Wonderful breezy pop very much in the vein of Belle And Sebastian that also reveals a moodier side. Dare we say that this 6-song ep by Chicago sextet The 1900s almost makes for a better B&S follow-up to Dear Catastrophe Waitress than The Life Pursuit! Yes, we do. Much like those Scots' last few lush albums, The 1900s' Plume Delivery comes fully decked out with organs, harpsichord, violin, keyboards, horns. Of course, that alone wouldn't mean much if the bountiful instrumental palette wasn't put to good use, but it certainly is. The 1900s incorporate it all seamlessly into such lovely melodies and glorious arrangements. But the super dreaminess comes from the vocal department, Caroline Donovan and Jeanine O'Toole's voices alternately remind us of Isobel Campbell and Laetitia Sadier, while mainman Edward Anderson's voice can easily be compared to Belle And Sebastian's Stuart Murdoch. If you dig the sounds of the abovementioned bands as well as The Delgados, Call And Response, Young & Sexy and Mates Of State, you might also take a shine to The 1900s. A super delight from start to finish!
Now available as a super limited picture disc!
Four tracks 39 minutes 21 seconds of EVIL. That's what this so-long-awaited-it's-unexpected cd from Swedish black metal improvisors Abruptum provides. And if Abrupt aren't already your favorite black metal band they sure should be. One member is a dwarf (or so we thought, he may just be really REALLY short). And past releases have included a whole record made up entirely of field recordings of band members whipping themselves and howling in agony! When they do get down to actual metal, it's of the grimmest, vilest variety. And since we were kind of under the assumption that Abrupt were no more, this sudden return is pretty darn exciting. So in keeping with Abruptum's confounding and perplexing history, this new release is definitely not "metal". Still evil of course, but sonically it's much more of an experimental dark ambient drone record. And a great one at that! Press play...a distant, martial drum cadence underpins dark droning feedback, grinding tortured low end, haunting minor key chords and distant melodies buried under slabs of distorted crunch. It's like a blackened mix of Total, Der Blutharsch, Lustmord and Corrupted, perhaps. Sweet female vocals soon (barely) emerge from the murk...a heavily reverbed chorale, chanting, with tolling bells, all buried under a thick grimy layer of grinding grit. Like a Merzbow / Dead Can Dance mashup. Soon the vocals fade into the mist as the grinding throbbing low end begins to pulse and loop and shimmer, distant explosions crack through the darkened skies, the echoes spreading out like ripples in a pond, creating hypnotic almost-rhythms, while underneath it all weird little looped melodies scurry about looking for shelter from the throbbing malevolence. Imagine Philip Jeck, in spikes and full corpse paint, set up in the middle of the forest beneath a full moon, with a hundred turntables, all black and moss covered, playing the warped and slowed down records of Troum, Dead Can Dance, William Basinski, Skullflower and all manner of rumbling drones...
Thank god (or Satan) that this record is as good as it is, because of all the trouble we had to go through to get it! We became aware of British black metal act Anaal Nathrakh from first seeing ads for this album in Terrorizer magazine (the UK's metal version of The Wire), then Terrorizer named it record of the month, and then one of the top 40 records of 2001! Yet no metal distributors in the United States had ever even heard of Anaal Nathrakh. Not even the band themselves could help us out, and the one distributor that did offer the album only had TEN COPIES. Our tiny little store wanted at least twice that many.
But, many frustrating conversations and unproductive emails later, we finally have The Codex Necro in stock and are happy to report that it is as heavy, as weird and as completely cool as we had hoped. The formula is still blasting black metal mayhem, but A.N. up the intensity a notch as well as mixing in all sorts of fucked weirdness: bizarre ambient electronic soundscapes, creepy cloying melodies buried in the mix, strangely hypnotic vocal chants, light speed fuzzed out blast beats, found sound interludes, and totally processed and INSANE vocals, from growling guttural bowel-shaking grunts to maniacal high pitched, electronically fucked-with shrieks. Plus the riffs are ultra catchy, and the guitars are so distorted and recorded so hot, it feels like demonic claws are being scraped across your ear drums. Take the raw, "necro" sounds of Nordic black metal pioneers Darkthrone and give them the bombastic force of the best-produced, over-the-top Cradle of Filth stuff, and you're thinking Anaal Nathrakh. When they say necro, they mean it. And they say it a lot. Like in the liner notes: "Anaal Nathrak plays Fucking Necro Exclusively!...Fuck Everything".
A new half hour, six-song blast of total fucking necro mayhem from these UK metal maniacs. A blast it is, a worthy follow up to their godlike The Codex Necro album that was one of our favorite records of 2002. On this ep, the duo of VITRIOL and Irrumator seem to have shed the overtly weird bits that made The Codex Necro so instantly distinctive, production-wise. No studio fuckery, no space-y ambience, no found sounds, no samples. Just 100%, furious, lightspeed, grim black metal. Which is just fine -- the songs and performances speak for themselves in sinister tongues, without the need for sound fx to tweak things further. This is simply some seriously sick, blazing fast, dark and damaged black metal indeed, with insane blast beats, all sorts of off-kilter stops and starts, maniacal leads, and last but not least, a litany of ghostly howls, anguished screams and cries of utter and abject fury -- some of which are provided by guest cult black metal vocalist Attila Csihar (of Mayhem, Aboyrm, and Tormentor infamy)! We also like the fact that there are photos of the band members on the inside and they look like librarians! Necro librarians that is.
MPEG Download: "Cataclysmic Nihilism" [/audio/anaalnathrakhcataclysmic.mp3]
MPEG Stream: "Cataclysmic Nihilism" [/audio/anaalnathrakhcataclysmic.m3u]
Here's one of the full-lengths mentioned in our review of the Messthetics Greatest Hits compilation last list, and it's also quite recommended. We first heard Animals & Men (named for an early Adam & The Ants Song) on one of the old Messthetics cd-r comps. Later Hyped To Death released a 21-song cd-r collection of pretty much everything that this band ever recorded both under the name Animals & Men and in their later incarnation Terraplanes. That disc has now been revamped, retitled, and reissued on cd, with four extra tracks tacked on! Plus a mpeg video clip of a live performance of "Evil Going On" as a bonus.
What're they all about? Female-fronted DIY art/blues/punk from rural England, totally charming and catchy and homemade, comparable to Kleenex/LiLiPUT, Delta 5 and the Vaselines. And that's right, their wide array of influences included black American blues...and the novels of J.G. Ballard, which would explain "Car Crash Blues".
The cd booklet features in-depth liner notes detailing the band's saga as New Wave coulda-woulda beens, with patrons like John Peel and their long-time pal Adam Ant. Obscure though they remained, that should definitely not inhibit but rather enhance your enjoyment of this collection, for lack of commercial success allowed wonderful idiosyncrasies to flourish in their songwriting.
PS. what's a Terraplane you might be wondering? It's an American automobile from the '30s, immortalized in Robert Johnson's "Terraplane Blues". And Animals & Men's "Terraplane Fixation".
Another one we first heard on that massive Invisible Pyramid: Elegy box set that Last Visible Dog put out a few months ago (Mudboy was the other Providence, RI drone artist that we discovered via the IP box). And now, like Mudboy, Area C has their own cd release on LVD. Actually a one-man guitar loops and effects (and other things besides, like farfisa organ) effort, Traffics + Discoveries starts out very blissful and calm, ambient like Eno perhaps...and as the disc goes along it stays quite beautiful but gets edgier and darker and more nervous-making. We like it quite a bit. Chalk another one up for both Providence and LVD, in the everybody-wins competition for who's got the best drones around!
When you first put this on your stereo, it might almost have you convinced that it's some lost '80s British post-punk band, that is, until you zero in on the lyrics. Majorly hipster, irony-laden, clever-clever phrases spoken-sung in such an over the top British accent that it nears jokeish Mark E. Smith impersonations. In the first song "Formed A Band" there's even a reference to it -- "And yes, this is my singing voice, it's not irony, it's not Rock'n'Roll, we're just talking, to the Kids." Pretty silly stuff playing dress-up in The Fall's closet. But still pretty darn cool. Funny rock anecdote / rumor: Art Brut's first single was on Rough Trade, who were also planning on releasing their full length, that is until supposedly one of the Rough Trade head honchos went and saw them play, decided they were the worst, most amateur rock band he had ever seen and had them promptly dropped from Rough Trade!
Together or apart those Posies' gents Ken Stringfellow and Jon Auer never fail to do a number on your pop-loving heartstrings. Wonder if it irks them that seldom is one mentioned without reference to the other or to their band for that matter (if so, we apologize for adding one more to the stack), but geez, it's pretty difficult not to do! They're all so deeply interwoven. While other bands' members usually strike out on his or her own to follow a muse that doesn't mesh with their main band, these guys' solo endeavors all inevitably end up sounding like The Posies whether or not they intended it to be so. Auer's vocals have always been the aural equivalent of a big ol' ice cream sundae. Ever so slightly smoother and fuller than Stringfellow's, but no less sweet and irresistible. That was fine and dandy when they (and we) were young pups, but how do they fare today as veteran songsmiths? Well, if Songs From The Year Of Our Demise is any indication, very very good, thank you! Auer has taken his sweet time issuing forth a solo album meticulously refining each and very facet himself (Stringfellow's been much more prolific on that side of things), but it's so worth the wait! This man is downright wizardly at composing counter melodies and vocal harmonies and they're everywhere on this labor of love. And yes, it does sound incredibly like a Posies album albeit a bit darker and more introspective, but are we complaining? Hell no! Those guys have brought us so much pop joy over the years in all of their incarnations, and we're pleased as punch that their fountain is showing no signs of stopping.
Once again these wide eyed Finnish forest freaks crawl out from under their mossy stones, from inside their firelit caves, out of their huts made of pine needles and sticks and twigs, set up around a campfire, under a full moon, dressed only in fur and animal bones, and conjure up the woodland spirits with their tribal free folk juju. Okay, so maybe it's actually just a bunch of music nerds like you or me with killer record collections and a bunch of old amps and guitars, but to us, it sure sounds like the glorious din these folks whip up could only be the product of some drug fueled ancient forest ritual. Which is precisely why we love Avarus and their Finnish underground rock brethren (and sistren!). The music they make sound not of this world. And we don't mean "Oh Finland's like a whole other world!" we mean, space, or an alternate dimension or even that huge hollow area at the center of the earth. The music of Avarus is that unique and that strange, exactly what we picture one might hear, stepping off of an interstellar transport, realizing for the first time that the atmosphere is breathable, and the vegetation is strangely lush and very Earth-like, that sound, "like music?" that lures us and our team deep into the alien forest. Or in the heart of South America, at an archaeological dig, strange markings on the rocks we've been unearthing from the very lowest levels of the lost temple, finally there's some sort of portal, a huge iron door, and... wait, is that... music? But what is it? It's like nothing we've ever heard, those sound like guitars, and voices, but so... strange....
For those of you who need more musical references, imagine a little Dead C, a little No Neck Blues Band, some Sunburned Hand Of The Man, Faust, Can, The Wickerman, all sorts of tribal musics, Parson Sound, Tower Recordings, Taj Mahal Travellers, even fellow countrymen Circle, Keukhot, Uton, Tivol and of course lots of drugs and lots and lots of space. This newest Avarus is a bit heavier on the guitar than previous outings, almost like they dug up a couple ancient fuzzboxes and ran their dang whole freaked out jam through 'em. There are lots of creepy krautrock bits, some blown out near noise parts, and lots of fuzzy disembodied psych, gurgling synths, splattery percussion, thick washes of feedback, primitive electronics, and loads of grungey guitar grit, it's all woven together into a crazy perfect psychedelic patchwork.
More crazy random collage artwork, this time no Garfield, but plenty of walruses, a map and an octopus. Half the record was recorded live in Dublin with Tara Burke of Fursaxa as a special guest!Ô
Strange and introspective Italian prog-rock ballads from the one and only Franco Battiato. Based on themes of creation and rebirth, this first release from 1972 in his eccentric experimental mode is more song-oriented than later synth-prog efforts Sulle Corde Di Aries or Clic, but no less exceptional. A student of Stockhausen with a singing-style reminiscent of Pugh Rogefeldt or Tom Ze, Battiato combines the synthy arpeggios of Tangerine Dream with musique concrete-like manipulations of found recordings and ecstatic bursts of orchestrated pop. Awesome! New reissue includes liner notes from Jim O'Rourke.
Wherein these two bands try to outdo each other (and everyone else in the world) at being absolutely the most INSANE, frenzied, complex, technical-prog-metallic-masturbatory band ever. Good thing it's so short (two tracks, a little under nine minutes total for the disc) 'cause both bands (and listeners!) would be utterly exhausted if they went on any longer.
In one corner, you've got Behold The Arctopus from New York, who have wanky prog gizmo the Chapman Stick in their instrumental arsenal. In the other, from right here in San Francisco, guitarist Mick Barr's Orthrelm, and Mick don't need no stinkin' Stick. Well, get this and you can judge who is the winner.
Pretty clearly, fans of either or both bands need this for sure, and will additionally be tickled pink by the cool cover artwork, by none other than Voivod drummer Away (who's got an art book coming out on Troubleman sometime soon, we hear).
Yet another awesome issue of our favorite new magazine. Politics, music, science, lifestyle. Brilliantly researched and written, with plenty of humor to boot. And as always killer cover art by one of our favorite artists Charles Burns! (Andee even has a Charles Burns tattoo!) This month:
'80s Teen Sex Comedies, REPO MAN: Reliving Alex Cox's punk-rock-sci-fi-action-comedy in an L.A. scavenget hunt, Queer Punk Taxidermy: Undercover In Sioux Falls, South Dakota, The Great Wrong Place: Los Angeles' Reputation For Filthy Sprawl Makes It The Ideal Place To Write About Nature as well as a cavalcade of cookbook-blurb puns and hyperbole, Amy Sedaris' advice column, this week taken care of by former Trenchmouth punk rocker, current Saturday Night Live superstar Fred Armisen, totally incompetent cartoons, Stuff I've Been Reading by Nick Hornby and more more more!
Man is has this band been hyped to death. There are plenty of next big things, a new one very week, but we have been hearing about this band for ages without actually hearing them until now. And you know what? They're pretty good. Not sure if we'd necessarily include them in our personal list of 'next big things' but hell if this is the band with the golden ticket, the one that's getting the push and will end up all over MTV we could sure as hell do a whole lot worse. The Black Angels' very retro vibe definitely reminds us of the Raveonettes. But where the Raveonettes channeled that whole Spector girl group vibe, the 'Angels lean more toward a druggy shoegaze thing, taking much influence from Loop, Spacemen 3 and of course the Velvet Underground. Along with lyrical themes of '60s radical Vietnam-era politics, death and darkness, the Black Angels also do some musical time traveling with plenty of super sixties fuzz guitar, and that sort of jangly snare like it's attached to a tamborine, and some truly druggy tranced out vocals (that remind us quite a bit of Georgian garage rockers the Rock*A*Teens). At their most rocking there's even a hint of UK psych rockers the Heads, but for the most part this is warm and reverby, laid back and blissfully drugged out. We would be remiss if we didn't mention the fact that there are some moments when the vocals are wailing and dramatic and the sound veers dangerously close to U2 territory, but that's really a small complaint considering how gloriously druggy and droney the rest of the record is.
We may not have been as gaga over the record as 99 percent of the music press, but we sure as hell are blown the fuck away by the packaging!! This disc comes in the most amazing digipack, an op-art pattern of black and white spirals, but all of the spirals are embossed, raised up, so it's nice to touch and the added third dimension makes the lines swirl and shimmer. It's like some crazy textured sixties mod popart carpet shrunk down and wrapped around a cd. WOW!
What might one expect from a Black Cobra, one part sludge metal crushers Cavity and one part doom sludge slayers 16? How about two parts massive fucking metallic destruction. A pummeling two man chain gang, pounding sonic boom drumming and rumbling low slung dowtuned guitar chug and churn and a whole lot of yelling, Black Cobra are like a WAY more metal Karp, and hell, Karp were pretty dang metal to begin with. A thick gooey paste of noise and sludge as heavy as, if not heavier than, these two guy's former groops combined, but there's ONLY TWO OF 'EM!!! How in the hell do two guys make such an unholy racket??! Who cares! This is some glorious heaviness. 16, Cavity, Dove, Torche, Floor, you get the drift. Heavy and drone-y and groovy and sludgy and so goddamn heavy. We often wonder why heavy two piece bands always choose to ditch the bass player when it's ALL about the low end, but fear not, there is no lack of bass here, hell, the guitar is tuned low enough that it might as well be a bass!!
This is the shit we love. Massive feedback and utter heaviness. Big fat riffs. Lots of "chunka chunka" "chug chug". Huge ride cymbal smashing caveman-behind-the-kit power drumming. DOOM! NOISE! DIRGE! SLUDGE! HELL YEAH!!
Oddly enough, we were just musing aloud about the whereabouts of these ol' AQ faves, and -Poof!- like magic, The Spell appeared before us.
The last album by this San Diego band saw them taking a few detours from their trademark velvet-tapestried funereal march. The aptly titled Amor Del Tropico toyed with cocktail 'n' bossanova themes to good effect, but on The Spell they've found their way back into the shadowy folds. And we welcome them back with open arms 'cause while we certainly enjoyed Amor, it's been far too long without a full dose of the somber beauty that Pall Jenkins and Tobias Nathaniel do best. Once you've been bitten by that intoxicating old BHP (if you haven't already!) you'll know what we mean. Their bleakly despairing yet utterly beautiful second album, released in 1999 and simply titled 2, still succeeds in captivating virtually everyone within earshot. From the opening track "The Spell" offers a more straightforward rock feel with more prominent muscular electric guitars and hence a bit more momentum, but still maintains their trademark sense of utter desolation. Thumbs up on this downer!
Blood Cult are as far as we know, the only purveyors of Redneck Black Metal around, or maybe more accurately the only ones who admit to it. And Blood Cult are damn proud of being BM rednecks, as their apparent theme song "Redneck Black Metal" proves (oh, and it's printed in huge letters along the spine of the cd!). This is the first proper release from this Illinois horde after a slew of cd-r, cassettes and demos. Definitely their best -sounding- record by a long shot, equal parts splatter rock, crossover, early black metal, NWOBHM, and thrash. Think Venom, D.R.I., the Accused -- primitive and thrashy, noisy and chaotic, with some killer riffs n' some splattery chaotic drumming. They're definitely a little tongue in cheek for sure with some of the lyrics and song titles ("The Moweaqua Coal Mine Disaster", "Cheap Guitars", "Illinoisan Thunder", etc.). This boasts some killer catoony artwork too, from the same label that brought us Enbilulugugal!!
We figured that since this list was so chock full of new Boris releases we oughta let folks know that we also got back in the Brazilian version of Boris' Mabuta No Ura soundtrack, so for those of you who somehow missed it last time around, check it out:
Finally! The Brazilian version of the Boris soundtrack Mabuta No Ura. And why is another version of a record you may already own so essential? Well, for the precise reason we all find Boris so enticing and simultaneously frustrating. This new version is SIMILAR, but NOT identical to the Japanese version. Obviously the packaging is completely different. But the music is too, which means all you Boris obsessives will need this as well as the Japanese version if you want all the Mabuta No Ura music there is. Some of the tracks here are -not- on the Japanese version, however, there are a few tracks on the Japanese version that are not found here. ARGHHHH. But thankfully Boris are so good, and Mabuta is so completely amazing, that it makes all this multiple version craziness go down just a little bit easier. But as we said before:
Boris fans are definitely obsessive, most wanting to collect anything and everything the band puts out, whether it's the same record with different artwork, or a limited single, or the same record with 9 minutes of extra music or a different record with the same cover or whatever. The band don't really help matters much, wholeheartedly playing into this, releasing records in ridiculously limited versions and multiple versions, with different artwork or bonus tracks or both. But this new record Mabuta No Ura has definitely pushed all this multiple version collecting about as far as it can go. But hey, let's talk about the record. A soundtrack to a film entitled Mabuta No Ura, this is Boris at their most abstract, maybe even at their least heavy, but Boris has yet to disappoint, and they don't here. Although depending on your personal favorite style of Boris, whether it be the slow sludgy dirges, the minimal drones or the all out super distorted RAWK, you might have to readjust your thinking to get into Mabuta No Ura. There's only one actually 'heavy track', and some of you may already have it, or at least a version of it, as the track in question, "A Bao A Qu" was released as a super limited picture disc 7" not too long ago. "A Bao A Qu" finds Boris churning through a sludgy slab of crushing psych rock, the way only they seem to do it. The rest of Mabuta No Ura finds the band exploring much more contemplative moods, constructing simple, dreamy passages of finger picked guitar, and warm swells of moody ambience. Sometimes sounding a bit like Low, sometimes a little like Slint, the theme here overall does seem to be a brooding slow building post rock. There are variations of course, Eastern sounding melodies, hazy chanted vocals, shimmering washes of cymbal sizzle, tribal rhythms, hand claps, plaintive vocalising, stretches of Sunroof!-like free-noise ambience, blown out krautrock rhythms, but it all sort of hovers around that post rock sound we love so much, dark and moody and smoldering, occasionally bursting with dynamics, but more often than not chugging along all melancholy and contemplatively propulsive. Hard to imagine what sort of film Mabuta No Ura must be, but the songs and sounds here are quite evocative, and let our imaginations conjure up the appropriate images to go with these sumptuous sounds.
The Brazilian version comes in a nice thick oversized mini lp gateflod sleeve, housed in a deluxe die cut slip case. Inside are mini reproductions of the inserts that came with the original lp. So nice.
Some of us are still reeling from the mighty ass kicking delivered by Boris on their recent US tour. And before our ears have even stopped ringing, it's time for yet another new blast of ultra hyper space psych sludge rock n' roll in the form of Pink. Continuing to hone their rock chops, having shed their doom sludge past for the most part now, Boris continue to sound like some MC5 / Hendrix hybrid, albeit supercharged and drenched in LSD and lit on fire and launched into space. Big old fuzzy riffs, churning basslines, and wild spastic drumming underneath Wata's wailing sixties styled leads. You can almost imagine these strange Japanese rockers wandering into the Fillmore in the sixties, like some bell bottomed aliens and proceeding to melt the minds and eard drums of everyone in attendance. Pink starts off with some fuzzed out ultra distorted post rock (reminiscent of some of the stuff on Mabuta No Ura) wrapped in a spacy psychedelic haze, but then it's immediately back to the full on, overblown distorto RAWK that has become THE SOUND of Boris. This is easily their most lo-fi, most blown out recording yet, almost like Boris is channelling Guitar Wolf or something. The drums and cymbals sizzle as the needle goes into the red on almost every track, and the guitars are so drenched in distortion they become huge squirming smears of fuzz. A couple tracks harken back to the slow motion sludge of Flood or Amplifier Worship, and there is the dreamy ambient drift of the second to last track "My Machine", but those are just brief respites, time to catch your breath before hurling yourself back into the fray, an endless maelstrom of head banging, fist pumping, guitar smashing, drumset destroying, hair swirling, sweating, bouncing, pounding pummeling ROCK AND ROLL.
The packaging is amazing too, with a tray card that's transparent, with clear pink printing, and a booklet that is actually a three panel fold out perforated sheet of Boris Pink acid tabs (with one already missing, presumably already ingested!) wrapped in a thick pink transparent sleeve. Wow!
Be forewarned that Pink will also be available as an ultra limited double lp (due out next month), with a slightly different track listing so you Boris obsessives are once again have to get both!
Feels like only yesterday, that we reviewed Volume One, with this same proviso, but here we go AGAIN.... ULTRA LIMITED, VINYL ONLY RELEASE FROM THE MIGHTY BORIS. WE HAVE ABOUT 50 COPIES. GORGEOUS PACKAGING, SAME AS THE FIRST VOLUME. THICK ORANGE VINYL! ONCE THESE ARE GONE WE WON'T BE ABLE TO GET MORE!
Okay, now that we got that out of the way, we can describe the actual record, although by the time most of you read this far, it could very well be sold out.
Much like the first volume, Volume 2 of Boris' 3 part epic vinyl trilogy The Thing Which Solomon Overlooked somehow manages to sound totally new, and like classic Boris at the same time. Three massive tracks of freaked out droney psychedelic nirvana! The lp starts off with some of that glorious ultra distorted guitar crumble, which soon explodes into some insane Hendrixian / Santanian space psych freakout, all soaring leads and swirling reverbed ambience. Really noisy, but in a warm, soft, head in the clouds sort of way. The second track starts with some chugging Stooges-y sludge, that slowly loses momentum and trances out into some super druggy Hawkwinderful space bliss! Side two is a single twenty minute long track and sounds like the heaviest, noisiest most epic Boris track ever, but with all the structure melted away, leaving just a huge mind melting smear of growling glacial Merzbow / Skullflower style black hole wall of guitars. Awesome!
Feels like only yesterday, that we reviewed Volume One, with this same proviso, but here we go AGAIN.... ULTRA LIMITED, VINYL ONLY RELEASE FROM THE MIGHTY BORIS. WE HAVE ABOUT 50 COPIES. GORGEOUS PACKAGING, SAME AS THE FIRST VOLUME. THICK ORANGE VINYL! ONCE THESE ARE GONE WE WON'T BE ABLE TO GET MORE!
Okay, now that we got that out of the way, we can describe the actual record, although by the time most of you read this far, it could very well be sold out.
Much like the first and more recent second volume, this third volume of Boris' 3 part epic vinyl trilogy The Thing Which Solomon Overlooked somehow manages to sound totally new, and like classic Boris at the same time. Four lengthy tracks of freaked out droney psychedelic nirvana!Ô
The proceedings begin with a barely there microscopic drone, with soft Pink Floyd guitar swells, a washed out, staring at the night sky sort of ambient post rock dreaminess. Beneath, there is a slow bass throb, like a beating heart, while above a soft see through gauze of whispered high end guitar and gentle folky strum. The next track immediately tramples all over what ever dreaminess was still lingering with a pounding slow motion trudge slowly morphing into a torrent of high end feedback fallout and rumbling guitar grrr, with soaring guitar leads, drenched in reverb and bursting like fireworks in the sky, the framework provided by a simple clanging cymbal rhythm. Side two begins with a wallop, a face melting wall of guitar-against-the-amps dronedirge stun, a slow shuffling glacial grind of guitar crumble and amp growl, like SUNNO))) or Earth with even less riffery, very reminiscent of the Boris of old. Then, almost imperceptably, we've segued into the final track, that dronedirge gets more and more blown out, with the guitars getting hotter and hotter until they're absolutely blinding like sonic solar flares, white hot sheets of feeding back guitars, a churning, roiling, blinding, deafening swirl of glorious sludgey psychedelia! Wow.
No sharp edges here, everything is smooth and rounded and soothing. [The] Caseworker have pop smarts that set them in league with bands like Pinback and Death Cab For Cutie. It's no wonder though considering the band members' impressive pedigree -- Conor Jonathan and Eimer Devlin were formerly in Half Film and Monte Vallier is from Swell. To boot, AQ pal Will Waghorn provides the solid, steady but slightly unpredictable drumming which helps to keeps things interesting. The warm muted male vocals recall Pink Floyd's David Gilmore or Alan Parsons Project's "Eye In The Sky". The slink of the sliding guitar lines make for a wonderful counterpart to the hazy vocals -- cutting through like headlights in the dark. Soooo good!
We love when folks usually associated with a certain sound and style step out and show off a different part of their make-up. Best known as the drummer for the mighty Comets On Fire, Utrillo Kushner lets his breezy sunny side shine through with his new project Colossal Yes. Perfect for those lazy days when all you wanna do is lay in the grass and stare into the rays of the sun. With really well crafted songs that incorporate lush piano into a more traditional folk/rock mix, this has made us think of the prime pop of Elephant Six related bands, early Mercury Rev, a dash of Beachwood Sparks' relaxed twang, a hint of Vetiver, the blissed out mellow hooks of Mojave 3 and the warmth of early 70's Beach Boys. There is a level of confidence in the playing that helps make this record flow so seemlessly and rise above so many others outfits going for this same sound and style with less satisfying results. Nice stuff!
Country Teasers always sound as though someone roused them from a snoresome liquored slumber, thrust some instruments and a microphone in their hands and hollered "Play!" Seriously we'd bet they could drink The Pogues under the table. Their music never fails to be incoherent (yet somehow clearly foul mouthed) and rambling, with parts that don't quite fit together. The drum beats stumble along. The electric guitars strain against the urge to fall horribly out of tune. The ridiculously distorted speak-sing-yer-heart-right-outta-pitch style vocals will have you jumping from bummer to bellylaugh and back again (much like those of Shane MacGowan of the abovementioned Pogues). They even provide an occasional play-by-play commentary. At one point in the seventh tune you can hear "bring the drums in again". As this album progresses though it's like the booze wears off a bit and a sober gloom emerges around the fourth tune. Then it's like they consumed some other chemical along with a revitalizing shot of whisky that sends them shambling into some other strange carnival tent. For folks who like their garage music to be extra loosey goosey.
While this great Bay Area hip-hop outfit already titled their last full length Party Music, we can't think of a term that better suits what they've come up with on Pick A Bigger Weapon, their fifth full length. The Coup have perfected the mix of smart outspoken leftist politics with full servings of carefree melodies and feel good beats to help make their message go down smoother. They just want to "laugh, love, fuck and drink liquor to help the revolution come quicker." And the way they phrase their sentiments they've found a way to neither compromise their message or their sound. With tasteful elements of funk incorporated into their feel good hip-hop it's pretty impossible not to start moving and singing along. Like if Funkadelic met up with a young Prince in the heydey of hip-hop with lyrics contributed by Jello Biafra (who makes another cameo on this record). Most definitely innovative and so immediately familiar sounding at the same time.
This week marks the welcome release of a few new albums by a few old AQ faves including this fine Bay Area combo Court & Spark (others include Matmos, Black Heart Procession, Jolie Holland, Enslaved and Longmont Potion Castle!). Hearts finds the band taking even more of a '70s classic country rock direction than on their 2004 album Witch Season (which was already knee deep in that vibe and sound). That said, somehow they've struck what in our opinion is a better balance between their earlier roughhewn selves and their more recent luminously polish recordings.
There are two types of songs on Hearts, although the differences are subtle shades of grey. There are the dark brooding soulful introspective numbers, with glistening guitars, lush instrumentation, and MC Taylor's velvety croon, much more polished now than whiskey soaked, but it definitely suits their constantly maturing sound. Then there are the slightly more rocking tracks, channeling the Eagles and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, with foot stomping rhythms and wah guitar. But even when the band is kicking up a rocking fuss, this is still more of a late night early afternoon stroll, definitely on the dark introspective side, all warm breezes and rustling leaves, looking inward with eyes cast earthward, hearts on sleeves, lumps in throats. So nice.
And if you're looking for a listening companion, this fits quite nicely alongside Calexico's most recent album Garden Ruin.
Conceived as a giant group hug with everyone Daniel Smith (aka Danielson Family, Tri-Danielson and Br. Danielson) has collaborated with or has wanted to collaborate with, this Moby Dick of a record cannot be completely contained on just one cd, so a series of 7 inches will follow with different collaborators, producers and labels. While the cd features appearances from Deerhoof, Sufjan Stevens, Serena Maneesh and Why?, among others, these sunny and ecstatic pop exuberances have become so embedded in the Danielson mythos, that it is sometimes hard to tell where the collaboration lies. But that's no matter, if you love the uplifting and heartfelt indie-pop of Polyphonic Spree, Flaming Lips or the Elephant 6 collective, you will definitely want to book a spot on this cruise.
This is not really new, but we've never been able to get enough of these to list until now. From the label that brought us Benighted Leams, Contra Ignem Fatuum, Dark Ages and Meads Of Asphodel comes another confounding blast of black metal, this time from a mysterious group called Dawnfall. The first three tracks are 11+ minutes each, every one a convoluted, twisted swirl of stumbling midtempo black metal weirdness and swooshing keyboardy ambience, with some of the most tortured vocals we've ever heard. Somewhere between the anguished shriek of Weakling and the inhuman howl of Rehtaf Ruo. Each prickly spikey tangle of blackness is peppered with squirrelly Greg Ginn like guitar freakouts, random tinkling chimes and warm wooshes of synthesizer. Dizzying and totally brilliantly confusional. Warm fuzzed out guitars wrapped loosely over a framework of thudding pounding drums, while maddeningly slippery guitar squiggles slip and slide in and around the blackness colliding with the harsh vocal wails. Amazing. But that's just three tracks in. Track four is some sort of faux harpsichord driven electronic ambient soundscape, like Benighted Leams playing Dead Can Dance covering Autchre or something? Skittery beats and a dense wash of thick metallic string strum. As if it couldn't get weirder, the next track is mostly sped up and slowed down vocals, mixed with strange spacey effects, swooshes, and beeps and a hiccupping dsrum machine. Weird! But it's not over yet, the second to last track is a ten minute soundscape of skittery synthesizers, warbly keyboard squiggles, all smothered in reverb and other space-y ambience. A creepy, splattery minimal crawl through some outer space fun house. Finally, the record finishes with a weird one minute blast of synthesized circus music, maybe like a lite Killing Joke, with wooshy synth stabs and casio style drum beats. Woah, not sure what to make of this. We love it. For sure. Just not sure why. Definitely too weird for most metalheads, you all can quit after the first three tracks, that is if -those- aren't already too weird for you. But folks who have been digging all the crazy shit Supernal puts out, and anyone up to trying to wrap their brains around something amazingly weird and wonderfully obtuse, definitely check this out!
When it comes to black metal, our tastes most definitely runÔ toward the damaged, the demented, the fried and freaked out, the totally baffing, the weirder the better. And there's no shortage of black metal misanthropes, holed up in their caves, or their cabins, or their flats, or their grandfathers' basements, meticulously crefting, ultra personal, maddeningly idiosyncratic outsider black metal. And we are constantly digging for more. The bar has been set pretty high, Benighted Leams obviously, the reigning champions of damaged outsider black metal, then there's Furze and hisÔ'cogent black metal necrosis', let's not forget Emit, Rehtaf Ruo, Necrofrost, Hidden, Vorak, Contra Ignem Fatuum and the elusive Striborg, whose releases have been so difficult to track down we have yet to list a single one. Phew. That's a pretty heady constellation of bizarre black metal royalty, the bar has been set pretty high. So you know, that it is not without some serious soul searching that we would dare declare a record quite possibly the weirdest black metal record ever. But we have searched, and it is thus. Dead Reptile Shrine, from Finland, the record is A Journey Through Darkened Forests and it does indeed sound just like that.
We had practically given up on getting these for the store, Andee had even contacted the band about re-issuing the disc in the states, but luckily we discovered a distributor in Australia who had 30 copies and we took all of them. Hmmm. Finland to Australia to the United States, a long journey but it was well worth it we think. Everything about this band is bizarre, the name obviously, the song titles: "A Cave Full Of Corpse Lanterns", "The Snakes Of The Earth Pt. II", "Exekutioner Of The Final Solution", "Above The Ziggurat They Dance", "Clouds Of Doom Gather..." and of course "A Beastcults Procession", the artwork, an appropriately illegible band logo and album title, both peppered with eagles and stars and scorpions as well as loads of squiggles, the band photo of DRC, in a an army jacket, head hung low, hair obscuring his face, in front of what appears to be a huge mound of mud and sticks, with a waving hand emerging from a tiny hole in the mound, and the music, oh the music, so warped and lo-fi, buzzy and doomy and just plain freaky and far fucking out. Wrest from Leviathan bought a copy, and even he could barely handle the Dead Reptile Shrine, which speaks volumes!Ô
A stumbling, staggering black metal buzz, struggling through walls of haze and fuzz, sounds a bit like a Burzum record with someone constantly fiddling with the pitch control, a warbly seasick black droning whir, with splattery drums, clanging super loud cymbals, and some of the weirdest vocals ever, going from the evil black metal rasp, to an atonal Jandekian croon, to a strange falsetto, to a warm whiskey soaked growl, often within the same song, sometimes within the same line! The entire record is murky and thick with oozing black atmosphere, some songs are loping doom dirges, others race along at breakneck (for DRS at least) speeds, threatening to fall apart completely, riffs sometimes stumble to a halt, before lurching back into action, rhythms, stutter, pause, leap forward, the vocals a chaotic swirl around the rickety song structures, minor key melodies and woozy guitars tangle and untangle as the songs slither and slide, leap and careen wildly, there are warbly mumbly soundscapes of droning rumble and otherworldly creaks and groans, tracks of spoken word over chanting monks, an electronic beatscape with garbled growls and haunting clean vocals, even a coupleÔbizarre acoustic tracks, one with throaty crooned vocals and deliberately stummed steel string guitar, some sort of Jandekian forest folk, with a riff that almost sounds like Nirvana. In fact the forest folk tag is not that far off really. Must be something in the Finnish atmosphere, but without the vocals, huge swaths of Dead Reptile Shrine could be some lost Uton or Avarus recording, or a furtively captured Tivol live session, and yet even with the vocals it still retains some haunting wild woods feral feeling. A Journey Through The Darkest Of Forests is indeed a fearful traipse through a black forest, the overhanging trees blotting out the moonlight, the sounds of the forest a murky buzz, insects and demons, wild beasts and lost souls. A baffling and frightening sonic world that should appeal to metalhead and free folkie alike.Ô
This was super limited (500 copies, each disc is hand numbered) and seems to be out of print. We have a whole bunch, but we're not sure we'll ever be able to get more.Ô
Arthur Dreyblatt may not be as familiar a name as Tony Conrad, Steve Reich, Terry Riley or Phillip Glass, but lets hope this latest Table of the Elements release changes that. This release marks the 25th anniversary of an historic 1981 live performance at the Federal Hall in New York (where Washington was inaugurated). Dreyblatt accompanied by The Orchestra of Excited Strings put the natural resonances of the architectural dome to good use as his modified instruments such as the pipe organ, hurdy gurdy, just-intoned double bass and piano work through seven pieces of textured rhythmic precision that create gorgeous and dynamic harmonic overtones. Stunning!
As the new Drive-By Truckers album kicks off, we were struck by what a transformation we thought the band has gone through since their 2004's The Dirty South. Today's DBT bear an uncanny resemblance to Buffalo Tom and old Wilco... or at least on the opening song which is loaded with poppiness. From there the now ten year old band get back into their more familiar lanky Southern bluesy rock a la Rolling Stones' "Honky Tonk Woman" or Skynyrd's "Gimme Three Steps". Still, the vocals continue to sound a whole lot like those of Wilco's Jeff Tweedy back in his Uncle Tupelo days... many of whose fans have surely found a new fave in DBT... or soon will! So, don't let their jokey name dissuade or mislead you, these guys are serious about their country rock, and they do it up rreeeaaall good on this their seventh full length!
Before we get into the amazing sounds that John Duncan and C.M. von Hausswolff have created for this album (which we have to say is pretty fucking incredible), we have to drool over the artwork. Sure, it's always nice to get one of those hand-made packages, loving assembled by the musician from scraps of wallpaper or gesso smeared across heavy card stock; where the investment is paid through blood and sweat. But at the same time, it can sometimes be pretty fascinating to go all the way to the other end of the spectrum, to see what happens when money is no object, and thus nearly any vision can be realised. The recent Tool record is one example (reviewed elsewhere on this list) with its incredible built in lenses and stereoscopic booklet. And then there's Our Telluric Conversation, which employs a seriously and gloriously reckless design sensibility. Unfotunately, jpeg reproductions of this cd's cover will never translate how amazingly cool the packaging is. The white O-card / slipcover which wraps around the CD and the accompanying 40-page booklet is printed on a rubberized paper dotted with braille, making it strangely tactile, and thus not a little unsettling just to touch the album! Which is appropriate considering the musical content...
John Duncan and Carl Michael von Hausswolff have made an dark and unsettling album in Our Telluric Conversation, the second collaboration between these two AQ-favorite sound artists, opening with ominous bleeping, sort of sounding like sonar or a life support system barely keeping someone alive. An electronic turbulance gradually swarms around these mechanized pulses and explodes in a torrent of furious magneto noise, sounding very similar to the recent Duncan collaboration with Mika Vainio and Ilpo Vaisainen. Abruptly, the track comes to a halt as the whispering voice of Hausswolff begins reciting a presumably fictional tale in which the protagonist has been infected with maggots and tries to rid his body of the parasites by communing with lizards and snakes through a combination of occult rituals. Hausswolff's whisper is all that one hears, with his lips closely pressed up to the microphone making saliva, lips smacking, and teeth gnashing all audible. Upon the conclusion of Hausswolff's spoken excerpt, the two proceed with a long-form construction for brilliantly shimmered drones and flickering sinewaves that's as good as anything by Phill Niblock, Mirror, or The Hafler Trio. Our Telluric Conversation concludes with another extended composition that bridges the signature aesthetics of the two artists, with a deadened monotone of processed 60-cycle hums (that's Hausswolff) and a seductive processing of shortwave static (that's Duncan). By themselves, Duncan and Hausswolff have crafted amazing records; but together, these two have really tapped into something eerie, psychologically instable, and sublimely beautiful. Highly recommended!
What the fuck? We shouldn't be the only people baffled by this record; and A Life Without Fear was probably engineered with that confusion in mind. A few years back, Ekkehard Ehlers was the darling of the Max / MSP faction of electronic artists, recontextualizing any number of artists into a delirious pixel-pointed fizz of digitized sound fragments, following in the foot steps of Christian Fennesz and Stefan Mathieu. As great as Ehlers recontextualizations of Cornelius Cardew, John Cassavettes, and Albert Ayler were, this micro-genre of soundsculpting seemed a bit faddish and a slave to technology. Needless to say, Mathieu has shifted his focus to more organic materials and instrumentation, and Ehlers has followed suit by dropping his Max / MSP patches in favor a gritty blues minimalism. With the press release making comparisons to Jim O'Rourke's emulation of John Fahey, Ehlers' recapitulation of turn of the 20th century blues has a studied hollowness about it. While sonically, these rough-hewn guitar chords and back-porch stomps have all of the trappings of any old archival recording (i.e. scratchy sound, tinny production, etc), they nevertheless lack any real soul (unlike O'Rourke's jubliant finger-picking and carnavelesque arrangements on Bad Timing.) There's also an ill-conceived bout of West-African / Congolese thumb-piano playing to futher complicate the matters at hand. The avant-garde meets the assimilatory attributes of imperialism? A curious application of 'authentic' patinas? A miscalculated attempt of cross-cultural communication? How about a faux-Jandek outsider thing? Who knows? Again we return to the ultimate question about this record: what the fuck?
Some years back, a new album from Norway's Enslaved was an occasion for pagan celebration only among those few who honestly appreciated "Viking" black metal of EPIC quality... people like AQ's Allan for whom a band in tunics and tights was indeed "cool". But more and more folks came around to this band's undeniable if eccentric brilliance (and their stage clothes have become less archaic). Now they're one of the biggest acts in the world of "extreme metal" and the release of a new album like this one (Ruun being their ninth full-length in a 13 year career) is a big deal. As it should be. We've always made a big deal about Enslaved's albums here at AQ, as you may know, going so far as to make 2000's Mardraum a Record Of The Week. So as always, excitement ran high here for this new disc. And our reaction to it is similar to how we felt about their last one, Isa -- it's obvious immediately that Ruun is another proud entry in the Enslaved discography, and one that promises to be a grower too. The carefully crafted, complex collision of aggro black metal and '70s inspired prog rock (a la Rush, Genesis, King Crimson) that Enslaved have been perfecting (or, at this point, could be said to have perfected!) is in full effect, each composition holding hidden secrets to be revealed only on repeat listens, while not for a second stinting on the venemous METAL that you want right of the gate. Already there's certain tracks that we just want to keep hitting "repeat" on.
Grutle's vocals still alternate between vicious rasping growls and "clean" Viking vox, the music similarly incorporating both jagged metallic riffing (stormwracked seas, longboats tossing) and spacier, more melodic symphonic passages (astral travels to ancestral lands beyond the stars)... the classic Enslaved dynamic at work! Though maybe there's something smoother about such transistions nowadays as Enslaved have matured (if not mellowed). Or maybe we're just used to it now. What we do know for sure is that Ruun's technical, emotional, majestic music for the discerning headbanger will earn Enslaved even more plaudits, not to mention the usual well warranted comparisons to Sweden's Opeth, who have been travelling a similarly progressive path from black metal roots. But we also hear traces of such Nordic BM bands as Emperor and Satyricon -- and of course Voivod, and psychedelic grandaddies Pink Floyd, on the album's dreamier moments.
On the same label as the more spaced out free-form black jazz ambience of Hodag (reviewed elsewhere on this list), Ettrick on the surface seems like they must be a way more metal proposition, the record's called Infinite Horned Abomination for chrissakes! And their logo is of the spiky illegible classic metal style, but in fact, this is way more of a sputtery skronky free jazz, with wild horns and chaotic bursts of sputtering drum splatter. Each half of this duo handles both sax and drums, each player safely ensconced in their own channel, sometimes it's two horns, sometimes it's horn and drums, sometimes all drums, a dizzying barrage coming scattershot from both the left and right channels, as if there were some sort of free jazz monkeys screaming and beating their chests wildly in each channel, pelting the listener with sonic stones and hurling great handfuls of free jazz dung! Intense and aggressive and furiously freaked out. You might think you're tough, jazz sissy, and we're happy to let you have a go, but this stuff is dangerous, and sharp, and sort of scary, so stand back and let the more highly decorated free jazz warriors step forward, unless you're feeling particularly brave today...
LIMITED TO 100 COPIES!!! Each disc packaged in a cool hand screened cardboard sleeve.
From the same label that brought us discs by James Blackshaw, the Floating World, Robert Horton, Lamp Of The Universe and Rameses III comes this limited cd-r from Far Black Furlong. Recorded live, outdoors, in the barley fields on the Welsh / English border, Haidd is a half hour of moon lit free folk drones. The sound of pale moonlight washing over the landscape like a soft grey coat of paint. A squirming shuffling, scritchy scratchy crosshatched backdrop, over which slow foghorn like drones drift and hover, horns wheeze out long mournful melodies that float just above the whirling background ambience. Like floating on the ink black sea, slowly drifting, little swells lifting you up and letting you back down, gently and so barely rhythmically. It's the sea, or the forest, or the desert, the sound of space and sky and dark nighttime colors that go on forever and ever.
LIMITED TO 100 COPIES!!! Already sold out at the label. We got about 30 copies. Once those are gone, we won't be able to get more.
We recently discovered a completely amazing Japanese label called EM Records. Pretty hard to pin down what exactly it is that they specialize in but that's precisely why we're so smitten. From not one, but -several- singing saw records, to acid psych reissues, long lost singer songwriters, early experimental tape music, bizarre robot disco, fifties rock and roll, Australian dub, Isophonic boogie woogie (?) and tons more. We've only begun to dip into the wonderful world of EM, but we're going to start listing them one at a time. This record was initially the release that convinced us to get in touch with EM. Jim Fassett's Symphony Of The Birds is bizarre and beautiful and had AQ written all over it. The liner notes are mostly in Japanese so it's hard to know too many of the details, but Symphony Of The Birds is an amazing example of early tape music, it just so happens that all the tapes used were recordings of songbirds, which Fassett chopped, and cut, spliced and sequenced into a totally unique symphony of bird calls.
The record opens with Fassett's explanatory comments featuring our favorite line: "But keep in mind, as you listen, that nothing has been added. If you think you hear something that sounds like a particular musical instrument, or a human voice, or anything else other than birdcalls, YOU'RE WRONG." The first movement is definitely the best, whistles and chirps, chopped and stretched into dense swirls of psychedelic sound, if you weren't paying close attention, you'd be hard pressed to hear that it was birds making these sounds. Very trippy and spacey and alien sounding, like some crazy analog synthesizer freakout. The second movement involves a lot more itch shifting and changes in tape speed, resulting in sort of clunky purposeful melodies, the same bird call in different pitches to assemble very simple sing songy melodies. The third movement gets back on track, with some of the bird call slowed WAY down so they becomes rumbling drones, while others are sped up and repeated rapidly making impossible trills that almost sound like some blast of Sunroof!-y skree.
The last three tracks feature Fassett narrating an imaginary trip through a meadow, allowing us to study closely the bird song of each different bird isolated from the others, with some deft mixing and stereo panning, and the affect is actually quite stunning, with each bird getting 30 seconds to a minute right up on the mic! Cool!
The whole thing comes packaged in a super tough oversized (to accommodate the massive booklet) jewel case. The booklet contains lots of great photos, liner notes in Japanese, transcriptions of Fassett's spoken word segments on the disc, the album's original liner notes, and strangest of all, a pictorial guide to various and random birdcall records, separated by theme it seems: whistling accompaniment of instruments or big band, field recordings, canary training, instrumental, experimental happening (?) etc. Weird!
As much as we always loved Godflesh and Techno Animal and most everything else Justin Broadrick was involved in, by the end there, a few years back, a lot of that stuff began to sound just a little bit tired and dated and sometimes even just plain not good. But now! Holy shit! Not sure what it was, but -something- happened during those few years in between. First there was Jesu, a total revelation, everything we loved about Godflesh, but swathed in thick swirls of My Bloody Valentine guitars and warm fuzzy M83-isms. A gloriously blissed out, but still impossibly heavy, sunkissed drone drenched chunk of dreamlike heaviness. And now we have the long overdue resurrection of Broadrick's ambient project Final. And something strange has happened to the music of Final as well. What was once bleak, dark, barren and clinical isolationism, has grown into something warm and alive, a series of blurry and buzzy and blissy miniature soundscapes. Warm and warped and warbly, very much like the sonic worlds created by Tim Hecker. Final now explore a musical world gauzy and sepia toned, dreamlike melodies obfuscated by warm rich layers of crackle and hum, chimes ring out, drifting delicately on a sea of sonic swirl, bits of glitch and grit surface occasionally, as does the occasional almost-rhythms, the whole record like a dusty old scrapbook of small faded snaphots capturing some lost time or some forgotten place. An abstruse drone music, viewed through a window dense with rain coursing down it's surface, giving everything a soft focus, a warped otherworldliness. The mood can occasionally still be ominous and creepy, even sort of menacing at times, but even then, it's diffused, washed out and grey, or blown out and dappled with winter sunlight, or smeared into an indistinct blur of pale moonlight, dreamy and droney and so beautiful.
These debut cd-r recordings from Bay Area band Fits sound like some long lost rural cousin of The Elephant 6 Collective (Olivia Tremor Control, Apples In Stereo, The Minders, et al). The seven members put their plethora of instruments to good use (in addition to the basic guitar-bass-drums, there's also various keyboards, pedal steel, synths, dobro, saw and lots of horns and strings). Each of the dozen tunes is an endearing folksy pop gem with vocals that reminded us of J Mascis.
Newest release from Belgian sound manipulator Peter Smeekins aka Formatt. A dense mix of soft droney shimmer and all manner of glitch and crunch. Imagine hearing Low or some other slow motion band through a concrete wall so thick that just the bare essence makes it through, a sort of ghostly outline, a dreamy, barely audible hum, then stretch it into a gauzy soft sound blanket and spread it out over the whole record. This soft, shimmery bed is the foundation for all of Re:Take_Repeat. Over the top of this Formatt fiddles and fidgets, like some tinkering mad scientist, glitches and crackle, bursts of shortwave interference, white noise, industrial machinery, haunting EVP like transmissions, pops and creaks, amp buzz and distant feedback, it's like some giant mysterious soundmaker upended his rusty old tool box full of sounds and dumped all of those strange sharp metallic shapes, all over the thick velvety background, like stars sparkling chaotically in the black night sky.
LIMITED TO 100 COPIES. We managed to get the last 20 so once these are gone they are gone for good!
Sure, we've all heard plenty of viking metal. Every black metal dude somehow miraculously has that Norse warrior blood flowing hot through their veins. "Sure, we're from Idaho, but OUR ANCESTORS WERE MIGHTY VIKINGS!!" Blah blah blah, longboats, funeral pyres, horned helmets, whatever, now it's time for some RAW CELTIC FOLK METAL!! And not just any sort of raw Celtic folk metal, no this is totally deranged and demented and damaged folky buzzy Celtic black metal. Think Benighted Leams, Urfaust and the like, but flavored with a heap of Celtic fiddles and jaunty folk rhythms.
The riffs and melodies are distinctly Celtic for sure, but they are drenched in tinny buzz, wrapped in a warm cloak of blackness, a folky black blast, not all that strange on their own, but then the vocals come in and all bets are off. The vocals are of course of the chanting, sing songy, sea shanty, steins hoisted variety, but the way they're recorded transforms them, and this whole record into something completely different. A soaring dramatic croon, a cross between Urfaust's over the top Ethel Merman-ish warble (Gauhaert does indeed include at least one member of Urfaust!), Circle's Mika Ratto and an anguished black metal moan, but they sound like they were recorded at the bottom of a 10 million gallon iron cistern, a dense cloud of reverb and overtones, the vocals soar and reverberate, until they are a huge swirl that overtakes the music completely, when the vocals stop briefly, the music re-emerges as if stepping out of a fog bank, before the vocals kick back in and the song becomes a dense grey hued swirling smear of sound. There are also a couple of ambient tracks, dark dreamy rumbles, with strange chordal swells and wheezing organs, mournful horns, mysterious and elegiac in its sorrowful trudge. But those are brief respites amidst the dizzying flurries of wild and bizarre Celtic blackness. So weird, but really fucking cool.
When we first heard of the strangely monikered Gnarls Barkley, they already had a number one hit in the UK and had the biggest downloaded single ever with the track "Crazy". Normally, we don't always pay much attention to popular hit singles, but something about the name made us curious. So we checked it out and need we say it, our minds were blown!! A stab of cool, infectious, minor key, soul-pop groove that conks you over the head with an anvil or a piano until you're seeing stars and little birdies, just like in the cartoons! Of course, when we found out Gnarls Barkley was in fact Danger Mouse and Cee-Lo (ex-Goodie Mob), it all made a bit more sense. But even with such talent, we assumed the single would be a one-off and heck, we'd be fine with that, cuz that track was just so perfect. Then, lo and behold, a full length CD shows up on our counter. Would it be just as exciting and mind blowing as the single? Hells Yes!!! St. Elsewhere is a strange and often silly pastiche of soul, pop, funk, hip hop, and gospel with nods to Wilson Pickett, Undisputed Truth, Marvin Gaye, and crazily enough Violent Femmes (they cover "Gone Daddy Gone"). But even with their influences showing bright and clear, they put it all together in their own unique crazy fun and groovy way. Less sleazy than Andre 3000's Love Below, but sipping from the same funky bottle. Expect to hear this one all summer long.
This second full-length album from Japan's Green Milk From The Planet Orange proclaims boldly on its sleeve that "Progressive Rock Is Not Dead"! Well, WE never thought it was anyhow, but if you yourself have doubts, a loud dose of this should correct your thinking. Though, while quite lively (and rather live-sounding too, on this recording), GMFTPO's brand of prog rock definitely does look to the past for inspiration, from cosmic psych-scapes of krautrock to the precision epics of Yes. And we're also hearing some not-entirely-welcome No Wave-ish yelping dissonance on one track here as well. But when song-lengths can hit the double digits as they do here (there's four tracks, the shortest clocking in an prog-respectable seven minutes and the longest stretching out to over 38!!) and you've got musicians capable of turning on a dime like these guys, something ELSE is gonna happen before the song's over for sure. So you get tripped out atmospheres AND fully cranked acid-rock electric guitar mayhem, prog-complex song constructs and punk raucousness. Some will find this eclecticism exhilirating (and of course somewhat typical of the genre-bending Japanese underground that we've been fans ever since the Boredoms first freaked us out years ago) while others might wish that they'd stick to one thing -- taking the Yessism all the way, or the psych guitar skree. But check 'em out (live too if possible -- they've toured the US a couple times already, and knocked out a great instore performance here at AQ last year, with the drummer playing a 'kit' jerry-rigged from empty soda cans, a tamborine, and duct tape) and see what you think... fans of AMT and DMBQ both might quite like.
FINALLY REPRESSED and BACK IN STOCK! And now this former AQ Record Of The Week comes in a sturdier sleeve with a little book of drawings too, value added for those who missed it before... hardly fair for those who picked it up back when but nice if you're just getting it now.
Imagine Arvo Part if he was a punk rock woman from Oakland. Or imagine an ultra lo-fi Morton Feldman jamming with Matthew Bower of Skullflower, backed up by a ghostly choir. This is one of those records that is so perfectly aQuarius it sounds like it was composed and recorded just for us. And you. A perfect blend of warm textured ambience and thick corrosive drones, delicate melodies wrapped in a gorgeously crunchy gritty hissy production. The whole record is a ghostly shimmer, warm washes of otherworldly vibrations swirling in a thick morass of processed vocals, murky keyboards and guitars rendered so unguitarlike they more resemble warm wiggles of sound, like slinky's stretched as far as they will go, slightly vibrating, barely disturbing the air around them, small waves of sound like ripples in a pond building and building and piled atop one another until it's a massive, thick blanket of sound. Imagine the saddest slowest band you've ever heard playing at absolutely deafening volume, then imagine stuffing your ears full of cotton, and listening from behind a closed door, through a wall of mud and straw, warm wispy tendrils of sound creeping and crawling through the cracks, wrapping themselves in thick coils around your arms and legs, the whole room slowly filling with sound, until soon you're totally ensconced, submerged, surrounded by thick billows of slow shifting sound. Melodies become indistinct whispers stretched across minutes instead of seconds, guitars and keyboards become blissed out blurs, like floating weightless in a warm dark mysterious place made entirely of soft sound. Wow. Totally haunting and captivating.
Originally released in 1985 as a set of 2 EPs on LAYLAH and re-issued "wrongly" by Mute / Grey Area in 1992, Seven Hours Sleep marks yet another in the ongoing reissue campaign by Korm Plastics of work by The Hafler Trio. Seven Hours Sleep also happens to mark the last contributions from former Cabaret Voltaire member Chris Watson, although Andrew MacKenzie (the other founder of the 'trio') was still claiming that The Hafler Trio involved such fictional characters as Dr. Edward Moolenbeek and Robert Spridgeon. In recent years, MacKenzie has focused his activities upon the essentialization of the power of the human voice, as he has extracted intensely brilliant tonal fragments from the voices of Jonsi Birgisson, David Tibet, and Blixa Bargeld, stretching them into some of the most deliriously beautiful and acoustically powerful minimalism the world has ever witnessed. Well over two decades ago, the human voice was still central to MacKenzie's work in The Hafler Trio although in a slightly different context. Instead of focusing upon the essence of the human voice as a gnostic spark for enlightenment through sound, MacKenzie was far more interested in how perception and communication were intertwined, and how it was possible to create paranoiac atmospheres through the obfuscation of language's syntax. Within Seven Hours Sleep, MacKenzie rewires utterances, screams and megaphone broadcasts into a decentered collage of mediated fragments, rupturing flickering drones and unsettling field recordings. MacKenzie has demonstrated his power to confuse and delight through his complex laboratory of sound, mythology, and context; Seven Hours Sleep is no different. Sorry, no mp3 samples can be made available of the Hafler Trio's work.
More bizarre, musical macrame from the peculiar German gent known as Hansel Urnst Grusel! Happy As Pitch could easily be retitled When Wind-Up Toys Go 'Wrong'. While there's probably not any actual toys involved in Hans Grusel's Krankenkabinet, the assortment of drunken plinkety plonks, itchy clickety clacks, disgruntled grindings and dizzying whooshes sure bring them to mind. Played out on such instruments as a Resonator Neuronium and a Steim Crackelbox as well as more conventional horns, strings 'n' woodwinds and a battalion of analog synthesizers, The Krankenkabinet's compositions are mostly kookily tweaked roamings, punctuated by an occasional more menacing moment. Guest players include Liz Allbee on trumpet and Graham Connah on Moog Source Solo.
Hailing from Bristol, England, the ultra-powerful power trio known so appropriately as The Heads are here to freak you out again. We've been waiting for, like, three years for a new full-length album from these guys, who are just about our favorite heavy-psych-stoner-garage-rawk band currently existing in this blessed world. Under The Stress Of A Headlong Dive is finally here and we are NOT disappointed. Totally chuffed is more like it.
This, their seventh album, contains 19 new tracks, some of them weird under-a-minute droning FX interludes, others fuzz-fueled manic marathons lasting upwards of a quarter hour. Oh god the fuzz! This is some heavy, heavily distorted wailing swirling insanity indeed. Comets On Fire can't even compare. You have to go to Japan, maybe, and stick your head right next to the amps of a band like High Rise or Mainliner to approximate The Heads' in-the-red, pedals-to-the-metal, flyin' high, inner eye stare down acid energy sound. But we also have to imagine that they think of themselves as a pop band of sorts. The Fall would be one reference (the vocals do remind us of Mark E. Smith). And the Stooges were a pop band too, let's remember, and along with Hawkwind must be one of The Heads biggest sources of inspiration. But The Heads ain't a retro act, this is future/now rock action we're glad to be around to witness (on disc, that is, never seen 'em live but would love to!!).
Punkishly menacing and kind of metallic (with bongos, though!), or spacey and mantric, this never lets up and never gets dull. Over the course of this 72 minute platter they always seem to have a new trick up their sleeves, or a new pedal to step on... all heads should agree that The Heads have outdone themselves with this one!!
Zach Hill is one busy man. Besides constantly touring and releasing records with his duo Hella he also somehow found time to make records with Greg from Deerhoof (Nervous Cop), Rob Crow (The Ladies) and now he's teamed up with the relentless guitar outbursts of Mick Barr (Orthrelm, Octis, Quixotic) for an album that never lets up, brutal intensity from start to finish. Hill's frantic drumming is the perfect backdrop for Barr's impossibly over the top guitar freakouts. Barr has become one of our favorite guitar players in recent years. His ability to full on rip and never let up has held us in thrall with a iron gloved grip. This is the kind of record that makes you want to drink 8000 cups of coffee and finish your life's to-do list in one fell swoop, no rest, no sleep, no mercy!!!! This is the sound of relentless spirit at its most triumphant. Like Glen Branca on a dirty diet of speed, teamed up with a scrappy drummer making the sort of sounds that put most math rock to shame. This is advanced calculus metal for unrelenting students. One of our customers said it best while listening to this "Whoa the Voltron of shredders!" We couldn't have said it better ourselves.
Japan's Jojo Hiroshige, self proclaimed King Of Noise (noise fans commence argument now), has been abusing guitars for years as the leader of seminal 'Japanoise' outfit Hijokaidan. He's also responsible for many solo recordings and collaborations, many of them tempering the pure noise aesthetic of Hijokaidan with more rock, psych, or folk elements... likewise with the label he runs, the eclectic and extreme Alchemy, which delves into noise, psych, punk, improv, and heavy rock. In the Japanese noisy underground music scene, Jojo's the man. And he's also quite the performer, as this dvd will prove. He very definitely has a stage presence -- and knows how to make a racket!
One track will feature Jojo solo, shirtless, dramatically lit, with a mirrored stage backdrop, Gibson SG and microphone his weapons for unleashing relentless drone and cathartic screams... or, you'll find him in another segment wearing a leather jacket, wielding a baseball bat and a boombox, on stage with Masonna... or, in a more sedate setting, seated, jamming with the girls in Doodles, or members of Angel In'Heavy Syrup... there's even an MTV style promo video for a track from Jojo's Boku Wa Mo Utawanai Daro album (which also appeared on the Alchemism 2dvd collection). All in all, in addition to that promo clip, you'll find 15 different performances from the past few years documented here, including the bonus track that finds Jojo kicking out the jams with free folk legend Kan Mikami! It's a really nice package of music and visuals for the Jojo fan.
We haven't managed to catch Hodag live yet, but it sounds like it must be a bit like having someone fire ice picks right into your ear canal from a high powered rifle. Or imagine being stripped naked and rubbed raw with some free jazz sand paper. CMJ wrote that Hodag'sÔdebut "doodles corpsepaint on Albert Ayler,Ôsounding like jazz-spazzes trying to claw their way out of Xasthur's murky coffin." Hard to come up with anything better than that. This is definitely some sort of free jazz, or some sort of ambient noise, there is no black metal per se, but it does sound very black, with swirls of damaged synth, sputtering drum kit spazzouts, lots of space, but lots just as many bursts of ultra dense brutality. For the pure souled and strong eared amongst you!
LIMITED TO 100 COPIES!!! Each disc packaged in a cool hand screened cardboard sleeve.
Yes, along with the first blossoms of May the highly anticipated new Jolie Holland album has arrived! Definitely less mysterious than her previous two albums, but no less magical. There's not so much of the 'from where did this antique gramophone recording get unearthed?' kind of feel that characterized both Catalpa and Escondida. While Springtime Can Kill You still maintains a foundation of old country petticoats, the recordings sound quite contemporary. Very full, fleshed out and crisp... so much so in fact that the brushes played on the snare drum effectively conjure the crunch of frost beneath your boots or the first bite into a freshly picked apple. It might be a bit of an overstatement, but it seems Holland's evolved from porchswing peasant gal into more of a composed chanteuse. No complaints here tho'. This is a beautiful album with captivating songs and fine performances by all involved. Guest players include multi-instrumentalist Ara Anderson of Iron And The Albatross, and singer/songwriter David Dondero. Sure to cause extensive bouts of swooning.
