this a lot when we first listened to it, before we even knew what it was. Well, we knew it was Finnish (always a plus), and released on Circle's Ektro label (also a reliable indicator of quality). It's not another "NWOFHM" band though, or even any sort of Circle side project, or even really a band at all. As it turns out, the quasi-Industrial DIY soundscapes of noise and drone created by Musiikkivyory ("Music Avalanche") are the work of one person, Mika Taanila, who was all of 15 years old when this was first released as a homemade cassette - back in 1981! That's right, a Finnish teenager in the early '80s making monstrous noise/drone tapes, contemporaneous with the likes of Maurizio Bianchi. How cool is that? Pretty cool we think.
The 12 tracks here (resurrected from a couple of super rare tapes, circa '80-'81) are a wonderful witches' cauldron of throbbing rhythmic chaos, fractured grinding drones, strange voices, field recordings, and DISTORTION, lots of distortion... it's a playful sort of isolationist music, if that makes sense. And as an evidently artistically inclined kid he had every reason to want to express himself in such a fashion. Imagine being a teen with fears of nuclear war, living up near the Arctic Circle. The dark postpunk music (Cabaret Voltaire, This Heat, The Normal, Dome...) you were able to tune in to on the BBC's John Peel show might make a lot more sense than the "normal" happy Christian adults who surround you!
So Mika began messing around with tape recorders, cast-off band instruments, radio static, toys, primitive percussion, etc., and pretty soon had generated enough material to fuel his own bedroom cassette label (of which it's hoped that Ektro will eventually reissue more releases), which issued limited runs of tapes not just by his own Musiikkivyory project but also by other likeminded Finnish friends... and, in fact, one by Italy's M.B. himself! (A reminder that international networking was possible before MySpace came around.)
Ektro has colorfully packaged this in a fashion up to their usual spiffy graphic standards, the cd cover insert folding out into a large sheet with photos and liner notes (in both English and Finnish) on one side, the other a poster depicting one of the original cassette releases at larger-than-life size.
Crude, creative, and compelling, this is quite an interesting surprise, thanks Ektro!! We'd definitely like to hear more from this corner of '80s cassette culture, hint hint.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Another posthumous release from Muslimgauze, "Uzbekistani Bizarre And Souk" is a caustic album of Arabic percussion contorted to fit into disjointed breakbeats and hypnotic electronic grooves. Originally released as a DAT (yes, a DAT only release!) from Staalplaat about 10 years ago, this disc also features a couple of selections from "Islamaphobia" an comes in a beautifully letter-pressed packagaing. Limited to 1000 copies.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Uhhh, what?? Leave it to Mike Patton's Ipecac label to put out this head spinning disc of super spastic & grinding bizarro-world "pop". It's the debut of Mutation, a band whose lineup is equally mind boggling as its music, featuring Ginger from '90s UK rockers The Wildhearts (who, strangely enough, masterminded this), Jon Poole from aQ fave UK prog-punk act The Cardiacs, the ubiquitous Shane Embury from Napalm Death (and a million other projects), Mark E. Smith of The Fall, and even Japanese noisican Merzbow!! The most unlikely, unexpected "supergroup" ever? Yet this meeting of musical minds garners predictably demented results. Mutation is a crazy, catchy synthwave mathmetal noisepop collision, kinda like Sparks meets Meshuggah, or Devo + Dillinger Escape Plan, or Melt-Banana under the influence of Queen, trying really hard to have a hit (and somehow succeeding - but again, only in bizarro-world). Heavy and hectic, these tunes blenderize blasting onslaughts of industrialized chunkiness and majestic processed poppiness. The complex, chaotic song structures find electronic glitch freakery alternating with soaring melodic vocal choirs. It's some infectious ADD weirdness all right, and while anything this intentionally outre, combining all these diverse artists and aesthetics coulda been a trainwreck, it's actually pretty amazing, if perhaps a bit too Mr. Bunglized for some folks. If what we've already said so far, any of the names mentioned, makes you think you MIGHT like this, then we're pretty sure you WILL like this. A lot.
Mute Socialite are a new aural maelstrom featuring Bay Area avant music vets Moe! Staiano, Ava Mendoza, Alec Karim and Shayna Dunkleman. Don't even attempt to define this new group's sound by the words in their moniker. They are anything but mute, and we wouldn't consider theirs to be the most social of musics. It's like a sonic blow to the solar plexus that then proceeds to march on odd time signatures upon your fallen form. The dozen pieces deliver plenty of mighty post-punk churn, no wave spasm and math rock count-that-shit! At once fiercely precise and wildly chaotic. Blistering.
We generally consider ourselves pretty knowledgeable as far as weirdo obscure music goes, but every time there's a new batch of tapes from NYC cassette label Ormolycka, we get seriously schooled. Sure we generally recognize a couple of the groups, but we always discover something new and amazing. And in this most recent batch, we were introduced to the Japanoisecore dual drums and vocals trio World, super obscure Redwood City hip hop crew Shed Dwellaz, Japanese psych pop outfit Dotsuitarunen, and these guys, or this guy. We weren't able to find ANYthing about Mutwawa on the web, other than this was recorded in 2013, but fuck it, it hardly matters, what does matter, is this is a seriously sick slice of twisted electronic industrial madness. Churning programed drums, wild squalls of glitchy electronics, pounding and Teutonic, but also sort of psychedelic, a little bit house-y, a little bit EDM, some of the tracks sound like they could be remixes of some Depeche Mode song, but instead of vocals swooping in, the tracks explode and splinter into dizzying electro workouts, multiple beats, cascading distortion, crumbling melodies, some cheesy eighties drum pads, but also some caustic bursts of static, all wound up into dense, and tense and intense dancefloor destroyers. Like everything on Ormolycka, this pretty much rules, and is also pretty goddamn limited...
We were (and heck, still are) HUGE fans of avant abstract folk outfit The Tower Recordings. And we've tried desperately to keep up with Matt Valentine's post-TR output, but it's been tough as most of his recorded output has been relegated to ultra limited cd-r's and short run vinyl. So finally, we get a not so limited, and seriously hefty dose of Valentine's new psychedelic folk direction, with his long time musical partner Erika Elder and his new musical sidekicks the Bummer Road.
Two discs, jam packed with dreamy druggy OUT THERE free folk psychedelia. Hints of Tower Recordings past do surface here and there, but the sounds on Mother Of Thousands are way more dense and dizzy. Slippery spacey squiggles float like motes of dust over a warm whirling landscape of mumbled atonal guitar, stuttering alternate tuning strum, super-processed electric guitar whir, wheezing harmonica, lilting falsetto vocals, washed out distorted whirls of crumbling amp buzz, a gorgeously laid back, blissed out afternoon sunlight back porch drug drenched slow motion moonlight abstract folk jam.
The second disc takes all the same elements but weaves them into lengthy minimal buzz drenched ragas. Mysterious sounds swoop and swoon over slowly unfurling melodies, warm layers of harmonica and buzzing steel strings drift over a deconstructed free folk, with disembodied ghostlike voices, gurgling drones, reverb drenched female vocals, the final 20+ minute track is one slow burning meditation equal parts rumbling whir and gentle minor key strumming. Quite lovely.
Valentine and his fellow folkies, Mo' Jiggs, Sparrow Wildchild, Nemo Bidstrup, Tim Barnes and Samara Lubelski take a few moments out to reimagine some killer covers, Mississippi John Hurt, Charley Patton and Reverend Gary Davis, but soon return to their mesmerizingly freeform drift and drone and croon.
Packaged in a super deluxe, ultra thick gatefold, each cd in a woven Japanese style inner sleeve, the sleeve a mini lp style cd gatefold, with a metallic silver printed insert. LIMITED TO 1000 COPIES.
aQ pal Phil Franklin turned us on to this mysterious Danish crew MX (believed to have something to do with the two main members obsession with BMX bikes, but that's another story we won't get into), and we were quite surprised and taken by what an amazing and flat out bizarre record this is! This is an anthology of recordings from the past ten years, and we're wondering why we haven't heard of these guys before, but we're so glad we know about them now! Our Danish language skills are lacking, so we can't really tell exactly what is going on or how many players are involved, so of course it leaves the music open to speculation. It sounds like it could be a whole bunch of people, or the careful tape manipulation of just a couple. But the sounds are dirty and lo-fi, recorded on four track and feature mostly short rhythmic compositions of acoustic string instruments (banjo, guitar, and violin), with distorted wheezing accordions, fuzzy pulsating synths, clattering percussion and cultic chanting. Occasionally strange tape manipulated vocals that sound like old folkway recordings of pygmys or some far-off South Asian tribe will appear, along with brain-melting primitive electronics effects. It reminds us a lot of the "ethnological forgery" of groups like Harappian Night Recordings and Sun City Girls, the hippie shamanism of Daniel Higgs and Ur-Dog, as well as the collective free-folk ingenuity of Kemialliset Ystavat. But for all the strangeness and noise, the songs seem more composed than improvised, full of beautiful otherworldly melodies and a stunning sense of DIY psychedelic exotica.
LPs are hand silkscreened on repurposed thrift store record covers. We only have about 8 of these and while we're trying to get more, it might be awhile until we see a restock, so act fast!
Two new lps from UK label Trensmat this week. The latest from Astral Social Club can be found elsewhere on this week's list, and then there's this one right here, the latest from Italo-outsider-alien-folk-psych siblings My Cat Is An Alien, aka Roberto and Maurizo Opalio. Sadly, MCIAA is one of those bands who for a while churned out so many releases it got difficult to keep up, and at some point it seemed like lots of folks reached a definite saturation point. Thankfully now it's been just long enough, that a new My Cat Is An Alien record is actually kind of exciting, and listening to Alien, All Too Alien, it's easy to see, why, for a while there, so many folks were sort of obsessed. Two sidelong sprawls of freeform outrock dronefolk splatter, tons of space, the percussion skittery and skeletal, disembodied tangles of atonal guitar twang, wheezing harmonica, it's almost like a psych folk Dead C, which is not a bad thing at all. The harmonica oozes and blurs into sheets of keening high end thrum, which is soon joined by some low end buzz, what sounds like some sampled birdsong, mysterious falsetto vocals, building to a woozy, detuned Jandekian dirge, before everything splinters into a dizzying squall of tangled loops and swirling FX. The flipside seems to take up right where the A side leaves off, two halves of a single near 40 minute epic, lilting guitars over a bed of gnarled buzz and undulating textures, some seriously mesmerizing drone-folk, which seems to splinter into something way more abstract, ultimately landing closer to a sound that reminds us of a campfire No Neck Blues Band, the harmonica returns, as do weird distant drums, a slow motion tribal creep, that is soon subsumed by thick swaths of industrial buzz, and wreathed in squiggly effects and spaced out sonic streaks, while the drums lock into something darkly propulsive, a minimal softly noisy hypnorock coda, that we sort of wished would have spilled over onto a third side, or heck, even a fourth.
Like all Trensmat releases, this is SUPER LIMITED, already out of print at the label. We will most likely be able to get more, but probably best to grab one before they're gone for good. Includes a link to a download of the lp tracks.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
This band is much better than their horrible name would imply. My Cat Is An Alien is the delicate avant-rock project of the Italian brothers Maurizio and Roberto Opalio, who have garnered a considerable amount of respect from Sonic Youth. So much so that MCIAA has opened for SY on a number of recent Italian gigs, jammed with Kim Gordon during one of those tours, and got this album released through Thurston Moore's Ecstatic Peace label. The brothers open their album very quietly with quiet Slint / Tarentel guitar chords and lots of silence between the repeated stanzas. Equally spartan blurts of synthetic 8-bit noise emerge in congress with the guitars, eventually doubling up with a time-stretched / down-pitched reflection of itself. All of this very slowly gets smeared into a spiralling pattern of cosmic delay and tape-loop mechanisms. This track (or movement as MCIAA calls it) takes up all of side one, and is worth the prices of admission alone. The rest of the album is a bit of a turn downhill. Side two tumbles through a passage of lo-fi noise, sounding like a hand-cranked cheese grater being amplified with an occasional John Fahey-esque splutter behind it all. This lp had originally been released as a CD-R / demo before it was sent to Thurston Moore. The other LP is a one-sided affair with the band spitting out spastic sort-of-no-wave.
Ultra limited lp from Italy's masters of spacey sonic drift, My Cat Is An Alien. Released on Root Strata, the label of Tarentel's J.C. Ledesma. The two brothers in MCIAA again set their controls for the heart of the sun, but spend most of their time drifting lazily through space. Simple folk guitar, spread over random percussive clatter, the two tangled and stretched into some sort of amorphous spacey blissy drone. Tones stretch and shimmer, the background a distant whir, with soft vocals, fragile and whispery, so delicate and dreamy. The second 'movement' on the first side sounds a bit like the incidental music from some long lost sixties sci-fi lost in space type program, a soundscape of bleeeps and swooshes, bloops and alien trills, but it MCIAA's universe they are buried beneath a thick unwavering high end guitar drone. This sci fi dronescape continues onto the flipside where it spreads out over the whole side, a feedback guitar drifting weightless through the alien soundscape that is My Cat Is An Aliens peculiar sonic world.
SUPER LIMITED TO 300 COPIES! Each copy hand numbered. Packaged in gorgeously silver inked hand screened sleeves.
Here we go again. Remember that really limited cd-r that came out a few years ago, the one that was practically impossible to get, and maybe you bought on eBay for way too much, remember how bummed you were that you missed out on it? You really wanted it. REALLY. So now you have the gun loaded, the rope over the beam in the living room, a bottle of whiskey and a handful of pills on the counter, the note is almost finished. HOLD UP!! C'mon, if we've learned anything by now, as frustrating and annoying as it is, pretty much EVERY cd-r, will at some point be reissued on a much sturdier, longer life-spanned actual compact disc. Especially as there are labels that seem to exist exclusively to re-release albums that have already been released on cd-r. Okay, so maybe that was a bit snarky, but what the heck is the point of a limited cd-r when it will just be re-released in an unlimited version later on? Why not skip the cd-r step and just make a cd to start with? There's nothing entirely wrong with cd-r's, we LOVE cd-r's, we all buy cd-r's like crazy, and you know what? Some records are meant to be limited. A couple hundred copies is all the world needs. But for bands that are popular, with fans all over the world, a cd-r limited to 100 copies is just ridiculous, especially when fans will no doubt be expected to buy the actual cd version (most likely with bonus tracks) later on. We're not complaining (well, we sort of are) because heck, any record good enough to compose, record, and release, probably deserves to be heard by more than 50 or 100 people (not in every case, obviously!), we just wish bands and labels would have the foresight to realize that a handful of copies won't be enough and it's just as simple and cost effective in that case to make real cds! Ok, enough ranting... So we have the The Cosmological Eye Trilogy from Italian free noise siblings My Cat Is An Alien. Most definitely the kind of epic and beautiful music that definitely deserves a wider audience. So kudos to LVD for making these discs available again. The original versions of these discs came packaged with original artwork from Roberto of MCIAA and thus were pretty nice and worth owning, and certainly made a limited run necessary. While the paintings are only present in photgraphic reproductions here, the music more than makes this 3cd reissue worthwhile. MCIAA's musical world is populated by huge expanses of sound, broad minimalist soundscapes woven together with all sorts of guitars: electric alien guitar, astral alien guitar, electric nebulae guitar drone, as well as mini-xylophone, spacee toys, whirlpool, toy mic, percussion, metal sticks, cosmic cymbals, helix cymbals, Plutonian percussions and of course astral percussions. All recorded live with no overdubs, these spaced out sonic explorations are pretty amazing, from clattery, gritty industrialism, with scraping percussion and distorted vocals, to delicate barely there expanses of swoosh and waver, with distant foghorn-like moans, minimal drones, strange machine like whirs, almost inaudible chimes and melodies, to tribal space rituals with swirling blooping bleeping synths slipping and sliding around manic percussion, to strange alien sounding free jazz noise hybrids, shuffling cymbals, lots of dubbed out reverb, peals of feedback, and little bits of clatter and clink suspended in fields of looped fuzz and repeating cycles of hum and drone.
A completely overwhelmingly brilliant assemblage of outer space free jazz drone rock minimalism that will most definitely hit the spot for all you free-ambient-noise-drone cd-r hounds, but will probably also appeal to fans of Acid Mothers Temple style space rock, twentieth century minimalism, "new weird America" (Italy?), and all stops in between.
Packaged in a strange triple fold plastic sleeve that is unfortunately not ideal for keeping cds from gettins scratched...
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Another band that seems poised to challenge Acid Mothers Temple to a who-can-release-more-records duel. But much like AMT, Italy's My Cat Is An Alien have somehow managed to keep the quality control pretty high (minus the unforgivable series of limited $100 split lps, that were released on cd not soon after). On Through The Reflex Of The Rain, MCIAA drift even further into deep space psych, with a free drone workout that rivals Total or Sunroof!. Angular guitars over warbly organs, shimmering reverb drenched chords stretched into endless sheets of cosmic vibration, clouds of beeps and bloops drift dangerously close, swirls of tonal color are excited into such a state that the rest of the instruments seem to be drawn toward some distant point of maximum gravity. Blissful and droned out, but at the same time, charged with a ominously crackling energy. Packaged in a beautifully silkscreened blue and metallic gold cardboard sleeve.
