The Gone Wait is number 35 in the ongoing Jandek catalogue, and continues along the same path already blazed by the 2002 album The Place, in which Jandek's atonal, avant-folk arrangements for his lonely acoustic guitar drop an octave or so to match his voice which is deepening with age. Jandek's gnarled baritone is a stark contrast to the voice heard on his debut Ready For This House back in 1978. There had been a desperation, an anxiety, and delerious empathy that oozed out of those earlier recordings. With the more mature vocal stylings of this particular Jandekian period, the emotional resonance of his work appears far more morose and resigned to defeat. Jandek puts himself at the center of this grim state of affairs with such song titles as "I Went To Hell" and "I Was A King," mirrored by his lugubrious anti-chords. This is a tough one to take in, even by Jandek standards.
For a couple of years at the end of the '80s through the beginning of the '90s, the mysterious Texan avant-folk artist Jandek produced his most polished and refined recordings. Yet at the same time, these recordings could never be described as anything but Jandekian. The songs are still led by angular mutations of blues chord progressions that constantly meander out of tune and occasionally return to archetypal melodies; however, the production quality is distinctly balanced. The guitars -- which alternate between electric and acoustic -- sit comfortably within the stereofield, never striving for the nails-on-the-chalkboard abrasion as heard on previous Jandek albums (e.g. the damaged blues of "The Modern Dance" or the celebratory weirdness of "Telegraph Melts"). The drums while typically arrhythmic and clunky also politely stand behind the other instrumentation. Thus, "The Living End" -- the 18th album by Jandek, recorded in 1989 -- is a comparitively 'well-adjusted' and less manic-depressive. Allan even made the passing remark that Jandek sounds almost soulful here. In keeping with previous spectulation about the small company who make themselves known within Jandek's world, the woman who had previously been called "Nancy" and may have been his girlfriend makes an appearance on this album singing on a couple of tracks. Might they have gotten back together?
For a while there, we used to really try and keep up with the detailed reviewin' of new Jandek joints as they came out... but now that we, and he, are on his 52nd (!) record, it's tough. We still like getting a new Jandek cd, to get another shot of that one of a kind Jandek feeling (lonely, weird, confusional) and they're cheap enough, so we hope he keeps on cranking 'em out (pretty sure he will, based on his track record over the last thirty years!!) but having something new to say about the mysterious Texas troubadour isn't easy.
Of course, he's not *quite* so mysterious as he used to be, with live performances (begun in 2004) now almost commonplace. The front cover picture on this one (a grinning red haired man, who now we can identify as Jandek himself in younger days, photographed against a portion of Houston skyline) needn't necessarily be read for signs and portents the way they used to, but his words and music remain pretty opaque.
On The Myth Of Blue Icicles there's four songs in the typical Jandek mold of minimal, meandering (track 3, "The Daze", is over 14 minutes long), not-so-melodic outsider folk: Lethargic, stream of consciousness singing-talking, sounding pained and maybe a little drunk. Atonal, abstract guitar strum. Also pained and somewhat drunken. But for sure not jolly-drunken... this is all about emotively sparse, depressive atmosphere.
And it's a proper solo "studio" album, not one of the many live documents with avant-indie sidemen that Jandek's label Corwood has been releasing of late as well. Not that the distinction is terribly meaningful, since Jandek's live records feature all new songs anyway, and also any album with Jandek on it is indeed equally uniquely Jandek...
On the evidence of his unwieldy catalog of atonal folk damage and lithium soaked vocalizations, it's not an uncommon assumption that Jandek has absolutely no clue about music, but rather has stuck with the same untrained ethos of raw expressionistic power since his debut album "Ready For This House." However, albums like "The Place" hold a few obscure, revelatory keys into the mysteries of Jandek, offering the possibility that the entire catalogue of Jandek records is far from untrained, but quite deliberate and maybe even musical.
As it's hard to say just exactly how old Jandek is, given his hermetic reluctance to speak to the media, the best guess places him in his late 40s with the assumption that he began recording in 1978 in his early '20s. Age is clearly a factor for "The Place," not so much as a lyrical theme in Jandek's songs; but rather, it's a simple fact that he's getting older and his voice is growing deeper. Just as Leonard Cohen and Michael Gira have shifted the key of the mature songs to accompany their lowered voices, Jandek has downtuned his guitar to match his voice. The sounds of him scrabbling across the strings with an indifferent half-strummed / half-picked acoustic guitar style are not that different from anything that he's produced in the past 10 years or so. Yet these detacted, angular reconstitutions of folk and blues chords have the distinct musical direction of matching his changing voice. It's a very subtle difference, but one that fans of Jandek should certainly take note of.
What to say about Jandek that hasn't already been said. This is release number 49, the last of 2006, if�you're already a fan, you might have to buy this one too (some of us here are so inclined), if none of the last 48 records have managed to turn you into a fan, odds are this one won't either. That's not to say it isn't good, it is, really good actually, but good in that way only Jandek records can be good. An alternate universe of sound, where a 'good' Jandek record is one that seems to be mostly solo bass and vocals. Plodding lugubrious low end, simple fumbling basslines, and that atonal croon, spewing tales of sadness and misery and loneliness and despair. The ultimate outsider solo doom folk death trip. Recommended, if that's your sorta thing. It is ours...
Nine, yes nine, compact discs of Jandek ticklin' the ivories, and as always, Corwood Industries keeps this package at a very reasonable price. We probably don't need to go too much into the Jandek mythology, but we will mention that it is becoming clearer that Jandek is a self-aware artist and one who has a fair amount of knowledge of the world in which he exists. As is the case on albums like Blue Corpse and One Foot In The North, he can trade in the brutalism of atonal folk-strum for a rare declaration of urgent directness which still drips with utter sorrow. So when it comes to the piano, don't worry he doesn't just aimlessly plink and plonk around the piano for these nine discs (almost 700 minutes of music!). Just as he is very aware of the blues tradition when it comes to the guitar, he folds in the idioms of Satie's wallpaper music and Chopin's nocturnes within his own Jandekian vision. These meanderings are often pastoral and hypnotic; but occasionally, he gets into a manic, atonal frenzy that is maybe more what you might expect from a Jandek solo piano outing. What more do you want to know? It's 9 fucking CDs, NINE!! Of Jandek! JANDEK!!!
Jandek has put down his guitar for a second a capella album that's half-sung / half-spoken following "Put My Dream On This Planet." These two a capella albums debunk the myth that Jandek recorded all of his albums during an excessively manic period of his life, as the voice which utters and lolligags through the stream of consciousness verbage has clearly aged from the wispy
The previous albums from Jandek have often re-visisted the chord progressions of delta blues and Appalachian folk. Of course, our Texas mystery man obliterated these archetypes into a raw expression of abjection, sorrow, revelation, and ecstacy, typified in "The Blue Corpse" and "Ready For The House." Jandek's 1993 release "Twelfth Apostle" finds him stripping away even those recognizable elements from his already spartan productions. Here, Jandek offers just an atonal fingerpicking and strumming of his acoustic guitar with his voice wavering against whatever musical grain might be in the music. A static patina of reverb and delay occasionally smears across some of the tracks on "Twelfth Apostle," sinking his voice further into the mix and making him sound much more detatched than on previous efforts. It's a very cold and impersonal facet of Jandek's complex cosmology that seeps out from his huge catalogue of records which he's been making since the late '70s. Seth Tisue's excellent Jandek web site offers the pithy remark that this album is "thorny and ambivalent." Well said.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Jandek's always been a difficult proposition, with his atonal deconstructed blues, drastically out of tune guitars, howled and groaned harrowingly emotional vocals, definitely an acquired taste. So to imagine Jandek sounding EVEN MORE atonal, and off key, and detuned, and damaged, seem pretty much impossible. But that's precisely what has happened on What Else Does The Time Mean, the 46th Jandek, release and the 3rd of 2006! We were worried that Jandek's mystery would have faded with his recent shuffle into the spotlight (including several live shows), but if anything it's only made him more of an enigma. A handful of live performances and a higher profile than he's ever had in his entire career have done absolutely nothing to change his totally unique, totally fried haunting abstract blues stumble. If anything it's pushed it even further OUT. This record is totally damaged and incredibly difficult to listen to even by Jandek standards. The opening track is a 16 minute stoned stagger, a lugubrious drift through prickly steel string strum, accopanied by a slurred, sleepy sounding, stream of conciousness tone deaf mumble. The rest of the record follow essentially the same sonic blueprint, each tune a tiny tragedy, each one a creepy out of tune crawl through a drunken drowsy abstract blues-scape. This is definitely dark and emotional stuff, practically dripping with pathos, a seriously intense soul laid bare for sure, but the sound of pain and anguish is meant to be sharp, and jagged, sounds that help the listener feel that pain as if it was being inflicted upon them, which in a way it kind of is. What Else Does The Time Mean is a gloriously and fantastically uneasy listen, the sort of musical discomfort we've come to expect, and anticipate from quite possibly the saddest sounding man in the world!
Oh geezus more Jandek!
Last time we listed Jandek's most recent album Maze Of The Phantom and the response was pretty great, so it only made sense to backtrack a few steps with this similarly amazing album highlighting what seems to be a new direction for this legendary songsmith. For the sake of convenience it's easy to divide Jandek's massive catalog into the early, later, and live stages. But with this and Maze, Jandek seems to have effortlessly glided into new realms that bring the energy and mood of his recent live shows into the studio for some surprising and very rewarding listening. And by "studio", we aren't talking Jandek's house in Houston, but something at least approximating a professional recording setup. Which is good, because the interaction between the musicians and the spaciousness of the room are essential to the feel of this material. Like Maze Of The Phantom, the free jazz influence is strong here, with piano and evocative drumming providing the backbone for the songs, which also include some classic Jandek-style harmonica shrieking and spare vocals from the man himself and someone that we halfway suspect may be frequent collaborator Richard Youngs (ok, we just checked, it is, and that's drummer Alex Neilson on here too, though apparently all three switch instruments from time to time). While things generally flow quite melodically, guitar and bass are featured on some of the numbers, leading to some of the most tensely awesome moments on the record where it sort of sounds like the Godz or the Red Crayola at their most zoned jamming with Henry Cowell. Elements of the classic group recordings are present, and it is interesting to note how well Jandek's music is served by drummers who either seem to have picked up sticks for the first time OR know their way around a kit, like Neilson does here; the overall result remains strikingly similar and unique to Jandek.
Thankfully Jandek shows no signs of slowing down - he never really has - and not many artists could continually reinvent and redefine themselves with such awesome and uncompromising results. Jandek albums represent a musical journey free from the guiding laws of industry and popular culture, approaching levels of freedom that most musicians will never reach. And while that has led some not so easy listening in the past, things here sound unmistakably joyous, even in the darker moments. Rather than leading the show, the man seems more like a conductor as well as a participant in a telepathically linked ensemble. You get the feeling that this is music to be shared and experienced with people. Another vital release that has us looking forward to whatever comes next.
That guy in the sun on the cover again, this time with mutton chop facial hair.
Jandek's thirty-first album unfortunately fulfills the self-effacing title, as the Texan hermit offers his third album of a capella 'songs' and poetic readings. As difficult as they may have been to listen to, his arrangements for questionably competent
The year between the recordings of his masterpiece of introspective depression "The Blue Corpse" and "You Walk Alone" must have been a pretty good year for the Texan mysteryman. This 1988 album is surprisingly celebratory in tone; but as the title implies, "You Walk Alone" is a purely solo project for Jandek, who multi-tracks drums (with a more controlled meandering across a drum kit) and additional guitars onto the archetypal Jandek sound of his ghostly voice and avant-blues songs. The points of interest for this album are the advanced finger picking techniques which haven't previously found their way onto Jandek's albums and the return of a couple of contemporary Jandek themes: the Quinn Boys (who were sung about on "The Blue Corpse") and melting communication devices (mirroring the album title "The Telegraph Melts" with the song "The Telephone Melts").
According to a number of sources, the sole individual behind Jandek is the Texan recluse Sterling Smith. He has never given an interview and rarely spoken to anybody about his work, with most of those few correspondences being documented in Irwin Chusid's "Songs In The Key Of Z." In spite of the reclusive facade, Jandek is incredibly prolific with almost 30 records all of which show
"Your Turn To Fall" is the seventh Jandek album, and is still well within the 'classic' Jandek sound with Smith slowly plucking at open strings on his acoustic guitar and singing with a lithium soaked, breathy falsetto. That voice bares witness to a soul on the verge on a manic / depressive collapse, but wearily manages to hold on just long enough to get through one more song. While "Your Turn To Fall" is not as good as "The Blue Corpse" or "Ready For This House," it stands as one of the stronger, more musical outings for one of the great outsider musicians this world has gotten the chance to hear.
Jane is a collaboration between Noah Lennox (a.k.a. Panda Bear of the Animal Collective) and long time friend and fellow record store co-worker Scott Mou. The title track, "Berserker", is a dreamy number with some sort of strumming guitar and cooing vocals soaked in gobs of reverb. It sounds equally like a lo-fi reworking of Cocteau Twins production techniques circa 1984, or a possible inclusion on the next Kompakt Pop Ambient comp. If that don't bring you back, wait to you hear the second track -- "AGG" Report -- which we swear is the Chain Reaction equivalent of Rod Stewart's "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy" (as the keyboard melody closely resembles a slowed down version of the first half of the riff from Mr. Stewart's most famous of tunes). The third track, "Slipping Away", begins with a crumbly bass line, with echoing vocals that builds into a chugga-chugga train-like huffing paint experience not disimilar to some of the nicer dance beat tracks from Polmo Polpo's first record, before decomposing into a glistening soundscape of spacey goodness like some early Tangerine Dream record. "Swan" picks up from this soporific state with a 24 minute organ drone and heavily echoed vocals not unlike if Owen Ashworth (of Casiotone For The Painfully Alone) got really, really, really stoned on some of that super potent B.C. bud and started singing whale songs. It's that good! (And we mean that sincerely.)
When a record can suck you into its spell and keep you in its grasp from start to finish you know you have something special on your hands. We hope you got to hear the drugged out and seductive full length Berserker that Scott Mou & Noah Lennox (aka Panda Bear of Animal Collective fame) released in 2005 under the monicker Jane. Now we get the recording of the two's first recording session packaged in a fake out 7" sleeve... And wow! as much as we liked Berserker there is something even more seductive and spell inducing happening on these two 20+ minute space jams. Armed with lo-fi electronics, turntables and keyboards cultivating a sound that takes you in its grasp and lets you float atop the beautiful stoned wave that you find yourself never wanting to get off of. There is something so nice about hearing spacey sounds that aren't so glossed over and studio perfected. The perfect record for twilight filled with pink skies or the late late night when it's time to resign your body and mind and begin to melt away to a better blissed out place. We hear some similarities in strategy and sound to the repetitious drones of William Basinski, early Oval or even imagine a d.i.y Steve Reich coming home from a drugged out rave and wanting to wash the night away, making music in a garage with some beat up equipment with the controls set for the heart of the sky. So very nice!
For ages now we've been trying to stock releases on the Cardinal Fuzz label, with no luck at all. UNTIL NOW! Finally managed to get a hold of a couple Cardinal Fuzz releases, one of which is this sprawling slab of psychedelic space rock from Swedish outfit the Janitors, whose two previous eps are compiled here (along with a couple of bonus remixes) into a single sprawling epic double lp. And all you space/psych rock freeks, everything about this will push ALL your buttons, buzzing tranced out guitars, driving motorik rhythms, echo drenched vocals, equal parts Spacemen 3, Hawkwind, the Velvet Underground, folks who have been digging recent records by Carlton Melton, the Spyrals, Mugstar and the like, add the Janitors to your space psych pantheon.
Droned out and dirgey, drifting and druggy, the tracks are smoldering slow builds, that float through a haze of lysergic shimmer, tranced out and mesmeric, often eventually erupting into some proper heavy psych pound, with blown out buzzing psychedelic guitar shred, clouds of wah guitar swirl, pounding drums, some tracks are laced with Eastern sounding sitar-like melodies, wreathed in clouds of softly swirling effects, others are slow slung and slithery, and still others have some seriously Stooges-y swagger to them, pounding and fierce as fuck, sort of noisy garage rock crossed with classic space rock, an echo drenched and wildly distorted, in-the-red, hypno-psych that KILLS. And while the songs are surprisingly varied, they're woven into a fantastically druggy and tranced out, psychedelic whole, one that definitely ranks as one of our favorite spaced out heavy garage psych releases in recent memory. The remixes are cool too, Al Lover transforms the Spacemen 3-ish slo-mo groover "Death Song" into something more akin to Moon Duo, with motorik programmed rhythms, and some extra psychedelic noise, while Strssmmnt turns the brooding space pop balladry of "Coming Down", into a weird bit of psychedelic electro, shimmery guitars, echoey vocals, warm buzz, and some skittery bloop-bleep rhythms. And the new track, "Nevererverism" (listen below), might be one of our favorites, and already has us hankering for more!
LIMITED TO 230 COPIES!!!!
The Drag City revival ship has moored in our ports once again carrying with it one of the most important and influential British folk artists, Bert Jansch. Jansch, whether solo or with his band, Pentangle was a main figure in the sixties British folk revival bringing Celtic, blues, and eastern European forms to his eclectic and spirited guitar playing. Joined here by a cast of contemporary stars, including co-producer Noah Georgeson, Helena Espvall, Devendra Banhart, and Beth Orton, as well as Jansch's son Adam, Jansch brings his gauzy Scottish brogue to new and traditional songs including "Katie Cruel", and "My Pocket's Empty." For those who have never heard Jansch's seminal solo albums, such as Jack Orion, Lucky Thirteen or Rosemary Lane or don't know about his major influence on sixties artist's such as Neil Young and Jimmy Page, should pick this up right now! Incredible!
As pretty and pastoral as ever! Japancakes' fifth album is the perfect listen for lazy autumn eves snuggling under grandma's patchwork quilt. Giving Machines is comprised of eight ever so docile instrumentals led by the lulling bliss of pedal steel, keyboards and cello. One of them is a respectful cover of Cocteau Twins' "Heaven Or Las Vegas" (psst, we just heard that they are doing a complete cover of My Bloody Valentine's Loveless... isn't that a little strange?!).
As has been very well documented, we LOVED Japancakes' 2004 Waking Hours (it made many folks' year-end lists), then last month their new full length Giving Machines was released and we thought it was good, but nowhere near the previous album's splendor. Now only a month later, they drop this one on us, and... it's causing us undue pain, anguish and anger! In case you didn't already guess from the title, this is Japancakes' complete cover of My Bloody Valentine's beloved, inimitable album. If their intention was to transform it into absolutely bland schlock... we'll they've succeeded. Think: easy listening suitable for ice rinks and beauty pageants, not even good for kitsch value. Some may ask "why are you making such a big deal about it?" But it IS a big deal. We're not saying MBV's original is sacred or anything and we're sure Japancakes had their heart in the right spot, and these tracks are probably a blast for 'em to play, but to us this is just one big bummer. Completely shameful and unnecessary... and the boring cover art only adds insult to injury.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Gliding away from the overly twee side of pop that Kindercore has become most known for, it's Japancakes. And quite a refreshing change it is for this label. Languid, country-tinged melodies on flute, guitar, strings and keyboards weave together to form a blanketing warmth. Although this album is comprised of only seven tracks, fear not! Four of them are of the lengthier variety (including a 12 minute closing track), allowing Japancakes to fully envelope you in their slide and twang mood. Quite nice, indeed.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Instrumental twee metronome pop with lots of squiggly analogue synths and that constant quick paced guitar strum that harkens back to the earliest Stereolab recordings.
Not a new record, but a reissue of Japandroids' first two self released eps, and holy shit is this stuff awesome. Heavy, crunchy, hooky, another guitar/drums two piece who can kick up a pretty intense sound, and who wrap that sound into some pretty kick ass ultra dynamic jams. In the past we described the Japandroids as No Age crossed with Superchunk, and that may be even more applicable on these early recordings.
Just listen to the first track and see if you're not sold. The whole first half a lurching stop start crunch, swirling guitars, shouted background vox, crashing drums, the two locked into a killer pounding super rhythmic workout, almost like some sort of noise rock, softened up just a bit so it's closer to indie rock, and then the song shifts gears halfway through and the guitars slip into something much more melodic, as do the vocals, and suddenly we're in serious mix tape territory, the duo channeling classic nineties post rock. Awesome. And that's just the first track. Some of the other songs are way more poppy, channeling more of a Weezer style vibe, but still filtered through their noisy two piece situation, and even at its poppiest, constantly slipping into something mathier or crunchier, and alternately, even at their most jagged, like on some of the tracks from the first (and older) ep, the two can't help but let some poppiness seep into the proceedings. Killer stuff. We can't stop listening to this, which is leading us to believe that we just might like this collection even more than their proper full length...
What would happen if you somehow mixed the chaotic two piece post punk frenzy of No Age with the earnest, fuzzed out classic kinetic yowled indie rock of Superchunk? Odds are it would end up sounding a lot like Japandroids. A guitar and drums duo, who kick up a killer racket, with crunchy fuzzed out riffage, super distorted wild drumming, some seriously anthemic jams, and minimal lyrics, most repeated over and over and over, ripe for wild sweaty basement show sing alongs, the vocals are high and keening and emo(tional), the band are wild and woolly, not all that tight, just rough and raw and loose enough to make this whole record feel like they're playing right there in the room with you, like any minute you could find yourself careening into the drum kit, or you could suddenly be sprawled on the floor with the guitar player and a bunch of kids writhing right next to you covered in beer and wrapped in feedback. Sweaty and intense, energetic, super rocking and WAY fun, these guys must KILL live, and although lots of bands do, most have trouble capturing that live energy on record, but Japandroids don't seem to have any problems there at all.
First release from this new SF label comes in the form of this kick ass single from Brooklyn art/pop/punk rockers Japanther, who on these tracks seem to have ditched all their warped artiness in favor of something much more immediate, a fuzzed out stripped down noise pop crunch, all murky riffage, practice space drum pound, and distorted reverbed vocal croon, jangly, hooky as hell, three short sharp garage pop gems that sound a little bit like Guided By Voices if they found themselves on In The Red.
The weirdest stuff going on here is the occasional sample, the quick one at the beginning, and the looped crackly old RnB record that starts out "Oh Washington", which the band then seamlessly transform into a dreamy chunk of organ driven garage pop blissout, all vocal ooooh's and swoonsome chordal shimmer, a washed out slab of glimmery soft focus sunshiney fuzz pop murk, which is well worth the price of admission all on its own.
Includes a cool mini comic book, and a download code!
- MPEG stream:
- MPEG stream:
First vinyl release from the UK's Paradigms label, who over the last few months have brought us amazing releases from Amber Asylum, Hjarnidaudi, Blueprint Human Being, Throne Of Katarsis, Utlagr, Titan, the Angelic Process, as well as the gorgeous Walking With Ghosts compilation reviewed elsewhere on this list. And as first (vinyl) releases go, this one's a doozy. Jarboe, formerly of the mighty Swans, who has for years been crafting dark and mysterious musicks on her own, returns with a new extended ensemble and new dark tribal sound. Her new group, The Sweet Meat Love And Holy Cult features some seriously expansive instrumentation, two drummers, cello, violin, piano, acoustic guitars, rebab, vocals and sitar. A big ensemble, but it doesn't sound overblown, instead it manages to still sound immediate and intimate. Especially on side A, a swirling ambience of warped effects, muted minor key melodies, and strange shimmering metallics, underpin Jarboe's haunting vocals, which build and build, layer upon layer, until the track becomes a sea of tangled voices, slipping and drifting in and out of unlikely harmonies. From within this dense cloud of vocal tangle emerges a dirgey steel string guitar, and suddenly it sounds like some modern outsider psych folk jam, all strummy and drifting, with soaring sorrowful vocals woven delicately into the reverberating steel strings. Side B is a little more chaotic, clangy, clattery and dense, tribal rhythms, some primitive krautrock jam, topped again by Jarboe's wailing vocals. The whole thing is thick with natural reverb, like it was recorded live in a cave or a cathedral. Gradually, mournful strings materialize way back in the mix, giving the whole track a subtly sorrowful vibe, and ends up sounding like a string section jamming with a sonically overpowering No Neck / Avarus orchestra. Which sounds amazing! Definitely one of the nicest and most powerful post-Swans recordings we've heard from Jarboe.
SUPER LIMITED. ONLY 600 COPIES PRESSED. Packaged in a thick full color sleeve, with a truly haunting, beautiful painted portrait of the lady herself on the cover.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Although this release is primarily credited to former Swan, Jarboe, it is actually just as much the work of Chris Rosenau and Jon Mueller (aka Telecognac). She wrote and recorded the song "Under" which would become the raw material for the tracks that make up "Over". The duo deconstructed the song, chopping both the vocals and instrumentation (mainly piano and postrock-ish guitar) to pieces, and adding their own percussion, synths and clarinet. Be forewarned the Jarboe's vocals have been so masticated that they're barely recognizable. Three tracks in all (the first and last are quite lengthy).
Apparently this album hit the Billboard "New Age" charts! Not sure how or why, you wouldn't think that a collaboration between one of the Swans and a member of Godflesh would qualify as New Age (and it really isn't!). Downtempo electronica with some avant-garde elements, more like, with hints of doomic menace. If you're looking for the crushing metallic guitars of Godflesh, you won't quite find them, though many passages are deep and dark and spooky enough to remind us of Broadrick's current project Jesu.
The deal with this perhaps inevitable collaboration (inevitable given Broadrick's obvious Swans fandom, and Jarboe's openness to collaborative ventures, witness her earlier disc with Neurosis), is that it's JB making mostly electronic backgrounds for Jarboe to do her thing vocally... operatic excesses, and mewlings and moanings... so obviously you've got to be into "her thing". Some are, some aren't. The ambient, layered and looped wailings of the opener, "Decay", should separate the two camps pretty clearly. Some will find Jarboe's vocals to be full of mystery and emotion, others, simply irritating (though it's only on "Tribal Limo" that we really got annoyed with her, the track featuring weird Diamanda Galas yodelling over junky Gang Gang Dance-ish beats).
That said, for those into Jarboe, there's a lot to like here. And we can kind of see how, New Age or not, this could crack the charts on the strength some of the better cuts, like "Let Go" which sounds a lot like Portishead or Bjork, Jarboe effecting a babygirl voice under a blanket of crackley drone, accompanied by a spare snare thwack...
Canadian '60s artifact, well actually it's from 1971 but sounds way more sixties boomer rock. From remote Thunder Bay, they were hippies with environmental concerns, hence this album's biggest claim to fame, the heavy protest rocker "Mr. Oil Man", all 12 minutes of it. They also do a "Mr. Business Man" for good measure. This digipak reissue includes 9 bonus tracks and a booklet of liner notes and sheet music! Though the booklet is for some reason on the outside of the digipak, not the best packaging concept in our opinion.
Brand new full length from one of our favorite new outfits, the strangely named Jasper TX, the work of one man, a Mr. Dag Rosenqvist, who as you might have presumed, is not, in fact from Texas. And actually, based on the music of Jasper TX, it's a bit difficult to even begin to guess where Mr. Rosenqvist hails from. One minute we're tempted to suggest some tiny village in the Alps, surrounded on all sides by snowy peaks and lush verdant forests. Moments later, we'd guess he was from the desert, existing amidst miles and miles of wide open space, the sky threatening to swallow the world whole. Another theory would be that Jasper TX comes from nowhere, or at least, nowhere we would recognize, an alternate universe perhaps, and alien land, somewhere different, dark, mysterious, separated from our world by a thin gauzy veil, so as we glimpse into that world we see and hear a reflection of our world, but one that is slightly skewed, obfuscated, fuzzy and blurry and indistinct. Which is precisely why we seem to love it so much.
Like many of his sonic brethren, Rosenqvist takes simple bits of pop music, and pulls them apart, wrapping them in bits of crackle and hum, and setting them amidst soft warm melodies and dreamy shimmering soundscapes. A sort of abstract, spaced out ambient post rock might come close. But it's not really that simple to describe. It's effervescent, weightless, dreamlike, but at the same time, dark and heavy and intense. Each song a struggle between the two. A subtle tension that imbues the songs with emotion and urgency, even at their most blissed out and laid back.
A Darkness, as the title implies, might just be a tad bit darker than past outings, although the first track might not immediately let on. it's a doleful warm summer afternoon drift of soft focus post rock guitar, all minor key and meandering melody, floating along a slow flow of strange static and buzzing hum. But after that, it's a slow descent into a darker place, thick washes of warm drone and whirling winds of hiss and buzz, looped vocal snippets, strange beeping and distant industrial grind, before breaking through the black sky in a burst of effulgent bliss, still minor key and miserable, but briefly unhindered by the black buzz of the preceding 8 minutes. The next track is a desert-y drift, like Godspeed covering Calexico, harmonicas and little bits of twang hover amidst a dense reverbed soundscape, like a blown out and stripped down Galaxie 500. Beyond that, the sound continues to darken, huge billowing clouds of low end rumble and metallic shimmer, muted FX drenched snatches of distant piano, peppered with strange scrapes and scratches, footsteps? Someone digging? All very mysterious and haunting.
The record ends with the epic 20+ minute "Some Things Broken, Some Things Lost", a glistening slow motion drift, everything sparkling and glimmering, crystalline guitars smeared into long slow streaks of sound, melodies muted and blurred, gorgeous and ethereal, before transforming into a skipping crackly glitchscape, a whirring minimal drone hovers beneath a storm cloud of record crackle and a skipping record rhythm, before slowly blossoming into world of warm melody, a sonic expanse streaked with oranges and yellows, dark burnished reds, guitars flittering like little birds, just bits of melody against a stained glass sky. So lovely...
Jasper TX, how we will miss you! An Index Of Failure marks the final installment for Jasper TX, although the man behind this dream-time drone-rock project will be continuing to record under his own name, that being Dag Rosenqvist... and hopefully, he'll be retaining the same moodscaping and slippery alternation between post-rock ambience (e.g. Stars Of The Lid, Labradford, Barn Owl, and perhaps a rhythmless Mogwai) and the electro-acoustic soundsculpting of a Tim Hecker or a Jonathan Coleclough. That said, the title is apt, given this is a collection of tracks that were originally commissioned for various compilations or were collaborations that never quite got off the ground with Rosenqvist completing the original material by himself. The sad chords on the first track sound like they could have come from a Rhodes organ that leads into a beautifully shimmering wash of guitar drone, and that resonant, echo-laden radiance continues on the second track, about which Rosenqvist quips that it was just recorded with voice and guitar, although the expansive blur and wash speaks to a much larger, if hushed orchestra of instruments quietly layering timbre on top of timbre. Piano and tape experiments get reworked through Rosenqvist's tricks and techniques, culminating in what is undoubtedly one of his finest moments - the grandiose, oceanic crescendo of desolate guitar chords, slow marching rhythms, and densely washed out blur of post-Nadja distortion on "Days Above The Tide." So beautiful!
Handmade Birds printed up a few more of these than they normally do, with an edition of 500, all on winter grey-sky vinyl.
It's actually been a while since we've heard from Jasper TX, aka Dag Rosenqvist. For a brief spell, JTX was churning out releases like a Machinefabriek or Aidan Baker. And to be honest, we actually didn't mind, as we've loved pretty much everything Rosenqvist has released. In fact, the very first Jasper TX release, I'll Be Long Gone Before My Light Reaches You, still ranks as one of our favorite discs, and in some ways was sort of the first of this new breed of obfuscated blurred ambience we've come to love so much.
Anyway, finally a brand new full length, one epic 51 minute track, split into 6 movements, and right out of the gate, we're smitten, deep dark swells, washed out barely there melodies, distant hiss, and a strange buried pulse, that seems to surface and then disappear, like some mysterious beasts heartbeat, growing louder as it reaches the surface, only to fade away as it disappears back into the depths. Long drawn out tones, shimmery reflective, before it slips into something MUCH more minimal, the second movement, a super low-end drift, barely audible through speakers but in headphones it's a powerful seismic rumble, rippled with strands of whispery static, and more buried barely audible rhythms. It's only on track three that the record takes on anything songlike, a loping lilting guitar, unspooling a dreamy laid back melody, a keyboard picking out a simple harmony over the top, all underpinned by a soft dronelike murmur.
But the respite is brief, Black Sleep is indeed true to its title, narcotic and very dark, murky and mysterious, the record shifts into some abstract assemblage of thumps and bumps, before they fade out leaving a distant ominous whir, spread out like a slow moving black sonic sea, before shifting back again to song, the guitar returning, this time suspended amidst dense layers of static shimmer, low end rumbles, laced with bits of grit and glitch, of hiss and static, all very moody and intense, threatening to build to something climactic, but instead, shifting slowly forward, resolutely and mournfully.
The final part, clocking in at nearly 20 minutes, begins with a cacophony of buzzing and scraped strings, a manic exploration of a piano's inside, still surrounded by shards of electronic glitch, the static and buzz creating accidental rhythms over a distant machine-like hum, before a melody surfaces, minor key and melancholy, the notes appearing one at a time as deep swells, the distant drones building in density and intensity, never quite exploding, but building to a muted murky chordal climax, majestic, but still subdued, before as all things drone must, it fades to silence.
Definitely not the prettiest Jasper record (that honor still goes to I'll Be Long Gone) but certainly the darkest, and maybe the most mysterious sounding, a musical rendering of the Black Sleep, which to our ears can only be death, and as a soundtrack to slipping off our mortal coils, we'd be hard pressed to do much better than this.
It's funny that after years of everybody striving for better sound quality, better recording equipment, higher fidelity, a sound closer and closer to pristine perfection, wax cylinder to 78 to lp to cassette to compact disc.... that we here at AQ tend to lean in the exact opposite direction. Sure that record's great, we'll think, but imagine if it was swathed in murky distortion, or drenched in a dense swirl of tape hiss! Record crackle? Yes, please. This constant quest for sonic perfection seems like a reflection of exactly what is wrong with society in general, a constant striving for some unattainable ideal, the march of progress, sacrificing character and feeling and emotion for faceless smooth 'perfection' in the process. But those imperfections are exactly what make things interesting and unique and totally unlike anything else. But as much as we love lesser than pristine sound quality, it's worth pointing out that when, for example, we hear a compilation of old blues 78's often cleaned up, obviously the scratches and pops and hiss were not at all intended, and thus realistically have no place in the music, at least from the musician's point of view, but as a byproduct of degradation and the passing of time and the fragility of primitive recordings, the sound of that decay becomes representative of the time passed, and the history within the music. So when we hear old 78's or long lost wax cylinder recordings, we don't want them cleaned up and digitally restored, the sound of the music wrapped in warm scratchiness and murky lo fidelity, gives the music a special kind of character, like the lines on our faces, or metal oxidizing into cool greens and blues. And I guess that's what appeals to us about the music of Philip Jeck and Tim Hecker and William Basinski and the like. Musicians who create modern music, but who take that music and affect it in a way that makes it sound antique or otherworldly, damaged and decayed, sometimes by utilizing modern techniques, but just as often by employing old turntables and antiquated recording techniques, the music on its own is of course beautiful, but even more so with a rough patina of age and weariness, of whir and hiss, the musical equivalent of an old sepia tone photograph, edges all creased and folded, the images blurry and indistinct. It's more romantic, and way more mysterious.
But it takes more than just slapping on some fuzz, or recording on a broken old reel to reel machine. There was a glut recently of electronica pop hybrids, where a band would sprinkle some bloops and bleeps over some generic strummy pop, and suddenly what was once a crappy pop band became some sort of experimental avant post pop group. Bullshit. Just like anything, it's more than the process, more than the technique, it's some ineffable combination that creates magic. Magic like Jasper TX.
The work of one man, Dag Rosenqvist, and recorded at home in Sweden, Jasper TX sounds like so much more. A fuzzy travelogue, soft smeared images from lost lives and faded memories. A gentle lilting post rock, transmitted through time, picking up all sort of sonic detritus on the way, a message from another world, faded like an old postcard. A futuristic version of the unearthed 78. Imagine music nerds in 2066, discovering a mysterious compact disc, "rarely see those anymore...", unearthed in a trunk in some old abandoned house, marveling and the murky mystery of this record, and the beautifully fuzzy and foggy melodies, the droney timeless beauty. Jasper TX manages to evoke all sorts of feeling and emotions, some of the sounds, the methods, are clearly modern, but the whole record, every sound, every melody, is steeped in warm warbly mystery, even the title, I'll Be Long Gone Before My Light Reaches You, hints at the emotional disconnect, that faded photo, undelivered postcard, translated into music. Each track is a snapshot, a sonic glimpse into the past, or a future that was never meant to be, a melancholy soundtrack full of shadows and whispers, a slow shuffling shimmer, a loping lazy rhythm, drifting beneath a warm swirly wash of thick guitar fuzz and what sounds distinctly like the sound of surf crashing on the shore, a thick wash of My Bloody Valentine guitar and M83 buzzy shimmer over a lilting minor key guitar and delicate piano, long stretches of lustrous, sun dappled drones, over slow shifting chordal washes, and a creeping morose melodic crawl, soaring strings and gentle fingerpicked guitars, all muted and mumbled, as if heard from underwater, the light bending and wavering hypnotically, tinkling music box melodies drenched in reverb and broadcast from tin speakers hung from trees, the fog thick and the moonlight dull and grey, soft strummy guitars smeared into whisps of dreamlike whir, each track thick with sorrow, or regret, or hopelessness, not overt, but conveyed through the subtle soft light each track is cast in, warm overcast evening glow, the pale spill of the crescent moon, the diffuse flush of predawn light, glimmering and glistening soft and bittersweet. The heart of the record is the appropriately titled "My Heart Is Broken, I've Lost My Way", a nine minute slow build, warm wheezing layers of organ, over ambient clatter, mic sounds, footsteps, a weary, woozy wanderingly soft soundscape, gentle swells, each hovering and gliding dreamlike, an angelic theremin-like skree way in the background, while an alien melody is played out on top, crafted from glitched out crackling instrument buzz, an abrasive squelch, cutting in and out, easily the 'hardest' sounds on the record, like someone trying to get a message through from another dimension, a groaning distorted guitar, broadcast intermittently through the ether, creepy and strangely haunting. The record closes with the just as eerie "All Those Broken Birds Singing Winter Into Spring", a final look back, before fading into nothing, soft lilting guitar, over a whisper soft drift of minor key shimmer and minimally morose melody. So totally and absolutely perfect.
For a while there it was a pretty even race, Machinefabriek versus Jasper TX. Both bands offering up releases after releases, super limited, 3"s, whatever, it just seemed like it would never stop, and we didn't want it to, everything we heard was fantastic. Then suddenly it seemed like Jasper TX dropped out of the race, leaving Machinefabriek to keep us sated with disc after disc of dreamy fuzzy blissed out sound.
Well, if In A Cool Monsoon is why we were waiting to hear from Jasper TX, it was well worth the wait. And the wait ended up being even longer than planned, as this disc was recorded and released months and months back, but there was some problem with the mastering and the discs were trashed, and the record was remastered and now, finally, it's here, sounding just the way it was intended to.
And it's divine, and more of what we love about Jasper TX. Not at all lo-fi or minimal, this is a lush, expansive song cycle, sounding like it was recorded and performed by a full band, guitars drums, strings, squalls of feedback, languid and long form stretches of moody cinematic instrumental slowcore, dreamy and spacious, laced with drones but not a drone record�
The opening track is the first sign things have changed, a brief minute and a half chunk of super distorted crumbling electric guitar, chopped up bits of acoustic guitar, thick corrosive sonic swells, really pretty bur intense and noisy. But then the second track is just the opposite. A simple spare tribal drum line, a languorous bass line, chiming guitar harmonics, and a warm wheezing organ melody over the top. It sounds like Scenic or Low or Bjorn Olsson or something, meandering and wide open, subtly epic and cinematic.
There are some drone tracks, but even those are rife with texture and melody, "Summer" is all layered organs, the layers shifting and beating against one another, all sorts of overtones drifting in and out of earshot, but one of the organs is always working through a sweet sad melody, while the others drone on in the background.
"Waking Up" is one of the highlights, with it's delayed reverbed Spacemen 3 like guitar line, drifting in an expanse of soft space, the guitar joined by another, and then another, each offering a complimentary melody, the song is briefly interrupted by a thick swath of My Bloody Valentine style blissed out buzz, before slipping back into it's shimmering drift. The final track, "Falling From The Sky Like A Flock Of Burning Birds" is all smeared blurs of indistinct melody, tinkling chimes, soft swells of backwards guitar, distant whirs and drones, climaxing with a dense flurry of low end piano, epic and grandiose, before slowing down and darkly droning until the end, the chiming melodies, fading like the last light of the day.
