Yeah, when we heard this band's name, we were all "WTF?! What's Matador dishing up now?!" But then we took a closer look at the album's title (hmmm, Fuckbook sounds a lot like... Fakebook!) and the band photos on the back (hmmm, they look a wee bit familiar!), and we knew we were in the presence of our beloved old faves Ira, James and Georgia! Yup, Condo Fucks are a very thinly disguised Yo La Tengo tearing and tumbling though a raucous garagey setlist packed with messy covers of Beach Boys, Electric Eels, Flaming Groovies, Richard Hell, Slade, The Small Faces, and Troggs songs. Very very silly, sloppy and fun fun fun!
Comprised of three SF scene vets, Wendy Farina, Kurt Keppeler and Joshua Richardson, the group rumble, churn and jolt through eight brooding, dissonant songs. Each song is darkly catchy, built around a wall of buzzing, hissing analog synths and thick bass guitar through which the trio sneer, shout and spit out their vocals. Frantic and quite carnivalesque at times, and yes, very Fall and Sonic Youth influenced too. If you've enjoyed the very late 70s/early 80s-ish live-wire art-punk angularities from recent Bay Area bands like Erase Errata, Numbers or Phantom Limbs, Condor might be just the thing for you!
If you've dug the recent angular herky jerk sounds of Bay Area bands such as Numbers and Phantom Limbs... as well as Man Or Astroman?'s final two albums... or for that matter their forefathers Sonic Youth, The Fall and Gang Of Four, it might be time for you to check out this trio known as Condor! Their sophomore release Do It Everywhere is a whole lot tighter and a bit more melodic and poppy (hence the MOAM? comparison) than their 2003 debut full length A Big One, but still very propulsively punchy and dissonant with fitting Mark E. Smith-esque spoken/shouted/sung vocals, edgy guitar shards, thick analog synth splatters, throbbing chunks of bass, and uncluttered thumping drums. Cool!
Chuck "Mistachuck" D and sometime Public Enemy cohort the formery-controversial Professor Griff team up with one Kyle Ice Jason to try and cash in on the whole rock/rap thing that's currently making cash registers hum at record stores everywhere (but here), stuff like Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit. Now, if anyone should be making a buck off the trend, Chuck D is deserving, since he pioneered it with PE's crossover touring and collaborations back in the day (Slayer on "She Watch Channel Zero", bringing the noise with Anthrax, etc.) BUT, that really doesn't matter if this record isn't that good, as people had told us. Now that we've had a chance to listen to it, well, it's certainly not the '70s Funkadelic styled funk-rock thing that we were told Chuck promised...nope, it's definitely more on the early '90s generic funkmetal tip. Er, so, if you still like Urban Dance Squad and Living Colour's harder moments, well, this isn't as good as that, but you might want to check it out. Otherwise, stay away. Chuck's stentorian voice still rules though -- too bad it's not being put to better use.
Not a new release, but we managed to get a few in stock for the moment, so we thought we'd list this. We got turned on to the Confusional Quartet (great name!) a while back because of a review our friend Tim Ellison wrote in his great 'zine Modern Rock
New, noirish disc with guest vocalist Mark Eitzel!
Cosmic psych-folk from the mountainous coastal regions of Chile. We originally got this in last year but only now have finally gotten enough to list. In the same vein as the acid acoustic vibes of Satwa and the solo outings of Satwa member Lulu Cortes from Brazil, Congregacion's sole LP from 1972 was the brainchild of Antonio Smith, a mystical figure whose progressive songwriting and hopeful lyrics earned the contempt of the Chilean military dictatorship and forced him to flee the country. Swathed in the natural sounds of birds and wind with dreamy acoustic textures, flutes, strings and gorgeous romantic harmonies, we can just imagine the band levitating on mountaintops as they commune with the universe. Viene is a masterpiece of Latin psych-folk. Recommended!
This all time aQ South American psych folk fave, available again, now on vinyl!!
A record we've listened to on so many roadtrips through windy terrain, sun soaked mountains, and pastoral horizons. The sole lp by this Chilean group, but what an absolute magical album they created. Much like his Tropicalia counterparts in Brazil like Caetano Veloso, and Gilberto Gil, the music and lyrics of Antonio Smith, the mastermind of Congregacion, made him a big enemy of the military dictatorship of his country. Ultimately he was forced to flee from Chile. Much like Veloso and Gil, he never let that oppressive regime take away his vision of beauty.
This record is swathed in the natural sounds of birds and wind, with dreamy acoustic textures, flutes, guitars, strings and such gorgeous romantic harmonies. The sounds on Viene ease out with such a soft glow. We can just imagine the band levitating on mountaintops as they commune with the universe. It's a record we're sure many modern day dreamy music makers like Devendra Banhart, Beach House, Samara Lubelski, and Jose Gonzalez either already cite as a major influence or should listen to asap. Simply stunning!
If we had to pick a favorite, out of all the post rock / math rock / post metal hordes, a sound we do admittedly dig a whole lot, and one we can't seem to get enough of, Maine's mighty Conifer would be right there at the top. Which is saying something, as up until this brand new full length, we'd only heard from them twice, their debut, and a split with Ocean. As compared to some of the other bands who have released 2, 3, 4 maybe more records in the same amount of time. The first Conifer disc was fresh when it came out, taking classic math rock and beefing it up with huge swells of Neurosis crush, but the thing with Conifer is that they never completely buried that post rock vibe, even at their most metallic, when they were slipping into full on doom territory, they hung on to those loping rhythms, those fractured melodies, and figured out a way to infuse those elements into the roiling heaviness. On the debut we were hearing Slint and Bastro and Seam as much and as often as Isis or Neurosis, probably even more so.
In that way, the sound of Conifer hasn't changed all that much, their sound is still rooted heavily in mathrock, the metal elements more adorning the postrock instead of the other way around. In fact more than ever, they sound like a nineties mathrock band supercharged and transported to the oughts. Even at their heaviest, they don't get HEAVY, as in metal heavy, they get louder, and more dynamic, more intense, the sound gets fuller and more expansive. And this time around the band we can't help but hear all over this record is Polvo. The guitar parts are all woozy and warbly and angular and sort of seasick, the opening track is the perfect example, it almost sounds like some metal band covering the opening track from Polvo's Cor Crane Secret, with its multiple parts, its liquid arrangements, the clean guitars, layered and indeed woozy, the drum part and the arrangements, loping and mathy and not a little bit groovy. We hate to go on and on about mathrock and Polvo, cuz it could all be a big ol' coincidence, but we doubt it. Every song on Crown Fire is mathy and melodic, sometimes locking into repeating figures for just a tad longer than would be comfortable for most bands, opening up and drifting through wide open spaces, all glimmering harmonics and shuffling rhythms, backwards guitars floating in a sea of muted soft drones, tripped out almost Pink Floyd action here and there, complete with space-y synths and fluttery flutes. "Into The Gauntlet" almost sounds like a heavier Codeine, a bit doomy, with a strange lurching arrangement beneath glistening sparkling chimes, and flurries of shuffling snare drum and floor tom. Hard to say what it is exactly,
as it should be with music, but regardless, this is definitely a new high for a genre that becomes more and more overpopulated every day. Whenever we find ourselves listening to one of these new post rock / metal hybrids, as much as we love metal, and we do, we find ourselves longing way more for the intricacies and arrangements and dynamics of the post rock side of the equation, it's too easy to just turn it up and let downtuned guitars chug, and Conifer prove that you can make a super heavy, super catchy, epic record, without even bothering with faux metal chug, which is something else for sure.
If that weren't enough, the record closes with the 13 minute title track, featuring Eugene from Oxbow on guest vocals (normally Conifer are instrumental). The result is pretty excellent, and finds the band, doing their best Oxbow, a sort of abstract bluesy groove, that over the course of the song gets a little bit mathier and more complex, while Eugene sing-talks, howls, mewls, wails, growls, shrieks, moans, The track is super spare until about halfway through where it dials up the metal, offering up being churning chords and pounding drummage to support Eugene's increasingly unhinged and manic vocals, the song building to a furious climax, before drifting out in a haze of whispered mutterings and fractured electronics. It's a pretty awesome track for sure, but for us, it somehow works better when taken almost as a separate record. The first 6 tracks are so perfect together, a brilliant 38 minute post-math-metallic-rock suite, which just so happens to come with an equally brilliant bonus single song, 13 minute ep, featuring Conifer backing up Oxbow's Eugene Robinson.
However you slice it, WAY recommended!
Bands have been naming themselves after all manner of objects and creatures since the beginning of rock and roll. Heavy bands tending toward the mighty, the fierce or at least the very large. All manner of monsters and demons, various tigers and lions and even some sea creatures have been represented. But the largest, most imposing objects in nature have been sadly neglected as a source for inspiration and band-naming. TREES. So we have Conifer to right that wrong. And in doing so, judging from this ferocious slab of indie rock / metal sludge hypno-pummel, you'd certainly be forgiven for thinking this particular tree could take on any of the rock demons and metallic beasties that came before.
Conifer sleepily trawl through the dark recesses of post rock, taking the languorous slow burning churn of bands like Slint or Seam Or Bastro, all dark and brooding, simple and insistent, and stretching the riffs and melodies into expansive stretches of moody melancholy, swathed in Pink Floydian swoosh and whirl, before dropping the bomb. Massive downtuned guitars explode, splitting post rock atoms into clumps of corrosive riffage, peppered with raspy howls and screeching banshee melodies, sometimes gaining momentum and becoming unstoppable exercises in epic doomy drone-metal ala Neurosis or Isis, sometimes becoming glacial explorations into slow motion doom a la Khanate, and other times employing distorted ghostly computer vocals and buzzing psychedelia into Butthole Surfers-like sonic freakouts. A lot of this does definitely sound like Isis, Neurosis, Pelican or Buried At Sea, which is obviously a good thing, but more often it sounds like a doom-sludge A Minor Forest or a post rock Boris or a very metal Slint. Which is an even better thing!
It's pretty hard to go wrong with two heavy hitters like Conifer and Ocean, and predictably, this split lp is about as right as it gets. It's been ages since we heard from Conifer, one of our favorites of the new breed of post rock / metal hybrids, due in no small part to the fact that they tend toward the mathy / post rock side of that sound. And if anything, on this latest track (yep, one sidelong epic) they seem to have jettisoned any sort of metal completely. Not to say it's not heavy, it most certainly is, it's just not really sludgy, or that metallic, and it suits them. Right out of the gate, they lock into a super intense, relentless propulsive krautrock groove, hypnotic, mathy, complex, unfurling a super mesmerizing jam. But things shift dramatically when the vocals kick in, the band lurch into serious Harvey Milk territory, which is a very good thing, a strange crooned vocal line over a strange convoluted rhythm. Catchy, melodic, and weirdly poppy.
But the last 10 minutes or so totally seal the deal (if it wasn't already), a super stripped down Southern style (?) kraut jam, looped riff, simple propulsive drumming, and some killer guitar harmonies that go from epic and soaring to weird and warbly, and it's all we can do to not use one of our three wishes to get that last part to go on until the end of time...
The flipside features Maine's Ocean, not to be confused with THE Ocean, these guys aren't so much a part of that post rock metal thing as they are glacial doom merchants, and here they offer up a sidelong slab of multiple o'd dooooom. Things start out as a super pretty slowcore crawl, before a black hole wall of guitars drop and it's still a slowcore crawl, just a massive crushing funeral dirge of a slowcore crawl! Plodding and epic, but still haunting and weirdly lovely, sounding a lot like a metallized Bohren & Der Club Of Gore, depressive and mournful, mysterious and haunting... The vocals are a hellish howl, the guitars grinding and buzzing, a lot of this actually sounds like some unearthed slab of nineties funeral doom, albeit with that Bohren-y prettiness mixed in.
Packaged in super swank Important Records style, this time a black and white printed sleeve inside a grey and orange silk screened vinyl outer jacket, giving it a cool sort of 3-D affect. And as you might have assumed, SUPER LIMITED, only 1000 copies...
How does Bobby Conn make his retro glam rock stylings so damn perky? On Homeland, he's joined by The Glass Gypsies (who're actually his usual cohorts Monika BouBou, John McEntire as well as Nick Macri, Sledd Colby Starck and the wonderfully named Pearly Sweets), and they more than keep pace with Conn's often erratic effervescent musical adventures. Still swaggerin' in the spirit of T-Rex or Sweet, and the funk 'n' soul of Ohio Players or Kool & The Gang, but with the inclusion of song lyrics in the liner notes this time around Conn's socio-political side is brought more into view. Perhaps his past writings were just as much so, but buried under the swirling glitz of typical Conn productions who could tell?! Ample doses of falsetto, fountains of electric violins (oh so E.L.O.!), Hammond and farfisa organs. Groovy!
Mr. Bobby Conn straps his glam pants on for another tripped-outta-yer-mind rock'n'roll extravaganza! King For A Day starts out on a rather somber samba-tinged tone, but it doesn't take long for Conn and co. to rev their engines and launch his rock opera into full gear. We personally prefer the songs that shoot rockets of glitter and flaming guitar noodles to the ones on which Conn slows things down to love-you-down ballad croonery (kinda reminds us somewhat unpleasantly of Tony Hadley of Spandau Ballet). Highlights include the adventure rock of "Sinking Ship" and the bright and buoyant Monkee-ish pop moment "Love Let Me Down". Woo hoo!
Bobby Conn took a year and a half to complete this third record and highly anticipated follow-up to 1998's amazing "Rise Up!". Unfortunately, Conn has decided to drop the apocalyptic / satanic glam rock persona which made his first two records so exciting
Four remixes and the original version from Mr. Conn's "The Golden Age". Detroit electro sensations Adult., Magas (that's Marlon Magas -- ex Couch / Lake Of Dracula, current booty bass electro technician and co-owner of Chicago's Weekend Records and Soap),
We can almost hear Bobby Conn shoutin' "Come on down!!!!" Much like the Price Is Right, Conn and his backing band The Glass Gypsies were recorded in front of a live studio audience for this release... and it certainly is lively! A glammy, glittery, groovy good time, but we wouldn't expect anything less from The Conn now, would we? Actually the over-lit photos on the cover could easily be mistaken for stills from the 1980 musical movie The Apple, and the music bears more than a striking resemblance too. An abundance of noodly guitar solos, falsetto, backing singers and it looks like there were costume changes too. Think a low budget, neighbourhood version of Queen, Electric Light Orchestra, P-Funk and the talent show scene in The Beaver Trilogy (the one with Crispin Glover, not Sean Penn). Super silly fun!
Note: this cd is enhanced with two trippy video clips of the show, but we have to lament, "why wasn't this a dvd!?!"
We pretty much have a standing order for anything that PlusTapes releases. Much like Mississippi, PlusTapes has become the sort of label folks collect, which as we've mentioned before is pretty remarkable for a label so young. But so far, almost every release we've gotten from PlusTapes has flown out of here. And like Mississippi, they've also decided to dabble in more contemporary sounds, along with their ambitious reissue campaigns. Supporting their local scene, while paying homage to the past. Such is the case with these two latest releases, both limited to 100 copies, and we got less than 20 of each.
We immediately recognized the name Chris Connelly, and you probably should too - Revolting Cocks, Ministry, remember? But we figured it couldn't be the same Chris Connelly, it just didn't make any sense, but the more we thought about it, PlusTapes is in Chicago, Chicago is where Connelly lives, well it did sort of make sense which is good cuz it is in fact the very same Chris Connelly, but this is a whole different sound altogether.
Connelly recently released a full length album called The Episodes, that was a mysterious and haunting solo effort, owing much to folks like Leonard Cohen and Scott Walker, and other dark bards, very intimate and personal and dramatic, a few of the tracks were even recorded live in a Wisconsin forest. So this tape acts as sort of an addendum to that release, but even if like us you were unfamiliar with The Episodes, this is till a pretty intense and satisfying listen. Three unreleased versions, also recorded in the woods, aggressively strummed acoustic guitars, Connelly's plaintive croon, in the background you can hear birds chirping, other folks talking, very evocative, the lyrics personal and abstract, the voice weary and weathered, sometimes almost cracking, not at all what we expected from Connelly, but then all we had to go on was his industrial past.
Also included are two live tracks, with more lush instrumentation, even vibes, and the result is even more Scott Walker-y with a hint of Morrissey, the songs definitely sound more fleshed out, but beyond the songs themselves the various players get sort of trance-y and the songs get a bit abstract, droney, hypnotic, with the players sort of going off. Features some younger Chicago indie folks as back up, and the result is something that's not hard to picture on Thrill Jockey.
We weren't sure what to expect, but ended up digging this a lot, and will now probably have to track down a copy of The Episodes too.
LIMITED TOO 100 COPIES. We have less than 20, packaged with a black and white fold out cover, each one hand stamped and hand numbered.
Another new tape from UK tape label The Tapeworm, this one the latest from Chris Connelly, who most folks likely remember as a member of Ministry, Revolting Cocks and others, but whose post industrial trajectory as found him recast as more of a brooding singer songwriter and sonic experimentalist. Our first glimpse of Connelly's more songsmitherly alter ego came in the form of a tape on the PlusTapes label back in 2009, a gorgeous songsuite of skeletal song sketches, recorded in the woods, just guitar and vocals, over a bed of insects and abstract ambient night sounds, his voice a warm, weary and weathered croon.
This latest effort finds Connelly in experimental mode, finally releasing a piece he's been working on for 22 years (!!). Just piano and vocals, but don't be expecting some maudlin man-at-a-piano action, no this is something altogether more warped and wonderful. The piano parts were recorded with the tapes running super fast, and then flipped backwards. Connelly, then sang over the backwards piano, at which point the tapes were slowed back down, resulting in a dark and demonic, woozy and warped landscape of churning murky chordal thrum, and vocals that are low and bellowed, and seriously creepy. The music is lush and layered and dense and dark, sans the vocals, it would be a gorgeous bit of churning ambience, but the vocals transform it into something more ritualistic and malevolent.
On the flipside, it's the same music played backwards, so the piano sounds 'correct', albeit still slowed down, but this time the vocals are backwards, and somehow, it sounds ever MORE insane, the piano a pounding ominous landscape of oozing blackened chords, the vocals a chorus of gurgling monstrous speaking in tongues.
Fucking amazing!!
Loren Connors has always had a special way with a guitar. An impossibly intimate rapport, the result of which is gorgeously dreamy and unlike almost any guitar music we've ever heard. Dark clouds of chordal shimmer, simple spidery melodies, experimental for sure, but not at the cost of intimacy or emotion. Connors explores some dark inner world of sadness and sorrow, melancholy and regret, his guitar practically singing, but not howling or wailing, instead crooning in slow low tones, his music like a collection of lost spirituals, unearthed, dusted off, and unfurled, allowed to hover and drift like motes of dust in the late afternoon sun. Wrapped in the soft whirring lo-fi production, and the moonlit murk of whatever space the sounds are being captured in.
This collection gathers up most of Connors' modern airs, shortform pieces inspired by classic Irish airs of the past (Irish traditionals like "Danny Boy" for instance), culled from 10 albums (8 of which are out or print).
But don't be expecting any sort of classic sounding Irish music, or recognizable traditionals, it's the spirit of the air that is more on display here, each track a gorgeous miniature. Epic, yet somehow broken down to its very melodic essence. A few tracks feature vocals, courtesy of longtime Connors collaborator Suzanne Langille, her voice deep and throaty, the perfect match for Connors' languorous melodies, but most of these tracks are instrumental, the guitar woven into spare, evocative soundscapes, where the space is just as important as the notes, the melodies drawn way out into glistening spiderwebs of sound, soft and shimmery and somnambulant, the sound of moonlight shadows, and warm breezes at dusk, the soft lapping of water on the shore of a fog shrouded lake, the whispered rustle of autumn leaves, each note a warm glowing orb, twinkling in a fuzzy expanse of muted ambience and breathless anticipation. So so so lovely.
There are musicians who are incredibly technical and ultra proficient on their chosen instrument. Then there are others who don't have that kind of technical talent but who more than make up for it with a never ending reserve of raw emotion and deep personal expression. But rare is the performer who has both. Loren (sometimes Mazzacane) Connors is one of that rare breed. This 3-disc collection gathering bits and pieces from almost 30 years of recordings is an amazing testament to the ghostly, captivating sounds Connors has conjured up with his guitar. Unlike most guitar players Connors knows how to coax an impossibly wide range of sounds from an instrument that is usually approached from a much more singular point of view. Whether it's lurking feedback, washing in and out of his smoke filled strumming, or his more direct stripped down and totally pretty pick and strum, Connors is always challenging himself, never resting or relying on one specific sound or style. If somehow Connors is missing from your cd/record collection, and if you found yourself entranced by Earth's last outing Hex..., and perhaps you love the sounds of Tom Carter, the instrumental outings of Tom Verlaine, then for sure NEED to get some Loren Connors running through your veins and filling up your ears. Because of his prolific nature (Wow, has he ever released a ton of records and collaborated with a who's-who of underground luminaries!) this is one of those instance where a retrospective makes a lot of sense and is perfect for those of you who never knew exactly which records to start with. Now you have your answer. This one. One moment sounding like crazy psychedelic Japanese guitar jams, the next creating goose bumps with his chilling and subtle delivery, the next creating a creepy web of sound with distant off key vocals that rival Jandek in their mysterious and riveting nature, and the next laying down the ghostly sounds for a soundtrack to a film we wish would exist. Such a great journey, wandering through this moonlit collection of songs.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Loren (Mazzacane) Connors' newest album is solo guitar work again from this virtuosic player. The entire record is super slow and dreamlike, and the *gorgeous* guitar tone is eerily reminding me of the first track on Miles Davis' seventies jazz-fusion classic
Second in the Table Of The Elements' label series of limited, one sided clear vinyl 12"s, this time from ultra prolific guitarist Loren (formerly Mazzacane) Connors. Sublime and mesmerising, Connors' guitar is a dark cloud of distant chiming chords, shimmering reverb, and warm rich sonic swirl. Minimal but somehow completely epic, a dark cinematic dream/drone-scape. So good. Striking woodcut image silkscreened in silver ink on the clear vinyl in a clear sleeve. VERY LIMITED. So don't dawdle.
Two of the most prolific, creative guitar players around, who've both built followings in the realm of the indie/avantgarde, team up at last. Such a collaboration certainly makes sense, and the results are quite what you'd expect: a real pretty, kinda melancholic, all-instrumental minimalist duet, sleepy and meandering. Loren "formery Mazzacane" Connors has a very personal style of haunting electric guitar that he of course explores here, while David Grubbs (of Gastr del Sol and much else besides) contributes his talents on both guitar and piano. Any individual, isolated moment on this disc might seem just a little too sparse and simple, but as it unfolds it rewards the listener's patience. By the time the disc has run its 34 minute course, and you can perceive the whole of Arborvitae in your mind's ear, you'll be nicely blissed out and appreciative of the aesthetic that Grubbs and Connors share here.
Every year on Record Store Day, there's inevitably a record from psychedelic space rockers Bardo Pond, and every year, it's SO limited, we barely get any, and thus there are a lot of disappointed BP fans. This year was more of the same, the number of Bardo Pond records once again fell woefully short of the demand (it didn't help that of the 30 we ordered, we got ONE). But this year at least, Bardo headz can console themselves with this sweet set of jams, a split that features on one side, Vapour Theories, aka the Gibbons brothers, they of the aforementioned 'Pond, and on the flipside, iconic guitarists Loren (sometimes 'Maazacane') Connors.
The Vapour Theories side, is a gorgeously druggy sprawl of smoldering psych, a bed of crystalline acoustic guitars, bristles quietly beneath thick, softly undulating sheets of blissful buzz, laced with blistering arcs of psych guitar swirl, and keening, aching, melodies, the whole thing gorgeously laid back, and washed out, a woozily wasted psychedelic dream jam that should most definitely hit the spot for fans of the Bardo Pond mothership.
The Loren Connors side manages to be both noisier, and more abstract, the sound much more raw and lo-fi, softly billowing clouds of static give way, to tangled little tendrils, buzzing melodies drifting through fields of hum and thrum, lots of space, a much darker, introspective psych, everything murky, and blurry, smeared chordal washes blossom into strange soft noise flurries, and just as quickly fade back into tranquil swirls and shimmers, and often into near silence, Connors' delicate guitarscapes hushed and haunting and ethereal, in fact much of the side requires headphones, or an extremely quiet listening environment, to truly apprecciate Connors' sweetly sublime, guitar psych ultraminimalism.
LIMITED TO 300 COPIES!!! Pressed on random colored vinyl.
We're happy to be graced with another lovely Loren Mazzacane Connors release. His trademark style of "Venusian blues" guitar is in fine form here, with the haunting, lonely, late-night beauty of his playing really delving into the darkness over this 37 minute
Excellent reissue! Out of print since its release in 1972 when it went almost completely unnoticed, this album is finally available in special 30th anniversary boxed double disc format! A shorter version of it was available briefly in 1993 but this features a whole other disc of extra material.
It wasn't until after playing and performing for over ten years that the now-legendary experimental violinist Tony Conrad finally put his music down on wax. This was after his tenure as an integral member of the Theater of Eternal Music's Dream Syndicate with Lamonte Young, Marian Zazeela, John Cale, and Angus MacLise (NB: the latter two being founding members of the Velvet Underground, which got its band name from a paperback Conrad found lying in the street.) The Dream Syndicate's raison d'etre was exploring the sonic depth, meaning and sound of the almighty DRONE. A chance meeting with producer Uwe Nettelbeck resulted in an intense three-day recording session at Faust's secluded farm slash studio and it was here that Conrad finally got to breathe life into his own take on the drone. The Faust fellows supply a warm, insistent drum beat and a just as unstoppable bass throb. Both the bass *and the drum* are 'tuned' to specific notes over which Conrad lays his droning violin. And that's it. For half an hour. So great! Not boring at all -- your ears quickly become attuned to the waverings, harmonies, and other minute changes amongst the three elements. Fans of Neu, Can, Kraftwerk, and of course Faust NEED this. As does anyone into hypnotic droning rock ala AQ faves Circle, Highly recommended, definitely seminal album by one of the pioneers of drone.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Excellent reissue! Out of print since its release in 1972 when it went almost completely unnoticed, this album is finally available in special 30th anniversary boxed double disc format! A shorter version of it was available briefly in 1993 but this features a whole other disc of extra material.
It wasn't until after playing and performing for over ten years that the now-legendary experimental violinist Tony Conrad finally put his music down on wax. This was after his tenure as an integral member of the Theater of Eternal Music's Dream Syndicate with Lamonte Young, Marian Zazeela, John Cale, and Angus MacLise (NB: the latter two being founding members of the Velvet Underground, which got its band name from a paperback Conrad found lying in the street.) The Dream Syndicate's raison d'etre was exploring the sonic depth, meaning and sound of the almighty DRONE. A chance meeting with producer Uwe Nettelbeck resulted in an intense three-day recording session at Faust's secluded farm slash studio and it was here that Conrad finally got to breathe life into his own take on the drone. The Faust fellows supply a warm, insistent drum beat and a just as unstoppable bass throb. Both the bass *and the drum* are 'tuned' to specific notes over which Conrad lays his droning violin. And that's it. For half an hour. So great! Not boring at all -- your ears quickly become attuned to the waverings, harmonies, and other minute changes amongst the three elements. Fans of Neu, Can, Kraftwerk, and of course Faust NEED this. As does anyone into hypnotic droning rock ala AQ faves Circle, Highly recommended, definitely seminal album by one of the pioneers of drone.
Recorded live at Queen Elizabeth Hall in London in '95 this was the reunion of one of minimalist's great torch holders Tony Conrad along with one of experimental rocks greatest bands Faust. When they originally teamed up at a German filmmakers request, they made Outside The Dream Syndicate over three days together in 1971. A landmark record that took Conrad's affinity for building drones mixed with a rhythm section that added intense pulsations and textures to the sounds. While apparently Faust didn't really remember the recording sessions (what were they on?) they met up only two more times since the original recording to perform the piece live. This show was the third and last time they performed together and at this show they were also joined by the helping hands of Jim O'Rourke (is there a band he hasn't played with?). And wow! What an amazing show to have been at. With his La Monte Young cap on tightly, Conrad masterfully created a piece that no matter when it was produced evokes such a strong physical reaction. This is raw, building, blistering, pounding, droning brilliance! The way momentum keeps building works its way into your body and about half way into the piece you can't stop from getting completely wrapped up in it. The droning violin, the dirty percussion, the gut wrenching passion underneath and above it all! It's amazing how in these sounds you can hear so much of a handful of contemporary AQ favorites: Godspeed You Black Emperor's explosive drama, The Dirty Three at their most wild and rocking, Swans/Angels Of Light's blistering poignancy, but it all ends up seeming sorta like little league in comparison to the blood and guts that oozes out of this performance. As always Table Of The Elements appropriately package the cd with the care it deserves including some nice short conversations with Conrad and two great stickers of Conrad's face. Absolutely recommended!
What's more powerful than a Leonard Cohen song? How about if it was sung by a 30 member acapella male choir? This awesomely-named group, Conspiracy of Beards, have been performing around the Bay Area for the last five years, wowing audiences with their exclusive repertoire of Leonard Cohen songs. The reverent intensity and tender drama that fills much of Cohen's songwriting is strangely fitting for choral interpretation. This is their debut release, an ep of five classic songs that nearly carries the same punch as their live shows. Though it's really hard to beat the experience of seeing this group live, where the feelings of spiritual uplift and vague impending doom are oddly tied together.
Oh Canada! On their latest full-length (their first since leaving Sub Pop for Arts & Crafts), Toronto's Constantines present a further refinement to the sound they've been developing over the past four records. Kensington Heights manages to balance a brooding sort of intensity with an unwavering sense of optimism and translate the two into a solid, anthemic record filled with songs of rebellion, growing older, disappointment, and hope.
While the tempos might be slowed a bit from their previous outings, there's no shortage of growl - right out of the gate, the first two tracks ("Hard Feelings" and "Million Star Hotel") are thoroughly sweat-drenched, and mid-tracklist pick-me-up, "Brother Run Them Down" shows that the band is still more than capable of writing a solid scorcher.
That said, there are a number of slow burners on the album ("Time Can Be Overcome" is a standout) that reveal a Constantines who are weary but not jaded. Where the album strikes some of its highest notes, however, are those moments in songs like "Trans Canada" and "I Will Not Sing A Hateful Song," where the band displays a particularly deft ability to be at once both delicate and pummeling.
What the Constantines provide, moreso than anything else, is a reminder that bands *can* be successful, current and relevant without a swarm of blog-fueled hype, or a post-modern mashed-up genre descriptor attached to them. This is an irony-free rock band making an irony-free rock album that manages to connect itself to a firmly entrenched tradition of earnest, blue collar arena-ready anthems (think Springsteen, Thin Lizzy, and Tom Petty, with touches of Fugazi, Wilco and Archers of Loaf). This is by no means a perfect record, but it's one that feels raw and real in its mix of bravado and yearning. Highly recommended for all of you who wear your bruised hearts on the sleeves of your tattered jean jackets.
Despite the recent flurry of bright sunny pop that's come a-flowing down from up north, punk rock's not dead in Canada. No way, the old stomping grounds of hardcore legends such as D.O.A., Dayglo Abortions and SNFU still spews forth a few fist raisers. While the latest Constantines album is not nearly as fully raging as their debut was, nor can we call it anywhere near as politically charged as their hardcore grandfathers', the band still infuses an ample amount of grit and furious energy into their tunes. Their gravelly, hoarse-piped vocals once again recall in turn those of The Clash, Fugazi, Paul Westerberg and Rancid... and actually also brings to mind fellow Canadian, veteran rocker Tom Cochrane, but musically they've at once tightened things up, flexed some muscle and stretched out their range, injecting some unexpected dimensions into Tournaments Of Hearts -- such as a few slower, more sensitive guy tempos, a bit of country twang and a little emo folksy boyishness.
Canada's young answer to Fugazi (with some Girls Against Boys and Paul Westerberg thrown in for good measure), The Constantines have been raising a racket up north for over five years already, but this their 1999 self-titled debut has only been available in Canada. Despite the limited access to their releases, the band has amassed quite a loyal following on both sides of the border, becoming total college radio darlings. Now SubPop have kindly stepped in to fuel their engines, reissuing this introductory full length, and its an impressive one, solid from start to finish. Particular high points are the fiery fourth song "Young Offenders" with its smattering of Rod Stewart's lyrics "young hearts be free tonite" (believe me, it's better than that sounds!), the unexpected slow 'n' sensitive number "Saint You", and the following tense, brooding instrumental "The McKnight Life". These three stand out 'cause not only are they great songs, but they're also a welcome divergence from the rest of the album's almost unwavering hardcore fury.
Philip Best (Whitehouse, Ramleh, Skullflower) along with legendary noisemaker/producer Russell Haswell and the previously unknown to us Sarah Froelich, an American artist deliver this modern slab of abject, power electronics synth-noise. We originally figured this for an archival reissue, some lost gem from the Shock Records / Broken Flag axis, but it is in fact a brand new record, although sonically, it's not that far removed from CE's early releases, still obviously beholden to that whole Shock / Broken Flag sound/scene. The whole program is only about 20 minutes long, a double lp mastered specifically for vinyl, and to spin at 45rpm, the cd separately mastered for digital, but that's more than enough, CE's nihilistic onslaught directly descended from Bet's tenure in Whitehouse, feral and frenzied, caustic and confrontational. The music itself almost lovely at times, minimal synthscapes, blurts of gristly squelch, spread out into weirdly dynamic pulses, not so lovely at others, lurching from undulating walls of grumblingly distorted synth, to minimal cold wave electronica, to full on grinding, speaker shredding synthnoise. All of which is essentially just a backdrop for Best's venomous vocalizations, some seriously vitriolic spoken word, that again, fans of Whitehouse will definitely dig, on the more minimal tracks, Best's vocals are WAY up in the mix, and are harrowing and sort of terrifying, but as the record progresses, those vocals are subsumed into the chaotic, feedback drenched electronic squalls, and while we might not say it becomes more 'listenable', it does transform into something more musical, Best's voice, just another part of CE's harsh, electronic industrial puzzle.
Pressed on heavy 180 gram black vinyl. Housed in a glossy gatefold sleeve. First 500 copies include a cd version of the record, differently mastered than the vinyl.
There's a constant monologue uttered on Repetition Reinforcement from Phillip Best, he of the sick mind and the filthy mouth. Even when he steps away from the microphone, you get the sense that he's just whispering epithets and muttering profanities as the default means of existence. So much rage and disapproval he has of the world; and yes, the word 'cunt' gets tossed around as something of a punctuation mark to his rants. Best is, of course, the longstanding pilot of the British power electronics outfit Consumer Electronics as well as one of the longest standing members of Whitehouse alongside fellow malcontent William Bennett. Consumer Electronics is now a fully fledged trio, Best joined by the noted noise agitator Russell Haswell and Sarah Froelich, whose own recited narration pairs with that of Best on one of the two lengthy tracks on this long EP in a duel of churlish misanthropy. The electronic accompaniment is brutishly minimal, with a whumping techno pulse stripped of all groove and movement acting as a gridded architecture for atonal tweaking, teeth-clinching electronic tension, and ghastly noise wash. It's still Best who commands Consumer Electronics with his vitriol, which seems to be a bottomless well of rage and contempt.
Formed in early 1977, The Consumers were Phoenix Arizona's answer to the Germs. Punk fucking rock. After recording their debut album (20 minutes of adrenaline fueled, hateful, spazzy and totally catchy punk) shortly after their inception, the Consumers
This legendary / infamous slab of punk rock, finally reissued on vinyl!!
Formed in early 1977, The Consumers were Phoenix Arizona's answer to the Germs. Punk fucking rock. After recording their debut album (20 minutes of adrenaline fueled, hateful, spazzy and totally catchy punk) shortly after their inception, the Consumers relocated to LA where they continued to terrorize, destroy and get banned from playing almost anywhere! Furious and angry and kick ass and better than almost any punk rock since ('cept maybe the Electric Eels, who they definitely have a thing or two in common with, sonically and otherwise). Two of the Consumers went on to play in 45 Grave, Human Hands and Dream Syndicate, while the other two Consumers went on to...die! Only two Consumers are still alive!! Punk as fuck.
Continental's music evokes precisely that state right between sleeping and waking. As gentle as can be, this is the SF quartet's follow-up to their well-received 2001 self-titled cd. In that time they seem to have shed some of their more post-rock and jazz leanings in favorite of straightforward blissfulness. Nine songs that slowly drift and envelope like an early morning mist. For fans of the ultra soothing Landing and Windy & Carl.
Continental are keepin' the post-rock alive with their new 7-song cd. A few customers even asked if this was an old Tortoise release, and it's easy to draw that comparison to Chicago's granddaddies of the genre. A solid follow-up to 2003's Four-Letter Words.
The sound of whistling winds greet us as Continuous Peasant's debut cd gets rolling. You can almost envision this SF sextet strolling into a ghost town, mainman Chris Stroffolino sitting himself down at the piano of an ol' dusty tavern, downin' an ample shot of bourbon or two and bashin' out a tune. From there the sound melts into more emotive, country-tinged college rock territory (think: a cross between Pavement and the Lemonheads). In turns rousing, wry and melancholic, Continuous Peasant shine brightest when the keyboards are pushed to centerstage. Note: the track listing shows eleven songs -- and we hate to blow the surprise -- but you really should know to keep that cd player going 'cause there's a hidden twelveth song that's one of the album's highlights. But y'know, don't just take our word on this album's goodness, AQ customer Steve Carll took quite a shine to it also and had this to say:
First off, I love this band's name, evoking both the "continuous present" narrative strategy and the "still fuckin' peasants" line from John Lennon's "Working Class Hero". Appropriate enough, as singer/keyboardist/songwriter Chris Stroffolino's perhaps better known in indie poetry circles (several books published, etc) than he is in indie rock circles (played keyboards for the Silver Jews).
The band's sound? How's this grab you -- Richard Hell singing Leonard Cohen/Beck collaborations with Nick Cave on piano? OK, it's not exactly like that, but it'll do as a provisional mental picture. As the album opens, the guitar and piano jam with the rain; then the piano takes over with a rhythm that takes some time to lock into your mind, but once it does, you realize it was there all along. There's some pleasant lopey, mopey country rock (the record's named after a Stones album from '72, after all) with occasional harmonies by guest Vanessa Beggs to sweeten Stroffolino's often acidic lyrics. There's also some faster stuff where the guitar is more prominent, whipping old-school New York punk rock songs into a froth.
A band with a poet singing lead is in danger of sinking under the weight of the lyrics, but Continuous Peasant manages to hold its own. The arrangements are simple, but with lots of nice subtle touches. The lyrics employ a lot of repetition, the melodies are barely perceptible, and there's hardly a chorus to be found. Somehow, everything hangs together remarkably well. The rawness of the recording generally gives it a directness that's engaging, marred by an occasional rushed vocal.
Thematically the album refers back not only to Exile on Main Street, but also, in its frequent allusions to sexual politics, to Liz Phair's 1993 release Exile in Guyville. Where Phair laments a culture of male insensitivity that wants to fuck and run, Stroffolino looks around ten years later and sees a culture where it seems as if that cycle has encompassed everyone, discouraging us all from opening up and showing vulnerability: "Always the same if you're not really naked" is the new lament.
There's more to say about the lyrics, which grow on you after a few listens through the album, but I may already have said too much for some: this is music as much as it is poetry. The big question, then, could be: will the next album from Continuous Peasant be its Whip-Smart, or its Goat's Head Soup? It seems reasonable to look for a different return altogether from this year's Exile.
This is Mr. Chris Stroffolino and co.'s follow-up to their warmly received debut album Exile In Babyville from a couple of years ago. Once again Stroffolino's expressive saloon-style piano playing is a key ingredient to C.P.'s potency. It shines forth from the backdrop which is solid rootsy rock with some Pavement-y indie boy slouchiness. Comparisons to Silver Jews (with whom Stroffolino has played keyboards) are still very apropos. That said, Ms Mia Lipman's backing vocals certainly offer a nice contrast to his world weary 'n' whisky'd delivery. Prior to entering the musical realm, Stroffolino put his thoughts to paper rather than music, writing numerous books of poetry and prose. His literary past definitely surfaces in his evocative lyrics which take primarily an intimate, observational, first person perspective. They're granted ample space to unwind and sink in, given the songs' mostly slow to mid tempos. That said, occasionally the band kicks up a cloud of dirt for more rollicking numbers such as "You Don't Believe In Nuthin'".
Control Unit are the Italian duo of Sylvia Kastel and Ninni Morgia, the latter having done all sorts of scattered psychedelic projects including a prolonged stint in La Otracina. But in teaming up with the uncompromising Sylvia Kastel for Control Unit, his expository tendencies are tempered in the heavy sourness of Control Unit's grim electronics. In A Frame is their second lp and perfects the bad-drug cocktail of early '80s Italian industrialisms and the narcotic / narcoleptic vibes of Factrix and Mars which they first began to manufacture a couple years back. Kastel and Morgia employ monotone guitars, beatboxes, and cheap synthesizers cast through ghostly delay patterns and a zombified / exhumed production grit that alternates between abstracted decompositions of Hansen records styled electrical damage and tracks which could almost be considered songs with their step sequenced skeletal rhythms haunted by Kastel's vocalizations. These more structured elements seems to corrode from within, as the geiger-counter rhythms and ticking pulsations misfire and palpitate amidst the crosshatching loops and erratically fired patterns. Even with all of the cold/minimal/wave revivalism going on, Control Unit are dialed into a very specific historical reference of most death-obsessed electronica circa 1982. Creepy, horrifying, chaotic dirges for the industrially minded. Limited to just 275 copies!
A collection of straight-up punk rock culled from recordings spanning fifteen years ('77-92). Most are by The Controllers who were in existence from '77 to '79 (and reunited briefly in '96), a couple are by Skull Control ('92). Yes, these are the sounds of the early days of punk. Brought to you by garage and punk rock historians Bacchus Archives of Dionysus Records.
They may have set the bar impossibly high with 2001's Jane Doe, one of the most perfect punk metal / metallic punk rock records EVER, but it's really time to stop holding that against them, cuz even stacked up to Jane Doe, the records that followed (You Fail Me, No Heroes, Axe To Fall, and now this one) are impossibly dense, insanely heavy, progged out, super dynamic, mathy, tech metal hardcore genius, the sort of sound that most bands spend their whole lives aspiring too without ever coming close.
The sound here is really not that far removed from the last few full lengths, but as they say, why fix what ain't broke? That's not to say this is Axe To Fall part two, the band always seem deadset on pushing themselves and their sounds further and further, and every record, it seems that their sound couldn't get any more heavy and chaotic and furious and intricate, and yet it does. EVERY time. The band occasionally slip into something approaching more traditional punk rock bash and crash, but the majority of their time is spent maneuvering through maze like arrangements, stop-on-a-dime breakdowns, dizzying almost psychedelic blasts of facemelting heaviness, and even when they do get all punk rock, it's weirdly lush and layered and rife with texture and melody, and still about as mean and metallic as punk rock gets. And when they do slow it down, unfurling some doomy churn or some post rocky tangle, it's impossible not to imagine a room full of sweaty punks losing their shit. Hell, even listening to this on headphones, it's kinda hard not to just go apeshit. And with all this furious mathed out punk and chugging metallic crush, not to mention some rad classic metal guitar harmonies (check out "Sadness Comes Home"), it still manages to somehow be catchy as fuck. Music this crazed and chaotic should not be so goddamn catchy, but it is Converge after all, and once again, they've created a modern metal punk masterpiece, that a whole 'nother generation can analyze and pick apart, desperately trying to discover what warped musical DNA can produce sounds like these. As for us, we don't really care where it comes from. As long as it keeps coming. We'd definitely expect this to end up on lots of folks year end lists. It's definitely gonna make ours...
