To be completely honest, this record was released well over a year ago; but for reasons not known to us, Kantamoinen has only now just been made available here in the US. Ø is the work of Mika Vainio, the Finnish electronic artist who hails from the techno-brutalist duo Pan Sonic and has produced some amazing solo records for Touch. It's been a very long time since Vainio has taken up the Ø moniker, best known for producing the seminal Metri album back in the mid-'90s. Where Metri was a minimalist techno masterpiece of phase shifting arpeggiations of fragile electric tones topping skeletal 808 rhythms, Kantamoinen is far closer to the albums Vainio recorded for Touch, where shivering swathes of arctic ambience and abstracted tone poems emerge from Vainio's sleepless fits of mad-scientist energy. Occasionally, Vainio grounds his plasma and gamma-ray experiments on slow-motion and very sparse electro rhythms, with little of the swagger and groove heard in the Pan Sonic drum machine attacks. Rather, the rhythm on Kantamoinen is a sleepy affair, barely holding the gravitational pull on his weightless electronics. If it weren't for all of those Touch releases in between Metri and this, Kantamoinen wouldn't make much sense at all; but in the context of Vainio's catalogue, Kantamoinen is another wonderful and weird piece of electronic music.
Our pal Drucifer's Dielectric label has been laying low of late, for the most part... yet Drucifer did dig this debut recording from Agents Del Futuro enough to add it to the Dielectric discog as a limited edition cd-r packaged in a colorful, collaged, oversized, silkscreened folder! ADF (a one man band, that man being local Mission-dweller Jesse Clark, a painter and percussionist) makes improvisational use of all sorts of acoustic instruments and non-instruments (some of 'em include: bike wheel, Korg 770, squeaky door, doumbek, dried seed pods, Paiste 22" symphonic gong, Turkish tea cups, marimba, radio, echoplex, harmonium, sandpaper, bass, singing bowl, drum set, piano, tuned Nepalese gongs, voicemail, billiards...) along with electronic processing and tape looping of the sounds produced, to create the 17 tracks of Mydrone. Some of it is indeed droney, other parts almost poppy... there's lotsa noisiness, fractured beats, glitchtronic sampling, some singing... all of it together kinda broken down and damaged and unpredictable. A fun lo-fi stew of soundmaking weirdness, running the gamut from dreamy to jittery, that totally fits into the Dielectric roster alongside artists like Die Elektrischen, Karen Stackpole, Gerrit, the Dielectric Minimalist All-Stars, and Brian and Chris.
AQ's favorite Xtian acid-folk n' electronics outfit (we could call 'em, in an attempt to classify the unclassifiable) Amps For Christ are back with a new album. Yay we say! We're always happy to check in with ex-Man Is The Bastard member "Ranger Barnes" and his coven of collaborators to see what's going on in their strange and wonderful world. And Every Eleven Seconds is about what we'd expect from AFC: a mutated take on traditional folk tuneage, Barnes the mad scientist instrument builder doing his thing on home-built stringed things, all sorts of distorted electronic wavelengths heightening the vibrations of soulful hippy-punk weirdness. Beauty, noise, and more beauty.
There's many gems on here, from the gentler side of power violence displayed by "I Hate This Dumpster" to the bagpipes-in-a-UFO stylings of "Scotland The Brave", though apparently these days it wouldn't be an AFC album without a few brief blips of unwanted "spoken word" poetry to wince at for a moment before the Amps with their fuzz and grit and old timey melodies kick in again...
We don't mind. This long-running outfit on the outskirts of "New Weird America" is the closest any of that crew have come to true Outsiderdom. They've definitely carved themselves a unique niche. Comparisons? Dunno, how 'bout psych-folksters Six Organs Of Admittance performing in a malfunctioning video arcade, with the ghost of Eddie Hazel sitting in on Maggot Brain guitar? Or you maybe could call 'em a Judeo-Christian Sun City Girls. While the SCGs can be rather smarmy and smartass, AFC are more emotionally sincere. Sure like the SCG's they're still plenty cryptic and confusional, but with a warm and holy embrace.
Some of us here whose proclivities gravitate towards rare psych and folk have been bemoaning the recent flurry of "buried treasures" and "lost classics". It seems a day does not go by without a new release or re-issue of a forgotten or recently discovered artist rescued from obscurity passing before our attentive eyes and drooling mouths. Sometimes the "lost classic" status is not always deserved (not everything made in the sixties and seventies that didn't receive any attention is noteworthy, somethings are better off staying buried or lost), but it's sure keeping the reissue labels and revisionist musicologists busy as they map out an ever-growing expanse of the spheres of influence on music today. It's hard to keep up and also pay equal attention to all the great music that is being made right now. This makes us very happy on the one hand that amazing music continues to be discovered but it also drives us crazy us to see our paychecks quickly dwindling every week. Why just in the past month, we've seen re-issues from Bridget St. John, Kay Hoffman, John Jacob Niles, Kaleidoscope and Fairfield Parlour (all pretty amazing!) among others. And now on our plate are these previously unreleased home recordings of German underground folk singer, Sibylle Baier. We must admit when we first heard this, we suspected fraud. These recordings sound almost too contemporary to have been made in the early seventies. But after doing a little research, we found out this is no fraud. These intimate recordings fully deserve their "buried treasure" status, for whatever that's worth at this point. Baier, only previously known for a song on an early Wim Wenders film soundtrack, recorded these songs in her home from 1970-73 after a "spirit-renewing" trip through the Swiss Alps. She has the warm Sunday jam and tea voice reminiscent of Vashti Bunyan, but with the more spare guitar compositions and melancholy vocal delivery of someone like Chan Marshall. In fact, we sort of wish the new Cat Power or Beth Orton records were this good! Like Bunyan, Baier shunned what could have been a successful career in order to raise a family and it's because of her son, Robby, that these recordings are being heard at all. But unlike Bunyan, these songs don't derive from a back to nature hippie-folk aesthetic, but rather they come from a more delicate fragility where life's beauty and despair are interwoven with the tiny details of daily life. Beautiful! Totally recommended for seventies folk enthusiasts as well as fans of contemporary singer/song-writers.
For his latest full length, Banhart has taken a marked departure from the mystical woodland art-folk kingdom he conjured and inhabited on his first three albums. This is evident even before you hear a single note -- he opted for a Sgt. Pepper style collaged crowd photograph on the front cover rather than another of his illustrations. He's tempered his vocal delivery to a more approachable range -- this might disappoint some of his fans for whom his unmistakable 'old' voice was the thing they loved most about his music, on the other hand though it certainly has the potential to appeal to a much broader audience -- but he's ventured out stylistically in a number of directions and incorporated various different instrument combinations into the surprisingly lush arrangements with wonderful results. Take for example the second song "Santa Maria Da Feira" and the sixth "Quedateluna" which both brought to mind glimmers of a long lost Gilberto Gil album, the almost soft rock production of the third song "Heard Somebody Say", not to mention the fourth song "Long Haired Child" which possesses a primal electric guitar psychedelic bluesiness that recalls Arthur Brown's demonic '60s stomp "Fire" (albeit much less unhinged). Midway through the album, some songs crop up that are more akin to the Banhart of old such as the quirkily playful ninth tune "Some People Ride The Wave". 22 songs! Wow! So great!
The AQ-list has seen its share of cds from the grim Nordic corpsepainted hordes, has it not? Almost every list nowadays has some new cult attraction for those already into black metal, or who are willing to take a chance. But there's plenty of now-classic BM that we've never written about, 'cause it came out before our store stocked as much of the blackened stuff. So the occasional blast from the past, the reissue of a '90s BM must-have, is worth mentioning we think! Sure, you should get all the Marblebogs and Striborgs and Wolds and Emits and Lorns and Negative Planes, but you shouldn't miss out on their less obscure precursors, the Satyricons and Immortals and Abigors, and (to get to the point) Beherit, whose Drawing Down The Moon from 1993 is THE album to get from these Finnish black metal maniacs... it was their full-length debut after a bunch of demos and eps. (Later Beherit albums are cool too, but quite different, more like industrial/ambient solo albums from band leader Nuclear Holocausto.)
So simple and Satanic. Raw and underground. Plodding and droning. The spirit of Venom, Bathory and Hellhammer rendered even more fucked up and primitive and minimalistic by this bunch of sick Finns. It's not so much music, as it is the distorted, deviant belchings of Satan himself. If you don't 'get' Drawing Down The Moon, if songs like "Nocturnal Evil" and "Werewolf, Semen And Blood" don't speak to you... then, well, you're mom is probably happy about that. But if you really want to understand the appeal of real deal black metal, all you need is this, some beer, and no friends. Except Satan.
Actually, listening to this now, we aren't surprised at all by the 'ambient' direction taken by the later Beherit incarnation. This is ambient too... ambient evil invocation. Even moreso than Abruptum.
Whoa! Twenty seven songs fill Frank Black's latest full length, a double-disc set! And it's a peculiar one. Not in a trippy wigged out eccentric kind of way, but just very unexpected and uncharacteristic. On the first disc, he's gone completely '70s country roots rock! This would be less unsettling if there were some tell-tale Frank Black Francis-isms in there somewhere, but after a few listens we haven't registered a single one! The one thing that should've given him away-- that is, his voice -- doesn't sound like him a bit. Sorta deep and gruff and weathered... or to put it another way, imagine Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen and Glen Campbell all rolled into one. Don't get us wrong this is not a bad album. It's exceptionally well done. The songwriting's as solid as ever, but it just comes across as very faceless. Was this a conscious decision? We assume so. However, that alone is the surprise (and ultimately for us the disappointment) of the first disc of Fast Man, Raider Man.
Now, moving on to the second disc, we breathe a soft sigh of relief. From the first song "In The Time Of My Ruin", things are definitely more identifiably Black and characteristic of an album by such a (usually) distinct musical personality. That said, oddly enough we found many of the songs on Disc Two to be quite reminiscent of Van Morrison too. Having him swing into a rendition of "Brown Eyed Girl" would not be at all out of place.
Non-diehard Frank Black fans might find themselves wishing he'd released the two cds separately.
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!
A reissued 12" from one of this list's Record of the Week artists, Burial, who unleashes a lurching, shuffling, deep and dense mix of murky grimy dubstep. Equal parts minimal dub, slowed down grime, and super slow motion jungle.
This 12", originally released last year, features what sounds like an alternate version of one of the album tracks, sort of slowed down and more blissed out. The other track is WAY more drum and bass, a mumbled 16 rpm jungle stutter, with a definite grime vibe and a super dense chaotic rhythmic coda! So cool.
This record has totally knocked us for a loop. An impossible mix of grimy dubstep, murky triphop, and minimal spaced out dub. When we first threw this on we were immediately transported back to when we first heard Massive Attack, or Portishead, and a whole new world suddenly opened up to us. A creepy, muted world of barebones beats and haunting atmospheres that would go on to inform our musical tastes forever.
This is the first release on Hyperdub, a label run by grime/dubstep DJ Kode9, and we expected a blasting barrage of grimy beats, but instead, were sucked into a swirling vortex of late night groove and midnight stutter. Think those Rhythm And Sound Burial Mix eps, mixed with some Pole-like glitched out dub, and some slow burning Portishead smolder. Creepy and crawly, mysterious and moody. Beats suspended in a black shimmering fog, snippets of vocals, crooning, toasting, drenched in reverb, chopped up and let loose to drift over super dark, muffled dubscapes. Huge rumbling bass lines, like distant foghorns, dreamy ambience sort of drifting and ethereal but so so ominous. Tiny sonic sparkles glimmer like some alien sonar, drifting dreamily through fuzzy darkness. Drowned and submerged grooves, all muffled muted melody and shuffling minimal beats. Suffocating atmospheres of low end thrum, record crackle and shortwave interference. Some sort of slithering slinky dubstep shuffle slowed waaaaaaaaay down, into a blackened glacial dub jam. So fucking awesome. Our newest every night late night listen. A record of perfect dark and damaged dubbed out lullabies.
We were immediately intrigued by this disc's wonderfully grotesque shotgun suicide cover art, that's about as morbidly psychedelic as a black-and-white pen and ink drawing can be. So what's the album all about? Well, the UK's Capricorns, featuring ex-members of such heavyweights as Iron Monkey and Orange Goblin, are a bit of an enigma, not easy to peg genre-wise (stoner rock? sludge? post-rock? metal? avant-garde?). As if to keep their secrets to themselves, they're an instrumental band -- except for track three here, which is graced by the unmistakable vocal stylings/wailings of guest singer Eugene Robinson from Oxbow -- another point in their favor, since we're big Oxbow fans!
The song titles offer little beyond what seem to be cryptic historical references (ok, "1066: Born On The Bayeux", we get it, but what about "1440: Exit Wargasmatron"?). Capricorns are sometimes eerily atmospheric, slow and moody, at others lead-riff heavy and rockin'. Lead-off cut "1977: Blood For Papa" sets the headbanging pace... Eugene's "The First Broken Promise" (the only song without a date attached) takes a detour into Oxbow's unique world of woe. "1946: The Last Renaissance Man" is a post-rock dirge that segues nicely into the epic Viking vibe of closer "793AD: The Harrying Of The Heathen" (as you can see, the track list isn't exactly in chronological order, historically speaking). Overall, you get the sense that they're halfway about the heavy riffage, halfway into soundtracky darkness. Fine by us, we like the mystery, we like the darkness, we like the rock! Again, hard to peg, but we'd venture to say that this could appeal to those into, say, Isis, Zombi, Zebulon Pike, old Kyuss, Oxbow (natch), Sonic Flower, 5ive, Darediablo -- not that this sounds a whole lot like any of those. Also, Kerry our resident astrologer says as long as you're not a Aries or a Libra you'll probably be compatible with this Capricorns record (Allan says that just goes to show that astrology is BS 'cause he's a Libra and digs this anyway...).
For some reason, Tom Carter always seemed like some mysterious musical alchemist, lurking in the shadows, cloaked in the relative anonymity of his group Charalambides. But lately, as his solo efforts outnumber Charalambides releases, and with a move to right here in the Bay Area, he has become one of a handful of modern guitarists representing this new movement of neo-folk, neo-Appalachia, new weird America or whatever people want to call it. Jack Rose, James Blackshaw, Matt Valentine, Ilyas Ahmed, Ben Chasny, and Carter, all offering their own spin on the guitar, and the legacy of John Fahey.
Carter, like his fellow six stringers, explores the modern raga, utilizing the buzz as much as the notes that precede it. On Glyph, the last recordings in his old studio and the last before his big move, Carter stretches out on 3 lengthy guitar pieces, all thematically linked, but each quite individual in its own way, from the sort of guitar played to the actual structure and composition.
Glyph 1 is all acoustic steel string guitar, and is a sweet slab of tangled neo-Appalachia, fast fingerpicking, some slippery slide, minor key and lots of angular buzz. In fact if there is anything distinct about Carter's style, it's an odd angularity, unlikely melodies, and a strangely jagged technique, but it serves him well, giving his pick and strum an otherworldly vibe.
The final track, the quite brief "Glyph 3", is all nylon string acoustic guitar and is thus much softer and less metallic sounding. But as if to make up for that Carter's playing is even more manic and convoluted, dense flurries of notes, and impossible fast fingerpicking, a murky dizzying swirl of abstract guitar exploration, fuzzy and impenetrable.
But it's between the two where we find the record's 35 minute centerpiece "Glyph 2", a dreamy trippy psychedelic soundscape for lap steel guitar. Much more minimal and ambient, huge stretches of single notes drifting aimlessly and slowly fading into nothingness, slipping and slithering, all wraithlike, the slide drifting up and down the neck, with haunting melodies floating up like spirits rising from their graves. Lots of buzz, and bits of percussive thump, but more than anything "Glyph 2" is open and endless, an ultra minimal expanse, the abstract twang drifting and shimmering amidst lots and lots of space. So gorgeous.
Packaged in a cool hand screened on the outside, hand painted on the inside, thick cardstock sleeve, with liner notes/insert.
Goldfall is Andrew Chalk's highly anticipated new vinyl-only album, released on his own Faraway Press imprint. After pretty much of all the Mirror records had been released as super limited vinyl-only editions (with a couple of those getting reissued later on cd), Chalk's recent solo endeavors have been extended droneworks that weren't suited to the LP format. He's clearly outdone himself with the packaging on this return to vinyl, as he's situated the thick slab of vinyl within a dense cardstock sleeve with a die cut opening exposing silkscreened print beneath; and he's sealed the sleeve in a delicate piece of tissue paper that also features an elegant print reminiscent of Shoji screen prints. In contrast to the floral artwork, Chalk's sound production within is a far darker and heavier experience. Sourced from the meandering piano interludes of Vikki Jackman, Goldfall is a dark, shadowy record of protracted reverberation and timbral rumblings. In comparison to Chalk's previous piano album Blue Eyes Of The March or to other exceptional piano abstractions (i.e. Jonathan Coleclough's Period or Brian Eno's Thursday Afternoon), Goldfall is downright ominous. And you all should know that Andrew Chalk + ominous = highly recommended. But you should also know that Goldfall is limited to 300 copies.
Yup, it appears that Andrew Chalk has retained the impressive workload he and Christoph Heemann had managed for their now defunct project Mirror. The River That Flows Into The Sand is the second album in as many months to emerge from Andrew Chalk's own Faraway Press. Like it's predecessor Shadows From The Album Skies, this album is a reissue of a cd-r originally released in a very small edition. However, Chalk has decided to truly develop Faraway Press into a viable cottage industry, encasing all of his work in elaborately hand-packaged constructions, that rival the original Zoviet France assemblages in terms of innovative design. How he managed to print these is a bit of a mystery, although Cup and Jim think it to be a form of decalcomania, in which an image is delicately transferred from one surface to another. Regardless, it doesn't hurt that Chalk again has produced an immaculate drone album housed within the beautiful packaging.
For many years now, the guitar has been the instrument of choice for Chalk's minimalist explorations; and here on The River, he's tightroping between the ghostly impressionism of Keiji Haino's Nijumu project from many moons ago, the narcoleptic atmospheres of Maeror Tri / Troum, the oceanic ambience of Boris' Flood, and the time-reversal qualities of Eliane Radigue. Undulations of extended sounds cascade from his guitar, occasionally rippling with beautiful half melodies. This is a a drop dead gorgeous album, and may even be better than the aforementioned Shadows From The Album Skies. We can't recommend this album enough!
You can just imagine a bunch of rambunctious childlike outsider artists and freak folk musicians deciding to get all their old sofa cushions and broken instruments and stuffed animals to build a big old Chord Fort in the corner of their practice space / crash pad. And this is sort of the musical equivalent. Jason Honea (who you might remember from Jewelled Antler outfits The Child Readers, the Franciscan Hobbies, as well as the Knit Separates and Teenage Panzercorps) teams up with a couple of other musical miscreants to build their very own Chord Fort, a super lo-fi Steve Reich-ish meditation, a slowly shifting keyboard figure, swathed in tape hiss and fuzzy sonic detritus. Totally mesmerizing, the melody only barely wavering, the fuzz and hiss becoming more and more agitated in the background. The track is titled "Smile Louder" and you can almost imagine hear a face trying to sustain a huge smile for the whole 8 minutes, his muscles twitching, the strain showing on his face, beads of sweat dripping into his eyes, the genuine toothy smile slowly becoming more of a sneer as the corners of his mouth begin to droop. It's a gorgeously tense minimalist exploration. "Smile Louder" is followed up by an ultra brief, one minute long, dreamy ambient coda, a warm whir beneath simple chimes, children's voices and a creepy music box melody.
Another gorgeously packaged cd-r -- full color cover, an amazing painting, printed inside as well, a folded over, textured paper insert, and the disc is professionally printed and quite striking.
Only 9 minutes long, but also only six bucks!
Clockcleaner are the slightly less unhinged offshoot of the truly demented and damaged garage-noise-sludge combo the Violent Students. The recently released Clockcleaner cd was a killer flashback to the good ol' Amphetamine Reptile days, when we were all rocking to the Cows, the God Bullies, King Snake Roost, Lubricated Goat, Halo Of Flies. These guys sound like they were somehow transported from Minneapolis in 1995 to right here right now. And we fucking love it. I think when we reviewed the cd we said they sounded like the Cars meets Flipper which sounds fucked but pretty great too. This 7" feature an alternate version of our favorite song on the cd and an unreleased B-side. The cool thing is on this 7" the band are way slower and sludgier and filthier sounding, so instead of sounding like Scratch Acid or the Jesus Lizard, they sort of sound like Green River mixed with the Birthday Party. This alternate version of "Missing Dick" is a creeped-out blues crawl, with weird keening guitars, a way more lo-fi production and vocal totally doused in echo. Not as rocking as the other version, but so much more fucked up sounding.
The B side is super scary and dark, angular guitar lines over a simple plodding drum, with an INSANE growled/yowled vocal rant. Eventually the band kicks in HARD with a wild burst of fuzzy downtuned guitar growl, and launches into a sort of menacing post punk swagger that totally hits the spot.
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.
When Allan and Andee were in New York for CMJ they managed to catch Mouthus live (playing with Circle, Khanate and Coptic Light!!) and while the band were loud and the sound was thick and dense, it was hard really to get a feel for what they actually sounded like. Live, in a big room, it could have been ANY band making a huge grating noise. But on vinyl it's a whole different story. This Brooklyn Duo offer up two sidelong tracks of churning, thick and viscous freenoise, that is simultaneously corrosive and strangely soothing, long druggy dreamscapes of guitar grind and rumbling rooooaaaaar. A pretty killer chunk of cosmic free psych sludge for sure.
We had never heard Cousins Of Reggae before and figured with a name like that we were either gonna love them or loathe them. And we were pretty much figuring on loath. But surprise surprise, these Canadian noiseniks just might be our new favorite amongst the noisy elite. A huge swirling stew of abstract guitar noise, pounding percussive stomp, shrieking clouds of feedback, dirgey gut churning basslines, squiggly synths and garbled vocals buried way down in the mix. Hard to believe two guys can whip up such a glorious din. A stumbling and lurching freepsych freakout equal parts the Dead C, Harry Pussy and old Skullflower. Awesome!
Hand painted covers, each one different, LIMITED TO 500 COPIES, includes a full color insert.
Take a fountain of emo pop hooks, some big crunchy guitars and Dashboard Confessional's cute sensitive frontman Christopher Carrabba with vocals that still drip with just outta puberty angst... what do you get? Dusk And Summer, this season's scientifically formulated movie soundtrack and radio ready teen dream aka album number four for these anthemic modern emo rockers from Florida.
Ok, we don't know what sort of time warp technology they've developed over there in Sweden, but it does the job. I mean, if the US Navy ever wants to find out just what happened with that aircraft carrier or whatever from the 1940s (y'know, they made a movie about it, The Final Countdown or The Philadelphia Experiment wasn't it?), we'd say don't bother asking Michael J. Fox, get somebody over in Sweden to explain. They obviously have the time travel thing figured out. And best of all, they use it to make more rock and roll bands like in the good ol' days of acid rock and psychedelia!! Bands like Witchcraft and Elope and Dungen, who sound more 1970 than 2006. We've mentioned them all before, and if you know 'em and love 'em, well here's *another* group of Swedes that we think fans of those bands should check out. Dead Man! Long hair, bright harmonies, folky melodies, acoustic strum, heavy riffs, trippy vibes... even a 14-minute long experimental prog finale. Yep, definite time warp. Like Witchcraft and those others, they never betray their modernity. No anachronistic hints of '90s stoner rock or alternative rock or metal or anything. Really, though it -says- this debut full-length was recorded in 2005, it's like no rock music past, say, 1974 seems to have ever entered their ears.
Despite being called Dead Man this isn't particularly a dark album... just heavy psych in the old style. Some tracks are hard rockers, others spaced out and Floydian, even a little bit on the rustic Grateful Dead side of things... A couple of the guys in the band sing (in English), one of 'em with a wavering trill in his voice that reminds us a bit of Roger Chapman from Family, whereas the other singer has a stronger Swedish accent giving more of that Dungen flavor. The Norwegian '70s heavy psych act November could be one definite influence on these guys.
Again, although we do suspect the use of time-travel technology, we're also aware that Dead Man's guitarist used to play drums in Norrsken, Magnus Pellander's band before he formed Witchcraft. I guess he stole a page from Magnus' spellbook, temporal magic chapter. Meanwhile, two of the other members were in Swedish bands called The Strollers and The Roadrunners -- never heard them but boy those names are EXACTLY what the sort of '60s garage/beat bands that would have evolved into a band like Dead Man would have been called -- had this all really transpired 35 years ago like it sounds. Sure, not a lot of points for originality, but plenty for verisimilitude. We say, right on, Dead Man!
In 1981, Tony Wakeford and Douglas P disbanded their anarcho-leftist punk ensemble Crisis in order to focus on their new project Death In June, which ostensibly was a more poetic and esoteric outfit, moving away from the politics that dominated the output of Crisis. The Guilty Have No Pride were the first recordings for DIJ; and immediately, there are numerous differences between DiJ and Crisis, for one, the earlier band had more of a pogo-punk / Oi! sound while DiJ blatantly wore Joy Division's militant gloom on their sleeve. Tony Wakeford still sang with the cockney accent as he did in Crisis (and persists today through his work in Sol Invictus), but Douglas P smoothed his voice into a languid croon not unlike Joy Division's late singer. The grim post-punk inclinations for Death In June resulted in some truly amazing songs found on The Guilty Have No Pride, like "All Alone In Her Nirvana," "Heaven Street," and "Nothing Changes", any of which definitively foreshadow Interpol's black clad revivalism (barring Wakeford's unmistakable voice and Death In June's questionable use of Nazi imagery which they obnoxiously never resolved as either fetishized allegiance or situationist shock-tactics). Politics aside, The Guilty Have No Pride is miles away from the industrialized-folk that Death In June has produced in recent years, and clearly stands as one of their finest moments. Even Andee who is not a huge DiJ fan, LOVES this disc and has been listening to it non stop. This recently re-released remastered version of The Guilty Have No Pride comes with DVD of a live performance from 1982 of much of the material that would later appear on the album itself.
Here's a another brief blast of cassette goodness released by AQ pal Mike Donovan (Big Techno Werewolves, Nam, Sounds Of The Barbary Coast, The Ropers, Dial Records) of local jazz noise outfit Death Sentence: Panda. As with most releases by the very DIY San Francisco fella Mr. Donovan, there is only going to be a very small homespun run of these made, so needless to say, don't snoooooze!
Pssst... we also have a small number of some other Folding cassette releases, all with hand made covers -- a short one from Donovan's own current band Sic Alps, plus a compilation he compiled with artist Chris Johanson called SSSSSOSS2 and ones by Dark Yellow Swans (aka Yellow Swans) and NVH with Six Organs Of Admittance's Ben Chasny. Dust off yer cassette deck!
Just the sight of that immediately recognizable underlined, lower case 'd' logo sends shivers up our spine. Some of you already know exactly what we're talking about, and just reading this far has probably got you all in a tizzy as well. For those of you who are new to the lower case 'd', prepare yourself for diSEMBOWELMENT!! Even the name, replete with mandatory case change, conjures up all sorts of bleak lifeforce snuffing, soul crushing sensations, at least for fans of mysterious otherworldly doom and bizarre slow motion grind!!
diSEMBOWELMENT were but a brief flash in the underground doom metal scene, existing for a scant three years in the early nineties, but in that time, they recorded one of the all time classic HEAVY records ever, Transcendence Into The Peripheral. A mind blowing record that somehow melded extreme brutality with delicate beauty, a record that totally changed the way some of us listened to heavy music. Referring to the music of diSEMBOWELMENT as doom might give folks the wrong impression. This is not regular old doom like Black Sabbath or My Dying Bride, it's not even funereal doom like Skepticism or Esoteric, although it definitely spends most of its time a lot closer to the slow motion sludge end of the spectrum. diSEMBOWELMENT most definitely inhabit their own unique sonic space. It's slow, sure, but not always, bursts of pounding blast beats will erupt from a bleak tranquil soundscape, gutteral inhuman grunts, machine like percussion, buzzing riffs, all intertwined into a blazing near-death metal onslaught, but it's not long before big reverb drenched guitar melodies begin to fall like some sort of black rain, the metallic pummel sort of stumbling to a seasick lumber, turning the whole thing into a creepy crawl, lurching, plodding, downtuned guitars and spare, simple rhythms, a crushing slow motion dirge, with haunting atonal clean guitar parts and moaning melodies. And even during these vast expanses of atmospheric tranquility, you can never rule out sudden blast beat, or a throat shredding vocal part, or a sudden crushing riff. The magic of diSEMBOWELMENT though is that somehow the metallic crush and the melancholic ambience are perfectly balanced. The whole thing is a dark and depressive, minor key and mournful masterpiece. But it's all so fucking heavy! Even the not-so-heavy parts manage to sound completely massive and totally crushing! So intense and emotional and just absolutely beautiful. Yep, beautiful. Lovely even. Like few records we can remember, and certainly one of the only records this heavy and brutal that manages to be absolutely beautiful. Sonically it's a bit like Napalm Death's Scum, and Carcass's Reek of Putrifaction, that classic Earache sound, a bit lo-fi, lots of reverb, big drums, buzzing guitars, all boiled down into a viscous blackened sludge, sprinkled throughout with brief melodic flares and occasional glistening guitars, like rays of sunlight just barely penetrating the suffocating atmosphere of thick low hanging riffs and bleak, brutal ambience.
Disc one contains all of Transcendence Into the Peripheral, and hell, we would have been happy with just that, a long overdue reissue of one of our all time favorite discs. But disc two contains the quite rare Dusk ep, as well as a rare compilation track and the five track Mourning September demo, all of it suitably genius! And, for a very limited time, we have managed to get a hold of the "mailorder only" version of this diSEMBOWELMENT reissue (limited to 1000 copies worldwide) that comes with a whole extra, third, disc! Disc three contains an unreleased version of "The Spirit Of The Tall Hills" (from Transcendence Into the Peripheral), as well as rehearsal versions of The Spirit Of The Tall Hills and Your Prophetic Throne Of Ivory (also from Transcendence Into the Peripheral). These versions are a lot weirder than the album versions, faster, with way more deranged and damaged vocals! Also includes a Necrovore (who we'd never heard of) cover, a murky, fuzzy, droned-out thrash workout! Wow.
Obviously totally and completely essential. Like we mentioned before, the three disc version is super limited so we're not sure how long we'll have those. Packaged in an oversized 3cd jewel case, with a booklet of photos and liner notes, including lyrics and a history of the band from drummer Paul Mazziotta. When the 3cd version is gone we will have the 2cd version, which is cheaper and comes packaged in an embossed double digipak.
The way we used to eagerly await issues of the Broken Face magazine (RIP) we now await issues of the similiarly-focussed Dream Magazine (for whom former BF editor Mats Gustafsson often writes). Here's the new issue, filled to the brim as usual with interviews and reviews devoted to the fringes of indie/folk/drone/psych music-making (112 pages worth). Featured this time 'round: Current 93, My Cat Is An Alien, Steve Roden, Vibracathedral Orchestra, Michael Gira, Six Organs Of Admittance, Jonathan Richman, Windy & Carl, Lichens, Whysp, Nick Castro, Brad Rose, Bridget St. John, Eric Matthews, Adrian Crowley, A Hawk And A Hacksaw, and more more more. While Dream Magazine won't likely win any awards for beautiful lay-out or graphic design, you can't argue that it's not crammed with content. And as usual, this ish comes with a cd packed with *unreleased* tracks by many of the folks in the magazine and then some, including Black Forest/Black Sea, Vibracathedral Orchestra, My Cat Is An Alien, Steve Roden, Windy & Carl, and Bridget St. John doing a Devendra Banhart cover!
Oh, how we still love Alec Empire. We just can't help it. We loved (and heck, still love) DHR so much. Atari Teenage Riot, Shizuo, Fever, EC8OR, Patric Catani, Bomb 20, for a while we were downright obsessed with all that stuff. Like all things new and exciting though, Empire and his crew sort of lost their relevance, their silly sloganeering, rehashed metal riffs, pummelling drum beats and screecheed vocals became more tired and boring than thrilling. Some stuff Like Empire's Destoyer stood the test of time a little better, but as music got more extreme, that whole DHR thing just didn't seem so badass. So the return of Alec Empire, could've been a sad rehash, but guess what, he's managed to knock us for a loop again. Your fist hint is Empire on the sleeve toting a guitar case, but Futurist is all ROCK. And heavy too. A super aggressive pounding metallic garage punk stomp. At times it sounds a but like Ministry or what we WISH Nine Inch Nails sounded like, which is hard to avoid when you're talking pounding beats and metal guitars, but it also sounds like the Hives or the Refused, super charged and slightly DHR-ed (some of the drum fills become that instantly recognizable DHR digital drill) A few tracks do slow down into chugging punk rock dirges and sound like some fucked up take on Fear or Fang or Flipper. But for the most part this is wild and sweaty, kick ass metallic garage stomp future rock. And we LOVE it.
Lawrence English is another unsung hero of Australian underground experimental music. We've reviewed one of his discs in the past, a dreamy digital exploration of ghostlike ambience. Sort of a less organic Jewelled Antler. On this latest disc, English teams up with Japanese composer/sound artist Yamamoto to further explore the realms of processed field recordings and minimal electronics. And lord this is some truly sublime stuff. Fans of all things Fennesz, Coleclough, Chalk, Tim Hecker, Ambarchi and the like will find much to love. Dark droning dreaminess, not as digital or electronic as you might imagine. Incredibly deep and resonant, huge smears of glistening shimmer, subtle reverberations, an expansive world of totally mesmerizing drones. Soft colors shift and swirl, organs wheeze and stretch out into thick layers of textured sound, hard to know what more to say about this other than WOW. So totally and absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous.
It's been a few years since Erase Errata's dazzling "Crystal Ships" and since then they've lost band member Sara Jaffe, toyed with the replacing her with another person, then wisely decided to forge ahead as a trio and keep the original EE spirit alive. This is their first outing for Kill Rock Stars and it's definitely a perfect fit. As their politics and guitars are sounding as sharp, angular, and urgent as ever. While they have always held their politics close to their hearts, on Nightlife they are even more up front and in command with pointed words backed up by tough sounding guitars. This is a much leaner meaner sounding Erase Errata. While many of their contemporaries have gotten softer, fluffier, more primed for MTV, we're happy to say that EE is keeping it real and as always with them so irresistibly passionate. Punk rock may have fallen in the hands of some pretty half hearted unimaginative folks over the years but Erase Errata are here to show us that the possibility and potential of punk can still pack a brilliant punch!
Little did ESG know, 20 years ago, when they first hit New Yorkers with their dub influenced, soul fired, minimalist funk, proto-hip-hop sound that they would impact future generations of post-punk dance minded music makers all over the globe. From Le Tigre to Tussle, M.I.A. to LCD Soundsystem, Erase Errata to Peaches, the influence of the Scroggin sisters has been felt in a HUGE way. In 2000 the world finally got to hear their prescient sound when Soul Jazz released A South Bronx Story, a killer collection of their, until that point, quite obscure recordings. Which in case you missed school that day, is absolutely an essential record for any music lover. What's so great and unique about ESG is their ability to cross, blur and erase genre lines. Sounding more minimal n' stripped down than ever, ESG show that subtlety can be the greatest weapon when you want folks to keep moving. We like their new moves and as always AQ loves our ESG!
New tour-only full length cd-r from hippie psych-folk collective Feathers. Nine Songs in round robin style, each one dedicated to the likes of Arthur C. Clarke, Carl Sagan, Nabob (from Brightblack Morning Light) and the Dictionary, amongst others. Like the previous cd-rs, "Kurt Sings" and "Tour Paint" (both sadly unavailable), these are hand-printed, colored and sewn, and so very, very limited!
While many techno-pop / electro-clash folks have recently shed many of the trappings of that deliriously champagne-bubbly dancefloor sound in favor of other directions (more rock in the case of Fischerspooner for instance), not so with James Figurine. Yes, he's of the band Figurine and yes, he's also known as Jimmy Tamborello of DNTEL and one half of Postal Service. Why mess with what he does best in all of his projects? He soldiers on with his new album titled Mistake Mistake Mistake Mistake. Funny thing tho' is that we can't hear any. So maybe the title was intended as a conjuring away of such maladies? Dunno, but what ya get is ten sparkling sweet electronic pop confections that fall dead center between Postal Service and Fischerspooner (think: more heft than PS and more twee than FS). Guest stars include Jenny Lewis and Kings Of Convenience's Erlend Oye.
Another killer heavy rock outfit from down under. Grey Daturas, Whitehorse, Agents Of Abhorrence, Striborg... In fact it was AQ faves Whitehorse who had been telling us about these guys for a while now, but it wasn't until quite recently that we finally managed to get in touch with them and get our hands on some of their music. And boy are we glad we did. Their label is called We Clear Rooms, which besides being a killer name, gives you a hint as to what you're in for. We were expecting some Whitehorse styled sludge and pummel, and while Fire Witch do indeed bring the noise with plenty of heaviness, they are a bit more moody and melodically subtle. Drums pound, guitars growl and roar, but there are long stretches of moody meandering, dreamy drift, in between the bouts of furious psychedelic freakouts. Two tracks, two versions of the same song. The first is an instrumental epic, a cross between Pelican and Khanate, just the right balance of head caving sludge and minor key post rock, slow building, lots of dynamics, expansive and grand, a massive grooving post sludge psychrock blow out. The second, lengthier track sonically resembles the first, but immediately strikes out on its own, WAY free-er tangent. the drums are way more spread out, the rhythms are much more abstract, the feel is much more plodding and glacial, guitars don't riff so much as they slither and scrape and squeak, a creepy soundscape of strange guitar sounds and a massive layer of low end rumble, letting the drums sit right up front where they belong, alternating between slow motion crush and complex tribalism, the drums offer up a densely woven world of pound and pummel, a tangled web of strangely shifting rhythms, over a blown out psychedelic swirl. Killer!
And the packaging, HOLY SHIT! Super deluxe origami style silkscreened fold-out sleeve wrapped in a vellum slip case. The disc is printed and sits inside beneath a clear plastic insert, beneath yet another printed insert and with a miniature reproduction of an old show flyer where they played with the Grey Daturas. Cool. The packaging says this was limited to "around 100 copies" but according to the band, these are the last 30, that they had been saving specifically for us!
Reissue of strangely eclectic and genre-hopping British psych-folk record from 1970, combining country-rock, seventies harmonies, political satire, jazz and early electronic instrumental excursions. This is a mellow hodge-podge of aural recipes akin to the one off releases by United States of America and White Noise. While not every song hits, the album closer, "Opal Pyramid Drifting Over Time", an eight minute instrumental with washes of wah guitar, piano repetitions, jazzy drumming and chanting harmonies is definitely worth the price of admission.
Flittermice Of Eld are another band that, if were we not actually listening to it right now and holding the disc in our hands, we would be tempted to think that this was just made up -- one of those 'amazing' ideas you have that is just too nuts to actually bring to fruition. It's too perfect. One of those records, that were someone to ask, we would have to say epitomizes the perfect AQ record. Killer band name, amazingly bizarre concept, fucked up sound. Hard to believe it wasn't just some fever dream. But nope, here it is. Flittermice Of Eld, according to the band, "both a musical tribute to and critique of black metal." Sonically this is not at all black metal, but it is infused with the spirit of black metal. There are no riffs or vocals, no pounding drums, instead it's a strange concoction of noise and texture, drone and ambience, but with all the basic pitches for the guitar and bass parts generated from a few specific collections of notes from the Darkthrone song "As Flittermice as Satan's Spys" from their classic Transilvanian Hunger album. Whatthefuck? So basically we have this bizarre ambient dronoise record based on a handful of notes from a Darkthrone song?! Fuck yeah!
The first few minutes are a dense clattery improvised skree, clanging and grinding and super chaotic, but this gives way to a dark, slow shifting reverberant drone, that pulses and throbs beneath a smattering of high end twinkles and streaks of glistening feedback. The final 'movement' is a wild atonal no-wave tangle of angular guitar riffing and stumbling bass, an abstract progscape of buzz and twang, a sort of damaged shredfest, loosed from its metal moorings.
Darkthrone would be proud.
Packaged in a hand screened fold over card stock cover, with handwritten liner notes on the back cover. ULTRA LIMITED OBVIOUSLY!
Holy crap. This is the Luttenbachers' fourteenth (we think) album release, the follow-up to 2004's The Void. Their instrumental insanity features as always drummer extraordinare Weasel Walter (Lake Of Dracula/Hatewave), this time assisted by these three equally high-level technicians: on guitars Ed Rodriguez (Gorge Trio/Colossamite/Iceburn) and Mick Barr (Ocrilim/Octis/Orthrelm/Crom Tech), and on bass Mike Green (Burmese). Together they're an unstoppable frenzied skronk attack, pulling stop-start ADD fretboard and percussive maneuvers off in their own blackened jazz sci-fi galaxy... It's like (heck, it is) metallic mathrockers practicing their scales, ensemble style, amidst a barrage of ominous dirge. The appropriate response at the end of each piece can only be "Whew!". If you haven't heard the Luttenbachers before (or only their earlier material with jazz horns and not so much electric guitar), but do like Mick Barr's various bands, you will like this -- Barr fans needn't hesitate!!
The song titles are ever so appropriate: "Demonic Velocities", "Insektoid Horror", "The Elimination Of Incompetence"... They are masters of their realm, that's for sure. And their special brand of heaviness is one that can go from a punishing rocker like "Interstellar War" into the relative calm and beauty of "Movement Four Of L'Ascension" (yes, an Olivier Messiaen cover).
By the way, despite the lack of lyrics, this is a concept album, just like their last few releases. Have you been following along, and learning the future fate of the Earth? No? Well don't say they didn't warn you...
Now on vinyl! Probably our favorite Josephine Foster album. Here's the review from when it was first released, on cd:
Chicago's Josephine Foster we'd heard before in the folk duo Born Heller. We immediately were impressed with her voice -- she's basically a dead ringer for Brit-folk legend Shirley Collins! But Born Heller was maybe a little bland, compared to this, where Foster's uncanny and timeless vocals are set in a more exciting, acid-psych folk-rock format. I know some people who are actually put off by this and Born Heller 'cause she sounds just so much like Shirley Collins, but you know, why not? If I could sing like this, I would! And for all we know, Foster's actually an English transplant who grew up at her grandmother's knee listening and learning old ballads and it's just in her blood. Even if she's just a Chicago hipster with good taste in old folk music, that's cool too. One to file with your Vetiver, and P.G. Six, and Six Organs, and so forth!
No, I (Jim) was not working at Aquarius when the shop was cozily tucked away in Noe Valley about a decade ago; but as an avid customer at the 24th Street shop, what I recall was the small corner of the store dedicated to all things New Zealand. Of course, somethings change (like Aquarius' location), but somethings stay the same (the fascination with the sounds and noises from that antepodean island). When I would dig through the old New Zealand section, there would be plenty of colorful pop from Flying Nun records, any number of Graeme Jeffries projects, whatever Michael Morley was doing at the time, and perhaps my favorite of the lot, Alastair Galbraith. Morse was Galbraith's first full album, released back in the early '90s on Siltbreeze after he had been stomping around the New Zealand scene and producing a couple of recordings in the bands The Rip and Plagal Grind. Nevertheless, Morse has now been reissued once again; first a few years ago through Emperor Jones and now through Table Of The Elements, with both reissues coupled with the Gaudylight 7" and now with some extra bonus material dating back to The Rip and Plagal Grind days of celebratory punkadelic rock 'n' slop. On both Morse and Gaudylight, Galbraith offers a stunning array of home-recordings, fragmented folk songs and meandering shanties as if sung by a morose / non-wacky Syd Barrett. Galbraith is the the obvious precursor to everything that fellow New Zealander Antony Milton has done (Nether Dawn, AM, etc.) in terms of conjuring a warmly intimate atmosphere for songs that are undeniably dark in theme. Galbraith grounds his loosely composed songs on acoustic guitar strum, accelerating crank organ drones, and his lilting violin melodies -- all of which attain a mottled hiss through the 4-track production. Some of the songs on Morse were recorded with the full Plagal Grind line-up, and had those tracks been released today, Galbraith would inevitably garner the acid folk tag and would be gallivanting around the globe with Devendra and Vetiver. It just shows that beautiful music can come from anywhere in the world and from anytime.
Another breathtaking album from Ms. Lisa Germano. Few are capable of capturing in song the shadowy outer limits of total heartbreak and distressed frailty as she does. Her slightly unstable, velvety voice alone can cause your heart to unexpectedly find itself lodged in your throat. Add in the accompanying melancholic strings and willowy piano and you just might be reduced to a quivering puddle of tears. Deceptively potent. Wow. Need we say more?
This is the second disc we've had from these North Western sonic explorationists, the first was an appropriately ghostlike dronescape and while this new one is similar, it is also a lot more active and varied, and quite a bit weirder. Where the first one was dreamy and drifty, easy to get lost in, music to float away to, Why Not Be Utterly Changed Into Fire is much more dense, with a nonstop series of sonic events manifesting themselves in subtle ways, each sound and each layer and each element is quickly absorbed into the whole, adding to the richness of sound, but not completely losing their unique sonic footprint. The sound is still soothing and mesmerizing, but definitely begs to be listened to closely, to be explored and enjoyed actively. Drone is still the order of the day, but these drones are not so simple, there are layers and layers of disparate sound, that have been deftly assembled into this half hour sonic swirl. A fuzzy staticky pulse is underpinned by warm monochromatic tones, a very simple melody almost rendered unmelodic by its arrangement, the different tones beat against each other and create strange overtones, which become yet another layer. The static builds and builds until the original drone, the original melodies are barely visible beneath a sea of fuzzy prickly staticky hiss. The rest of the record plays out as a constant battle between the soft shimmering drone and the thick billowing clouds of static, the result is quite beautiful, a noisy yet melodic soundscape, a drone swallowed whole by the sounds around it, a dense and detailed rare glimpse into the secret life of sound.
LIMITED TO 150 COPIES!!
NOW AVAILABLE AS A SUPER DELUXE, ULTRA LIMITED DOUBLE LP!!!!
You may remember a while back, we made the new record from The Grey Daturas, Dead In The Woods, our record of the week. And how could we not? We described their sound as: "blown out fuzzy psych rock. A blurry druggy mix of Hawkwind, the Dead C, Comets On Fire, Residual Echoes, Dead Meadow and Bardo Pond. From churning, throbbing fuzzdrug churn, with squealing feedback and choppy uneven riffing, to drifting dreamy stripped down post rock, all careening wildly between thick swaths of super overdriven psych fuzz, and drenched in crumbly distortion and all manner of wah!" Heck, that sounds so good, it makes us want to pull out Dead In The Woods and throw it on right now!! Well, the Daturas spent a couple months touring the US last year, and while they were in the Bay Area, they crashed with the guys in local free noise ensemble the Yellow Swans (now relocated to Portland). And what do two bands do when they have a week to kill together? Record a record! Or in the case of these guys, record a super limited double cd-r, now a fancy double lp! So what do you get when you mix the druggy free noise psych rock of the Daturas and the noisy clattery skree of the Yellow Swans? Well obviously noise is gonna play a big part of it. No real song structures to speak of, although occasionally a brooding bass line or a simple strummed riff will surface, this is mostly freaked out and free, ambient and abstract. Expansive swaths of guitar noise, amp buzz and electronic glitch and grit. Melodies drift and disintegrate while guitar and bass slowly unfurl all manner of rumble and drone. Definitely reminiscent of Skullflower, Sunroof!, Vibracathedral Orchestra, and all that sort of shimmery noisy goodness. Beautiful and droning and so so so good! Packaged in a super cool hand screened sleeves with pasted on artwork, with a creepy spike through the skull image screened on the front in metallic silver! This is a vinyl reissue of the long out of print double cd-r originally released in an edition of 200 copies on Jyrk. This 2lp version is also of course limited, to 525 copies this time, and those probably won't last long!
Reissue of a rare 1972 album. (All right, we're listening, tell us more...) Free jazz improv. (Ok, we're interested, except for Jim who's not into jazz.) Funky grooves. (Still sounds good... except you've lost Andee, he doesn't dig the funk.) BAGPIPES! (Woah?! Really? Maybe Andee and Jim are back in the fold. Bagpipes?)
Yep, bagpipes. And a lot of groovy, jazzy funk laid down by organ, bass and drums. And, at one point, there's a baby crying. Ok, this IS still way too jazzy fusiony funky for Andee or Jim, but Allan's digging it. Just imagine a Scottish highlander trying to fit in with a jivey '70s urban nightclub jazz scene. It works. Rufus ain't blowin' the bagpipes continuously (he also grooves on electric soprano sax), but there are certainly way more BPs than you'd normally hear on a jazz/funk album! Understandable, then, the "legendary" status of this record, now reissued on cd with a 10 minute bonus track.
And oh yeah, dude's playing AMERICAN FLAG bagpipes in the picture on the front cover.
Another mysterious black metal horde, this time from the Netherlands, brought to our attention by the seemingly infallible Total Holocaust, who in the past have brought us discs by Heresi, Sortsind, Malcuidant, Hell Militia, Make A Change... Kill Yourself, Blodulv, The One and of course Nortt and Xasthur. That is one seriously brilliant black elite for sure. Hekel have no problem measuring up though. They too traffic in that Burzumic buzz punctuated by EXTREMELY tortured vocals, a la Weakling, Sortsind, Bethlehem, Silencer and the like. And like those bands, we're talking -seriously- tortured. Total Holocaust's website describes the singing here as "painfully performed vocals" and that pretty much nails it. Utterly anguished, damned and tormented, howling demonic screeches, like the sound of flesh being flayed, or of being burned alive. That tortured. All sprawled bruised and bloodied over a haunting sound world of minor key buzz. Mostly midtempo, everything wreathed in suffocating doom, lots of that mournful arpeggiated guitar, huge layers of fuzz and buzz, a loping, lurching depressive blackness. And those vocals. So intense and emotional. If there was some sort of designation for 'emo' black metal, this might qualify. You hear old stories about Rites of Spring rocking out, and getting so into it, that the band members actually broke down and cried. You can almost imagine Hekel doing the same. Blasting and buzzing in utter darkness, tears streaming down their faces, corpsepaint smeared into streaks of black and grey, guitars and drums drenched in blood.
The disc starts off strangely, with simple martial drumming, haunting forest sounds, wolves, owls, wind, while a raspy voiced demonic invocation is spewed out over the top. From then on, it's a super expansive seasick swirl swinging from buzzing blasts of black blur to plodding mournful doom drenched buzz.
A harsh and harrowing, super emotional, ultra depressive exploration of a truly tortured black metal soul.
While they haven't quite exploded like their neighbors Arcade Fire, there is still no doubt that Hidden Cameras are one of the more fresh sounding indie-pop bands of the last several years. Their debut The Smell of Fear was an ambitious and totally successful offering of grand pop songs, layered production and smart arrangements. Their follow up Mississauga Goddam showed them to have staying power as the catchiness along with their smart and queer/sex-positive lyrics found them in top form again giving hints to what a less repressed Michael Stipe might have sounding like in his early R.E.M. days. This new e.p. which was previously only available as a 10" shows the stripped down side of the Hidden Cameras, 4 track demos from the last album which for some weird reason is sadly already out of print. Because the Hidden Cameras do use so much oomph and pizzazz in their production it is quite a different listen to hear these songs in a much more raw bare bones style. But what shows most is that they write really good songs which can flourish in all sorts of arrangements and recording qualities. While we were already itching for a new album from these guys this will have to hold us over in the meantime.
Now on vinyl!!
Limited Edition. Live. High On Fire. Those are the crucial concepts that need to be conveyed in this here review. Clearly, anyone who might possibly consider buying this doesn't need to be told who (ex-Sleep stoner metal masters) High On Fire are. You might be interested to know that it was recorded back in January 2003 at one of the band's last shows with now ex-bassist George Rice, that is, before Joe Preston joined the band, and before their latest Blessed Black Wings was recorded. Thus, their 34-minute set is mostly drawn from the then-current Surrounded By Thieves album (including "Razorhoof" and "Hung, Drawn, & Quartered") but they also dish out old favorite "Blood From Zion", introduce an early version of BBW's "To Cross The Bridge", and top things off with a cover of Venom's "Witching Hour"!
The sound is good, the band is raw n' raging, and High On Fire fans who would like to authentically recreate their live experience at home need only this disc and some way to amplify it a million times more than what a mere stereo system can do! But next to having them come and bring their amps into your living room it's the closest you can get!
New, nice reissues -- in slip covers, with bonus tracks and all the fixin's -- of these two (the only two) original classic High Tide albums. Previous cd reissues were hard to come by so it's even nicer to have these readily available. High Tide were a band at the intersection of psych-pop, prog, and acid rock. A great mix of the proggy, folky -- and HEAVY. For 1969, when their debut Sea Shanties was released, they were one of the heaviest bands around. Heavy due to the monster FUZZ guitar slashings of ax hero Tony Hill (formerly a member of Ugly Things magazine's favorite band, The Misunderstood), who also contributed vocals, sounding a bit like a British Jim Morrison. And High Tide had something else to keep them from being just another English blues rock power trio (a la Cream) -- their music was given an extra edge by the impassioned violin playing of fourth member Simon Hill, who went on to play with the Third Ear Band, Hawkwind and David Bowie.
Both Sea Shanties and the band's self-titled 1970 follow-up feature sinuous side-length songs, shades of light and dark, melodies both regal and rustic, and awesome instrumental interplay betwixt guitar and violin. These two albums are about equally great, and come recommended to anyone into the heavier side of '60s/'70s psych who hasn't yet had the pleasure of hearing 'em! File with The Dark, T2, Groundhogs, Socrates Drank The Conium, Clear Blue Sky, Fraction, and other early-daze proto-metal of the more psych-prog persuasion.
These reissues have copious liner notes, vintage photos, and vast expanses of unreleased bonus tracks -- Sea Shanties featuring five of 'em (two demo cuts and three songs that didn't make the album, including the eleven and a half minute long "The Great Universal Protection Racket"), High Tide with four, again two alternate takes and two unreleased efforts (among them an even longer, nearly 16 minute take on "The Great Universal Protection Racket"), all well worth hearing.
New, nice reissues -- in slip covers, with bonus tracks and all the fixin's -- of these two (the only two) original classic High Tide albums. Previous cd reissues were hard to come by so it's even nicer to have these readily available. High Tide were a band at the intersection of psych-pop, prog, and acid rock. A great mix of the proggy, folky -- and HEAVY. For 1969, when their debut Sea Shanties was released, they were one of the heaviest bands around. Heavy due to the monster FUZZ guitar slashings of ax hero Tony Hill (formerly a member of Ugly Things magazine's favorite band, The Misunderstood), who also contributed vocals, sounding a bit like a British Jim Morrison. And High Tide had something else to keep them from being just another English blues rock power trio (a la Cream) -- their music was given an extra edge by the impassioned violin playing of fourth member Simon Hill, who went on to play with the Third Ear Band, Hawkwind and David Bowie.
Both Sea Shanties and the band's self-titled 1970 follow-up feature sinuous side-length songs, shades of light and dark, melodies both regal and rustic, and awesome instrumental interplay betwixt guitar and violin. These two albums are about equally great, and come recommended to anyone into the heavier side of '60s/'70s psych who hasn't yet had the pleasure of hearing 'em! File with The Dark, T2, Groundhogs, Socrates Drank The Conium, Clear Blue Sky, Fraction, and other early-daze proto-metal of the more psych-prog persuasion.
These reissues have copious liner notes, vintage photos, and vast expanses of unreleased bonus tracks -- Sea Shanties featuring five of 'em (two demo cuts and three songs that didn't make the album, including the eleven and a half minute long "The Great Universal Protection Racket"), High Tide with four, again two alternate takes and two unreleased efforts (among them an even longer, nearly 16 minute take on "The Great Universal Protection Racket"), all well worth hearing.
This self-titled album from Italy's Giuseppe Ielasi is his second for the Hapna label. His first, Gesine, was a favorite 'round here and this one is great too! Compared to Gesine, this is more drone and beat oriented, but in the most murky and abstract way. Ielasi is an "experimental guitarist" but beyond that we don't know much about the processes that went into the construction of the tracks on this cd -- other than that he thanks sonic compatriot Renato Renaldi for "his invaluable help with tape manipulations". The five untitled, all-instrumental tracks here dreamily blend guitar (presumably), electronics, percussion and who knows what else into moody soundscapes. Are those cowbells clinking distantly amid the hypnotic hum and crackle? It's foggy and swampy and really nice. Like a lot of our favorite Hapna releases, this has a certain twilit grace. Textural and abstract and simply quite pleasant -- recommended.
Okay, is this lame or is it awesome? Sub Pop has re-released Iron & Wine's admittedly fantastic rendition of "Such Great Heights" (one of their labelmates Postal Service's bestest songs). The cover version originally appeared on PS's 2003 ep by the same name. While we're more than happy to hear the song again, we're not so sure as to whether folks need to buy it again. Granted there are two previously unreleased live recordings from Radio Vienna, but the pair don't veer all that far from the original studio versions. They are "Naked As We Came" (the studio version can be found on Our Endless Numbered Days) and "Trapeze Swinger" (the studio version was on the In Good Company movie soundtrack). Plus, the cover art is just a hurriedly dashed off pencil crayon copy of the cover to Our Endless Numbered Days. We don't wanna get all harsh on Sam Beam and co. but, geez! That said, if you missed the title track the first time around and/or are an Iron & Wine completist, this may still become a cherished addition to your music library.
What the hell happened to Godflesh? We've been wondering that for years. Streetcleaner was a stone cold classic. Heavy and clinical and completely brutal. Slavestate, Pure, Selfless all great records as well. So what the hell happened? The riffs got more generic, the vocals, always the possible sticking point, got louder and louder and more pointless and distracting, until Godflesh became a shadow of the industrial metal legend they once were. That's why we thought it was a bit funny that people were chomping at the bit for this Jesu record, the first we've heard from Justin Broderick AKA Godflesh since 2001 and the godawful Hymns record. Why would anyone expect anything but more of the same watered down industrial crap? Well, that'll teach us for having so little faith as this record is something else. Figuratively AND literally. It's great. no doubt about it. Heavy and beautiful, haunting and crushing. But at the same time, it's not a Streetcleaner rehash, which we all certainly would have been happy with. Instead, Broderick has taken the harsh industrial crunch of Godflesh, and tempered it with layer after layer of thick sonic grandeur and lots and lots of melody. And gone are the shouted vocals WAY up in the mix, and in their place, actual singing. Melodies, harmonies, some serious crooning by metal standards, but thankfully, the vocals are nestled way back in the mix, cozied up next to the warm thick guitars and the rumbling bass. Unlike the cold clinical fury of Godflesh, Jesu is dark and warm, thick and harmonically rich. These tracks are massive, glacially creeping epics, spelling out minor key melodies in lurches and bursts, haunting vocals draped over the thick riffs like sparkling Christmas lights, barely visible through the snow. Sort of like a metal northern lights, a thick rippling curtain of subtle disonnance, My Blooody Valentine filtered through the epic sludge of Neurosis. M83 playing at 16rpm. A gloriously hopeful, sonically sparkling dirge-y doom pop. Yes, pop. Because underneath the wall of guitars, and the dubbed out melodies, and super affected vocals, and lugubrious tempos, are actual songs. Good songs. Heavy sure, but beautiful and strangely delicate, especially for a 'metal' record. Reminiscent of Slint's Spiderland in the way it takes minor key moodiness, and imbues it with a gleam of hope, a hint of joy, barely discernible through the suffocating cloak of despair.
Another blast of hot-shit glam-rock revival from Jet Fuel, the vastly underappreciated band out of Los Angeles who've really been working to bring the rock to the kids. Seriously, they used to rent ballrooms at the Ramada Inn for all-ages shows and now they've got a big converted space where they host similar gigs; and now they've got this great 7" of strutting rhythms, slippery guitar leads, and one great frontman in James Luna belting out ecstatic lyrics about sex, death, and rock 'n' roll. What more would you want in a candy-red 7"? Perhaps an 8-track to go with your shag carpeting and feathered hair? Yeah, that would be fuckin' cool.
After over ten years of (studio album) silence from Ms Joan Jett, we get a veritable deluge. Some fresh new stuff to go along with her recently reissued oldie-but-goodie early albums. Have to say that we approached Sinner with a little apprehension due to the rather glammed up Joan on the cover, but our fears were eased once the first song got rolling. She's still kickin' butt. As snarky as ever and still possessing great taste not only in tunes to cover (Sweet's "A.C.D.C." and The Replacements' "Androgynous") but also in folks to pen her songs with (Linda Perry, Jim Vallance and Kathleen Hanna). Many songs on Sinner also brought to mind melodic punky popsters such as The Muffs. Welcome back Ms Jett!
