UK cd-r label Barl Fire have yet to steer us wrong (after releases from James Blackshaw, Rameses III, Robert Horton, The North Sea and more), and it looks like this A.Lords disc will keep their winning streak going strong.
The A.Lords are a mysterious duo from the UK who paint pastoral soundscapes, using church organ, electric organ, piano, toy piano, balalaika, banjo, e-bow, dulcimer, acoustic guitar, bells, glockenspiel, clarinet and recorder. So lovely and lilting. Definitely evokes grassy fields, blue skies and cool breezes....
Simple fingerpicked acoustic guitars, field recordings of burbling streams and chirping birds, warm organ swells, and shimmering sweet ambience, ol' timey melodies, softly cinematic melancholia, sun dappled chimes and whirs all captured in a soft focus soundscape of later afternoon sun and endless summers. So nice.
LIMITED TO 100 COPIES. Already sold out at the label. We got a whole bunch but you can bet they'll fly out of here. Packaged in a mini 3" full color cover, housed in a thick plastic sleeve with a printed insert.
Zeni Geva guitarist KK Null is back with two new cds on Important -- a new Absolute Null Punkt album, and another solo disc as well. (Hey where's the ZG releases, pal?)
After a 15 year hiatus, the '80s industrial improv duo of KK Null (electronics, electro-percussion, voice) and Seijiro Murayama (drums, tubes, voice) known as ANP got back together to do some shows, which resulted in a live album (Live In Japan, Important, 2004). Now they're at it again, going to Russia to record portions of these three tracks of hard-to-describe mayhem. It's another clanking, pipe-fighting, glitched-out, electronically damaged deluge of intense improv beats, drones, and spasms. Chaotic and claustrophobic, maybe even nightmarish. But cool if you've got any inclination towards Japan-noise stuff, amped up and rhythmic and sort of "rock".
And by the way, may we commend Important records for packaging this, and their other new KK title (Kosmista Noisea, also reviewed here), in normal jewel cases this time, rather than in the cheap-o cardboard sleeves that they used for the Live In Japan cd? Not only that, but they hired none other than SUNNO)))'s Stephen O'Malley to decorate these with his trademark fractured prismatic schematic artwork, in metallic inks on cool translucent vellum paper. Nice.
As much as we love cd-r's, there are times, with certain records, that they make us so frustrated. Sure part of the charm of a super limited cd-r release is that it's fleeting. Often handmade and labor intensive. So the whole project becomes ultra personal for both the artist and the listener. But some records just need to be heard by more than 50 or 100 or even 200 people. Such is the case with Ilyas Ahmed. An Aquarius customer who sent us one of his home recorded discs a while back and who completely blew us away. We've been bugging him ever since to send us more and more cd-r's (and you in turn have been bugging us like crazy to get more copies of the old discs, and keep our eyes peeled for new ones). The first four are already long gone, so we were super excited to get this new one a few days ago. And it's just as good as any of the others, if not better. Definitely stranger. Before, Ahmed offered up little snippets of some long lost forest folk. Shimmery and pastoral, lilting and so so pretty. And while much of this disc explores similar territory, overall, it's much darker, and a bit more aggressive. The opening track is sort of glam folk jam, dark super distorted steel string strum and soaring ethereal falsetto vocals. The riff is sort of grungy, dripping with distortion, but never obfuscating the urgent strumming, and leaving space for Ahmed's super dramatic wail. Had this track been played with electric guitars plugged into big amps with pounding drums, it might sounds a tiny bit like modern day Circle. Weird, bit so cool.
After that, things veer back into moire blissy folk territory, with finger picked steel string guitar, more subtle crooned vocals, simple percussion, a late night drift through an abstract drug folk dreamworld. But the last two songs bring things right back, with the guitar again drenched in reverb and distortion, a little more languid and laid back, but still a fuzzy druggy muted squall, a little bit reminiscent of Rein Sanction actually, but a bit more mellow and shimmery soft. Lazy drawled vocals over fuzzed out Mascis style riffing, all blown out but still mumbly and lo-fi with distant falsetto vocals hovering wraithlike just behind the strum and buzz. Naqi may be a dreamy free folk record, but it's got some serious teeth, a little fuzzy buzz and a fried amp patina that makes these songs sound way more druggy and psychedelic. Which is most definitely a good thing.
Each sleeve is hand designed, a unique collage on the front, album and artist hand written on the back. Includes a printed insert.
LIMITED TO 200 COPIES. Each copy hand numbered as well.
Japanese 'onkyo' (and sometimes minimalist electric boogie!) guitarist Tetuzi Akiyama is always up to something interesting. Here he engages in live improvisation with Dutch avant-garde lute player Jozef van Wissem, who plays some sort of Renaissance lute while Akiyama chimes in on a nylon string resonator guitar that has been tuned to Renaissance lute tuning. The two long tracks here are both gentle, yet sorta jarring... a bit like some traditional Chinese music in that way (to our ears). There's lots of near-silent, pregnant space betwixt the quavering string plucks and resonating notes, as you might expect from any recording featuring Akiyama. Quite nice if you're up for this sort of thing -- a fan of the more abstract "wooden guitar", "deltadelica" stuff on Locust, for instance.
Similar to our neverending quest for the ultimate in demented and damaged black metal weirdness, we are also constantly on another quest, a search for the darkest, deepest, most depressive, massive, emotional, suicidal, bleak, utterly hypnotic, droney and transcendental blackened BUZZ. We sometimes do find it, but then it's not too long before we need more, and so we begin the search again. Sometimes it's harsh high end and brittle upper register shimmer, other times it's murky low end chest rattling rumble. But we tend to lean toward the fuzzy and lo-fi, the super thick, the dense and foggy, smeary smudgey and washed out. A black metal that instead of borrowing from Burzum (sigh) or Darkthrone (yawn) finds sonic inspiration in My Bloody Valentine, or M83 or even in Jeck or Basinski or Hecker or Fennesz. A buzz that is just not guitar distortion, but is instead a glacier, or a wall, or a swirl, some sort of densely striated monolith, each layer a fuzzy piece of the larger dream like whole. Past masters of the BUZZ, who were able to satiate our hunger, include Velvet Cacoon, Xasthur and Make A Change... Kill Yourself, and on the more doom drenched BUZZ side of things, slower but no less BUZZy, Celestiial, Skepticism, Corrupted even Boris.
Then there are the non metal, but still incredibly heavy masters of the BUZZ, Hjarnidaudi, Nadja, Asva, The Angelic Process...
We could go on and on and on. Needless to say. The BUZZ, and thus the drone that is inherently part of it, is critical, crucial, without the BUZZ, music, nay life! Would have no meaning.
So thus we have the latest in a long line, a member of a mysterious sect known only as Keepers Of The BUZZ. Sworn to their sacred duty, passed down from generation to generation.
Animus is the name used by a young man from Israel, who has chosen the vessel of Animus, with which to protect the BUZZ. And to protect this sacred sonic disruptor, he has fashioned one of the most amazing records of ultra bleak, super personal, fuzzy and muddy, blown out and blissed out (in sound only, certainly not in mood) dirgey midtempo black metal we have heard in ages. Lilting melancholy riffs and simple drum machine rhythms are buried under a super thick wash of murky ambience, a bit like the warm fuzz of M83, but with all the sparkle and shine scrubbed off, leaving a burnished blackened gloom, hugging the lurching riffs like a dense morning fog, every element sounding muffled and distant. But this isn't really lo-fi at all. The sound here is dense and thick, heavy and strangely lush, The all encompassing and mysteriously overpowering BUZZ is draped over all of the other elements, the drums and fuzzed out riffs, drifting and pulsing, throbbing and beating, always nestled snugly beneath the surface, only the distorted howls come close to piercing the black sonic veil. Soundwise, Animus remind us of Thergothon and Skepticism, but where as those bands trudge at a truly funereal pace, Animus tends toward the midtempo, a relentless drone drenched black metal, harsh and harrowing, mournful and miserable, but so absolutely and stunningly beautiful.
Essential for all worshippers of the BLACK BUZZ!!!
Landscape Removal is a split release between Minneapolis band Artifact Shore and Bay Area solo artist Linedotstar. You get four tracks apiece. Be forewarned, the pale green blue hued cover doesn't really offer any indication of the sounds contained within. The cd begins with a blast of abrasive industrial noise from the former. Artifact Shore's four tracks are propelled by a stormy rhythmic undercurrent and bristly effected angstful male vocals. Linedotstar's aural offerings are considerably more gentle composed of stuttery electronics, guitar samples, airy drones and wispy melodies. Quite a contrast of dark and light, imposing solid masses and soothing vaporous ephemera.
We've joked in the past about Baker and his seemingly inexhaustible output. But we are always quick to point out that we absolutely never ever wish it to stop. Thankfully there seems to be no possibility of that happening anytime soon. The Sea Swells A Bit, released on Italian label A Silent Place, finds Baker musically moody and contemplative, as we've come to expect from records he releases under his own name. The ingredients are similar to those employed in his other projects, bass, guitars, tape loops, drum machines, but here those instruments are not so much played as, turned on and set free. There are riffs, and vocals, but in the opening track, those elements are so soft and airy, you have to listen close to distinguish where one ends and the other begins. Like laying on the ocean floor listening to M83 jamming inside a bathysphere half way to the surface. Murky and mumbly and underwater sounding. Which ties in with the album's title, song titles, and what might in fact be the sonic theme. The drum machine is in there too, but it sounds more like bits of static than any sort of rhythm. But it hardly matters, all the rhythm you need, a sort of barely there primal pulse, is in the drifting disembodied riffs.
The second track is a little bit more structured, the dreamlike murk of the opening track is still present, and is buried beneath even more layers of sonic silt and shimmering swells, the rhythm floats to the surface though, and almost jazzy krautrock groove, loping and propulsive, almost like an old Circle record dosed with thorazine and left in the sun too long, blown out, blurry, blissy, but still shuffling into the light.
The final track is another rhythm driven drone rocker (although it doesn't really 'rock' as such). Thick cottony swells of gentle buzz and swaying swells of warm whir beneath languorous ambling percussion. A lazy hazy slowed down spacerock dirge. Like a Spacemen 3 forty-five played at 16 rpm, druggy and deliriously dreamlike.
Packaged in a nice thick, super swank, textured and lacquered cardstock sleeve.
It would be all too easy and short-sighted to draw up a musing comparison such as "if The Arcade Fire were a band of Balkan gypsy minstrels, they would be Beirut", but it might be a pretty accurate place to start. Now let's take into consideration that Beirut is one nineteen year old Albuquerque lad, Mr. Zach Condron. Quite a boy wonder, indeed he's been making music for a quarter of his life, and it's not been the usual crashing 'n' bashing about in the garage expected of restless youths nor is it just the regurgitative sounds of musical heroes. Condron finely crafts a remarkably broad spectrum of timeless music well beyond his years. His singing voice is reminiscent of Adrian Belew and David Byrne, and his lilting, often calypso-y melodies also bring to mind the offbeat, worldly elements that those two venerable artists have embraced in their music over the years. You can easily envision the brass instruments glowing in the light of oil lanterns as they emerge from the shadows bringing in tow a carnivalesque procession of accordion, mandolin, clarinet, piano, ukelele, cello and bustling percussion. It's not at all surprising that he's become comrades with Jeremy Barnes and Heather Trosk of the very like-minded A Hawk And A Hacksaw (both of whom assisted Condron in the studio). An utterly captivating listen. Recommended.
We get the distinct feeling that some of you are STILL not reading The Believer. Why the hell not? It's smart, funny, well researched, amazingly well written, nicely laid out, features on plenty of familiar favorites, as well as introductions to an incredible array of lesser knowns. Politics. Music. Literature. It's high brow, but not snooty, it's funny and irreverent, but not IRONIC. Ferchrissakes get it together and start digging into one of the best magazine out there. Did we mention cover art every issue from the godlike Charles Burns (don't believe us? Go buy a copy of Black Hole and then come talk to us)
This month: The Games Issue! First up, a massive article on Dungeons And Dragons! A monthly column from Nick Hornby about books he's read or bought. How many did he read this time? None. But he still manages THREE whole pages! A piece on war and how it figures into games, playtime and the like. Sara Crosby vs. Jonathan Franzen. Georges Perec on crossword puzzles! The incredible racist advertising puzzles of Sam Lloyd. A full color chart of the 2006 World Cup Meta-Headbutt. The masters of Oulipo described employing the linguistic restraints for which they are famous. Digital artist Mark Allen. Author Padgett Powell. A whole bunch of book reviews. Comedienne Wanda Sykes. Advice from the guys behind Wonder Showzen and a few other articles we can't quite figure out how to describe in just one sentence. QUITE POSSIBLY THE BEST MAGAZINE THERE IS!
We've long been fans of this Norwegian duo, but have only ever listed one of their other records, due in no small part to the fact that the majority of their releases have been of the incredibly limited variety. This one is no different. We listed the Rural Faune cd-r a few months back, limited to 71 copies, this new one on Utech is thankfully limited to 200, so there's still a chance at least that a few more folks can get turned on to these guys' quiet cacophonies. Using mostly guitars and electronics, with a handful of mysterious "amplified objects", Bjerga and Iverson create super dense little soundworlds, heavy on the drone, with finger picked guitars stretched into insectoid like buzz, streaks of feedback and thick layers of glitchy buzz, all smeared into super dreamy longform blissouts, each one dotted with all sorts of sharp and jagged, fuzzy and fragmented sonic bits and baubles. Surprisingly heavy and dirge-like, it's almost like a less low end, more FX drenched SUNNO)))!
Packaged in gorgeous hand assembled card stock covers with a pasted on black and white sort of obi. Limited to 200 copies, each one hand stamped. We only got about 15 or so, and we're pretty sure once these are gone we won't be able to get more.
Bonecloud sure is an evocative name. We can picture a big swirling black cloud cut a swath across the land lifting skeletons out of the ground, emptying graveyards, a sky full of re-animated bones, or some strange otherworldly beast that manifests itself on this plain as some sort of amorphous pile of skulls that can float skyward or crawl along the ground like some bony blob, or a grey cloud that covers a wasted landscape in soot-like dust, a huge billowing fog of ground up bones and vaporized skeletons, some sort of post apocalyptic fallout. All very creepy and haunting. Which pretty much perfectly suits the music of the Irish stoned drone ensemble that does indeed bear the name Bonecloud.
We first heard from these murk mongers on a split with Portland drifters Ghosting. And were instantly blown away. They took the droney drift of all our favorite abstract noise makers, and added a seriously ominous vibe, a hellish halo of Stygian gloom, mixing the usual subterranean shimmer with thick sick slabs of Lustmordian throb and Organumish rumble.
This is a self released double cd-r we got direct from the band and expands on the sound of the split, taking full advantage of the extra space to let their gloomy sonic sprawl as it was meant to. Huge expanses of muddled mire, a thick morass of ambient drift, drenched in a shower of grit and grime, allowed to slither and shift, a haunting glacial epic soundscape of darkness and drone. Like the Taj Mahal Travellers covering the Dead C, a disembodied noise rock, allowed to drift from speaker to speaker, floating above a barren wasteland, covering the Earth in shadow. So fucking awesome.
SUPER LIMITED... of course. Packaged between two thick pieces of cardstock, with a full color image affixed to each, all housed in an oversized plastic sleeve.
Will Oldham may have raised an eyebrow or two around here with his recent exploits musically cavorting... ahem, collaborating with the Tortoise gang (on The Brave And The Bold album), but with his new full length The Letting Go he's definitely back in his BPB saddle and riding his trademark lonesome trail in fine fashion. Withery heartfelt folk pop as only Lord William can do!
We've got a couple of new albums from two ol' reliable, looongtime aQ faves -- Bonnie Prince Billy (his latest full length is The Letting Go) and this gent, Mr. Richard Buckner. Like a visit from an old friend, there's a good deal of comfort that comes in their solid songwritin' and storytellin'. Yeah, it might seem a little strange to find such solace in both artists' well-worn melancholia, but we do! This is Buckner's terrific follow-up to his equally terrific Dents And Shells album of 2004.
Comparisons have frequently been drawn between Buckner and American Music Club's Mark Eitzel as well as Son Volt's Jay Farrar, and they're still very applicable here -- all of them mighty fine singer/songwriters who probably have a few fans in common.
The first we heard about this UK outfit Caina, was that they sounded a bit like Lurker Of Chalice, Wrest from Leviathan's more experimental black metal side project. And if you're anything like us, which we're thinking in matters Leviathan you most definitely are, then that was pretty much all we needed to hear. And it does definitely share some sonic similarities, although it is most definitely it's own mournful, melancholy blackened beast.
The opening track doesn't prepare you at all for the rest of the disc, it's a strange and murky, shimmering ambient soundscape, rich swells of epic sound, like an instrumental post rock Constellation band run through some sort of Jeck / Basinski / Tim Hecker filter rendering everything smeary and gloriously indistinct. Distant drums, bits of percussive skitter, all drifting below a sun baked expanse of glistening soft focus drone. Quite lovely. And the rest of the record is lovely too, just in a much more bleak and blackened way. The opening track has a definite shoegazer vibe that manages to stretch out and settle over all the tracks here. Thick reverby guitars, super primitive practice space drums, arpeggiated minor key melodies, strange little guitar leads spun out into the ether, ultra raw vocals way up in the mix, huge guitar chugs, lilting sort of sea sick rhythms, bizarre convoluted song structures, blast beats that seem to just sink into the mire, long stretches of caliginous dark ambience, gorgeous slabs of simple hypnotic guitar, the whole record wreathed in a dense funereal sonic fog. Dark and creepy and pretty but still so bleak and black. Lurker / Leviathan fans need this for sure. As does anyone into weird damaged blissed out black metal. And if you love stuff like My Bloody Valentine, Jesus & Mary Chain, M83, Phillip Jeck, Tim Hecker and the like, but can't really imagine what all those bands would sound like in a black metal context, look no further...
Carter, who as you may or may not know is one half of psych folk dronesters Charalambides, has been stepping out quite a bit lately, this super limited one sided 7" the latest evidence of that. Two tracks, that sort of melt into one, a barely there ambient drift far away electric guitar moans float above a vast spare backdrop of hiss and whir and ambient noise. The guitars build into a thick murky wash of pitch shifted riffing, warbly seasick melodies, crumbling slabs of high end that drifts and crackles as if it were being transmitted via shortwave. Creepy but hauntingly pretty.
Limited to 211 copies, we only got a handful. Packaged in a hand stamped, hand stitched, embossed textured paper sleeve. A one sided 7" each copy hand numbered on the actual vinyl!
The latest jewel unearthed by the B-Music Collective for Finders Keepers is so obscure it was actually never released. Only a small number of privately pressed vanity copies were made of this 1970 Philly-based folk-beat head trip. Using Philly studio session musicians, Axelrod-style breaks, spaghetti-western guitar, A&M strings and the "legendary" production of John Hill, who is dubiously credited in the liner notes as the inventor of both Trip Hop and Heavy Metal for his production work with Margo Guryan and The Riders of the Mark (a heavy psych predecessor to Black Sabbath, supposedly?!). Don't know about that, but the trip hop mystique of Susan Christie is definitely apparent by the opening riff of the title track begging to be sampled a million times over if it hasn't already. But it isn't just the sample potential that makes this a worthy listen. Just about every song is full of hooks and unique arrangements and darkly-tinged songwriting. Check out the nine-minute centerpiece "Yesterday, Where's My Mind?" with its spoken recitations of a bad trip culminating in a damning freak-out, before slipping into a fuzzy downbeat rocker. Freak-folk indeed!
Each and every one of Allen Clapp's songs exude a wide-eyed earnestness. Here's seventeen of 'em for you to cuddle up to! This was *the* indie pop sound of the early '90s -- sweet, pretty, strummy jangle guitars and boyish vocals filled with adorable charm. He was the male counterpart to Amelia Fletcher (of Heavenly, Talulah Gosh and Marine Research) or Rose Melberg (of The Softies, Go Sailor and Tiger Trap). The forecast here is nuthin' but sunshine and sweethearts!
The glitchy, streaming rhythms from Russian electronic musician Ivan Pavlov (aka Coh) have always been difficult for us to write about because they are so immediate and just simply work so well. Yeah, our purple prose benefits from the context of elfin types scurrying around the forest with contact mics and then overlaying those sounds with some fucking heavy doom riffs that aim to crack the skull of Odin; so when a prolific technician like Pavlov constantly churns out an extremely consistent body of work we can be at a loss for words. Don't dismay, we'll do our best to blather on about this brilliant 24 minute EP. Over the past six or seven years, Pavlov has released tons of recordings for heavy-weight avant electronica labels such as Mego, Raster-Noton, and Eskaton (one of the labels run by Coil); and many of these recordings do essentially the same thing: generate tense yet hypnotic electronic pieces which smartly synthesize a number of electronica references. There's the futuristic Moroder arpeggiations, the erratic digital pixel smears of Stilluppsteypa's glitch-n-drone, the extravagant audio alchemy worthy of comparisons to the best Coil recordings, and the release-and-stop dynamics borrowed from the finest Model 500 techno. Given how druggy these repetitive algorithms are, it's no wonder that the sidereal psychonauts Coil were so taken by Pavlov's work. Like pretty much everything he touches, Patherns is extraordinary.
This album gives us chills; and for those of you acquainted with the turbulent history of Coil, you will probably have the same jaw-dropping reaction. Almost two years ago, Coil's psycho-pharmacologically inclined founder Jhonn Balance tumbled over a bannister in his home whilst on a several week long vodka binge. When his partner Peter Christopherson found him shortly thereafter, he was unconscious. Despite a quick response from the local authorities, Balance died from his injuries. Death has always surrounded Coil: from the post-industrial recordings of Scatology and Horse Rotovator, when themes of AIDS, the apocalypse, death, and homoeroticism all melded into a nightmarish kaleidoscope, through the later records which held an amorphous mysticism pushed to the brink by Balance's prodigious chemical abuse. But as Balance growls that "most accidents happen close to home" on Black Antlers' "Sex With Sun Ra," the words strike with such a clarity as to make us wonder if Balance himself had any foresight into his own demise. As potent as the lyrical content is for Black Antlers, it's Coil's exquisitely darkened electronica which makes Black Antlers a such an exceptional recording. To be completely honest, we've not always loved much of Coil's material after the seminal 1991 recording Love's Secret Domain; but their final recordings (Black Antlers, Remote Viewer, and The Ape Of Naples -- all of which had been completed / reworked by Christopherson after Balance's death) show just how great they really were. Black Antlers is riveted by blood-stained electronics, tensely rendered arppegiations, and sinister atmospheres that often teeter into melancholy. And yet another minor-key, marimba-driven version of "Teenage Lightning" appears on Black Antlers (marking at least the fourth time that Coil has returned to this song). Altogether, Black Antlers is a brilliant if tragic affair.
A version of Black Antlers appeared a couple years back as a limited edition cd-r, but for this 2006 cd edition, Christopherson has expanded that supposedly rougher mix with additional material and a polished production.
Much of the discussion elsewhere on this list about Coil's Black Antlers applies to Remote Viewer as well. This, too, was an album originally released as a limited cd-r, now reissued with considerable remastering, additional production, and even a bunch of new material, more of their signature spectral electronica. Just like Black Antlers, Remote Viewer's funereal tunes warped through the funhouse of chemicals, alcohol, and occultish leanings nowadays take on an eerily prescient quality, as founding member Jhonn Balance died nearly two years ago leaving romantic and musical partner Peter Christopherson with the task of completing the rough mixes found on the earlier cd-rs of Black Antlers and Remote Viewer.
While not really the "moon musick" of Astral Disaster or Musick To Play In The Dark, the slippery tunes of Remote Viewer are mostly devoid of Balance's voice. Instead, hurdy gurdy drones, electrically tinged violin, and sampled bagpipes spiral into an atonal ragas elegantly shifting into deranged and slightly maudlin melodies. As a whole Remote Viewer is much closer to the devilishly sampledelic breakbeat numbers on Love's Secret Domain. Delirious to say the least.
An awesome three way collaboration, five way label split, with each artist using mainly sounds contributed by one of the other artists. The three include Andrey Kiritchenko who runs the Nexsound label, Ukrainian abstract drone folk combo the Moglass and Anla Courtis formerly of the mighty Reynols! A strange combination but it definitely works, with each artist twisting and turning the sounds of the others into something completely their own.
Kiritchenko uses sounds sourced from Anla Courtis, but also incorporates bandura, guitar, objects and field recordings. His first two tracks are thick glistening snarls of keening high end, ringing chimes, warm processed warble, grinding industrial whir, all coaxed gently from his super limited palette. His final track is our favorite, a super spare cavernous soundscape, constructed from swirling wind like whirls and muted white noise hiss. Over the top is a stumbling damaged, deconstructed guitar melody that scrapes and buzzes and rumbles. So good.
The Moglass also use mostly Anla Courtis sounds, introducing guitars, synth and vocals. And as you might imagine, they manage to turn those disparate sounds into dark dronelike dreamscapes of slow oceanic swells, thick buzzing rumble, and an occasional blast of super strange circusy psychedelic freak out, a dizzying collision of scraping strings, creepy falsetto vocals, moans and chants and all sorts of falling apart melodies.
Finally, Courtis gets the chance to return the favor, borrowing a little from both the Moglass and Kiritchenko. His first three tracks are assembled using ONLY sounds taken from the Moglass, the results vary, from murky shimmer, to glistening ambience, soft blissed out whir, to sparse skeletal industrial landscapes. The last two tracks again feature Courtis using only sounds borrowed from Kiritchenko, one ends up being a super pare abstract mechanical percussive shuffle, lots of creaks and clatter, sounding a bit like a rainforest, or some sort of giant shower, the final track is wash of fuzzy clang that sort of settles into a dense field of tightly woven chimes and tinkles, amidst a swirling sea of hiss and fuzz.
An amazing concept that actually produces some incredibly beautiful results!
Hallelujah!!! All of you folks already well-versed in the much-more-than-comedy duo of Jim Coyle and Mal Sharpe, you know this is the one you've been waiting for! If you've not yet gotten your introductory dose of their genius antics, this is a perfect place to commence your schooling. For a brief spell in the early '60s -- waaay back before everyone and his mother became acclimatized to guerrilla 'man on the street' style pranks -- these two sharp dressed gents were wreaking havoc in and around SF, blindsiding pedestrians along Market Street. Their unflinchingly methodical mischief was an effortless razor sharp blend of social criticism, surrealism and utter hilarity. Often their verbal interrogation would take on somewhat sinister and/or downright subversive undertones. Indeed, theirs was a much more refined and thought provoking mind-boggle than the recent parade of heavy on the obnoxious, gross out factor peeps such as the Jerky Boys or Jackass crew. Sure much of Coyle and Sharpe's antics may seem tame by today's standards, but simply put, their perfect balance of lightning quick wit and stoic straight-facedness has seldom been matched, let alone bested.
Released on the Sharpeworld label run by Mal Sharpe's daughter Jennifer, this fantastic four disc set comes pretty much straight from the horse's mouth... well, at least one of the two horses' mouths. Sadly Jim Coyle passed away in 1993, but in the years since his passing his cohort Mal Sharpe and their legions of diehard fans (including one Henry Rollins) have kept the Coyle & Sharpe magic alive. Sharpe compiled the proceedings here which include a Best of '63 collection recorded off the radio on New Year's Eve '63, a reissue of Coyle & Sharpe On The Loose (originally released in 1995 on Rollins' 213 label), a third cd of recently unearthed raw recording odds'n'ends with their earliest known recording from '61 plus 'Coyle & Sharpe Get Arrested' (yes, really!), and finally a dvd of the pair's 1965 pilot TV show The Imposters (the socialite dinner party and employee evaluation segments are particular viewing treats). This is truly a case of that old truism "they don't make 'em like they used to"! These 2 Men Are Imposters is a genuine treasure trove. Highly recommended!!
Sweet! Hundloka (named for a flowering weed known in English as Cow Parsley) is another wonderful, textural, abstract release on Sweden's Hapna label, the first for field recordist/sound manipulator/visual artist Anders Dahl of Sweden, who is quite at home there (on Hapna, we mean, though he's also Swedish), alongside such artists as Tape, 3/4hadbeeneliminated, and Giuseppe Ielasi. At home in a realm of dreamy, twilit soundscapery full of snap, crackle, and drone. The three untitled tracks here, all but the middle one quite long (19:45, 6:22, and 12:37 respectively) are all performed (improvised? composed?) on stringed and wind instruments like guitar, bouzouki, violin, and recorder, also with the use on one track of computer and on another of "prepared speakers", plus percussion by Henrik Olsson. Yet the mysterious buzzingness of this sounds a lot like Dahl has woven in some field recording tapes as well. However, since he's apparently constructed *fake* nature sound recordings (digital birds!) in the past, we suspect that it's all Dahl here, no help from swarming insects or twittering birds or frolicking woodland creatures... It's all very gorgeous and glitchy, with guitar pluckings and gentle electronic hums, quiet and calm but for some moments of drone drama and surprise percussive attack.
Wow, what a gem of an album that I (Windy) can't believe I never heard before. Doubtless some of you are already aware of Karen Dalton, but for those of you who, like me, are new to her, here's the story:
The half-Irish, half-Cherokee Oklahoman moved to New York around 1960, where she immediately fell in with the Greenwich Village folk scene (there's an awesome photo here of her, Bob Dylan, and Fred Neil). Though Dalton didn't write her own songs, her interpretations of pieces by Fred Neil, Jelly Roll Morton, Tim Hardin, etc. are just lovely...
And HER VOICE! It's this glowing, honeydripping voice -- a country-blues Billie Holiday kind of voice. It is *stunning*. The instrumentation includes Karen on 12-string guitar and banjo, and she's got a talented band backing her up, but her gorgeous voice is foregrounded clearly throughout.
Includes lots of liner notes (written by Peter Stampfel of the Holy Modal Rounders, Fugs, etc.) that appear to only scratch the surface of this amazing woman: she was a lifelong dumpster diver, for one thing, and also a single mom. She was reportedly so shy that only by sort of tricking her into a recording session were these songs ever laid down on tape! Most of them are first and only takes, recorded in one day: so fresh, so alive, so sweet. Enjoy.
Released to coincide with the recent double disc retrospective, this 7" features two tracks that should have Dead C fans drooling. One side features an unreleased version of "Power" rescued from the band's vast archives, a gorgeous slab of blown out noise rock, distortion drenched indie jangle, simple drumming, wild squalls of psychnoise guitar, sing songy vocals, dense and noisy but surprisingly catchy. The B side is one of their most popular songs (according to some), having been covered by loads of folks including Yo La Tengo, a driving almost new wave sounding punk rocker, with fuzzed out riffs, and some seriously Mark E. Smith vocals, shouting "Bad Politics... Baby". Maybe the poppiest thing they've ever done.
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This band's most recent album, Feathers, was one of our favorites of last year so it's nice to get this opportunity to revisit their first record which has been out of print for quite a while, the label (Joe Lally's Tolatta) that released it originally went out of business and the record was sort of lost in limbo. Their stoner-psych-rock prowess can be found here in its full glory connecting the dots between Black Sabbath and Blue Cheer, Bardo Pond and Kyuss. One of Dead Meadow's best attributes is their ability to make records that totally grow on you and seep into your skin listen after listen. This has been hitting the spot for us so much as of late that literally not a day has gone by that this hasn't been blasting out of our speakers here in the store! Such a welcome reissue, and for sure a must-have if you missed it the first time around in 2001, when we said the following about it:
Dead Meadow are a retro stoner psych rock power trio playing fuzzed out space-jams in a heavy and rollicking yet still kinda mellow mode. For fans of Blue Cheer and their fellow Tolatta act Spirit Caravan. They're also reminiscent of a more jammed-out, psychedelic Sleep, but with some gentle touches -- there's even interludes of acoustic guitar indie-pop. This one grew on us! [See!] It's definitely more "out-of-time" than most other stoner rock efforts, harking back not to the arenas of the '70s but to the garages and hippie pads of the late '60s. As such it stands apart from the current legions of Kyuss / Fu Manchu clones. The one weak point, the slightly whiny vocals, hardly matter amid the instrumental majesty of the electric fuzz guitar and bass action that dominates this album!
Xemu should soon be reissuing Dead Meadow's 2nd Tolotta album Howls From The Hills as well, also a must for those working backwards from the band's excellent Matador output.
Here's a short, sweet, little treat from new Bay Area band Dream Date! Their pair of bright girly indie pop tunes comes perfectly pressed on thick bubblegum pink vinyl. Yummy to look at, yummy to hear!
Japan's EM Records, our new favorite label for totally unknown reissue surprises -- from singing saw records to electronic brainwave music to New Age psych -- come through YET AGAIN with this fantastic album of guitar music by a long-haired, Viking-looking dude from the '70s named William Eaton! A gentle soul, judging by his gorgeously mellow music on this disc, all instrumental, all improvised, originally self-released on vinyl in 1978 in an edition of just 1000 copies. The simple drawing on the cover, with the rays of the setting sun and puffy clouds in the sky, really gets at what these 18 tracks are all about. Languid, blissed-out acoustic and electric string caresses, music that seems heaven-sent... You can imagine him sitting, cross-legged, eyes closed, with a meditative calm belying the virtuosic skill with which he plays. Rooted in hippy psych folk this is, but with some hints of more difficult, avant-garde new music, for sure like John Fahey, and perhaps like a very very listenable Derek Bailey, or better yet, like FMP-label guitarist and inventor Hans Reichel. And if we say it's just a bit New Agey, don't let that scare you off. We think all fans of the whole wonderful "wooden guitar", John Fahey / Robbie Basho worshipping, neo-Appalachia, modern day "American Primitive", steel string guitar improv scene today -- Jack Rose, James Blackshaw, Ilyas Ahmed, Richard Bishop, Matt Valentine, Sean Smith, etc. -- will really find a lot to like here!!
Another point in common with Hans Reichel, is that the instruments Eaton plays here he built himself. A mystical luthier from the Arizona desert, William Eaton crafted some AMAZING instruments, depicted in the pages of the thick cd booklet. Totally baroque-looking works of art like his 26 string Elesion Harmonium, or his beautifully sculptural harp guitar. And just check out the curves of his double neck Quadrophonic electric... wow.
So, totally recommended. Oh, and this disc is one of the first beneficiaries of EM's new Japanese AND English liner notes policy! Yep, English language liner notes, and lots of 'em... along with the usual full-color photos and album art found in most EM cd booklets.
Apparently the trend of post rock and metal cross pollination is not exclusive to North America. Enter Japanese band Envy with their latest album titled Insomniac Doze just released on Temporary Residence. It's sort of a shift in direction for this veteran hardcore band not to mention something of an incongruous, abrasive presence among the label's soundscapers and more traditional post-rockers. As we've witnessed before Japanese bands have a tendency of one-bettering the Westerners' execution of any given musical style. Nay, they frequently blow the top off of a particular genre's conventions. Delivering solid muscular grit instead of flash and incorporating newfound depth and detail, Envy do the deed in a much more controlled yet no less concentrated fashion than many of their wildly untethered Japanese brethren.
Coming out of the same Finnish scene that spawned AQ-faves Circle and Ektroverde, Es is the work of Sami Sanpakkila, who in addition to this solo project, also plays in various bands like Kiila and Velvolino. He also runs Fonal records. (I guess all that
The last Extinction record, long sold out before we were able to get any copies for the store, was one of those bleak ambient non-metal metal records. Slow motion expanses of utter abject black dirgedrone doom. A tarpit sludge full of smears of black guitar and demonic shrieks. Think Abruptum, Stalaggh, Emit and other like minded black ambient artists.
So that's sort of what we were expecting when we managed to get this new Extinction. And the opening track had us convinced we were right. A chaotic stumbling storm of angular guitars, huge crumbling downtuned riffs, howled and moaned vocals, huge rhythmic pounds, super demented and damaged sounding. We were prepared to settle back for a whole record of similar sounding black bliss. But the second track knocked us flat, exploding into a lurching minor key stumble, with strange arpeggiated guitars, thrashing drums, raspy black vocals, but all of those typically black metal elements are set in a swirling black morass of blown out, super saturated black sonic clouds. So dense and blurry and fuzzed out it's sometimes impossible to pick out individual instruments, just a massive fiery be-spiked and bloodied blur. The rest of the record barrels along like that, some epic hooved black metal beast, huge bat wings flung behind it, teeth crusted with the blood of the vanquished, an ultra thick onslaught of pure demonic black energy. We haven't heard a black metal so distorted and so dangerously close to collapsing into utter and complete noise since Gorgoroth's The Destroyer. And that is mighty praise indeed.
The final track revisits the opener's sonic black pit of teeth gnashing and shrieking souls, another abstract swirl of deconstructed black chaos with collapsing riffs and slowly rotting melodies.
So fucking great.
Here's another heavy one from a label that all doom-heads should pay attention to, Sweden's oh-so-positive I Hate Records, who recently brought us the latest from Burning Saviours and Gates Of Slumber, among others. Finland's wonderfully gloomy Fall Of The Idols play slow and lumbering, classic doom with tons of feeling. This debut album of theirs is a downer trip all right, supremely mournful, sunken into depression, like old Candlemass on Quaaludes. It's melancholic and miserable, and somehow melodically peaceful too. The plodding, repetitive guitar riffs and martial drumming (punctuating stretches of spacey quietude), along with the molasses-thick production, help produce this band's hypnotic aura of doom, but what's most crucial are the wretchedly, wrenchingly emotive vocals. The singer reminds us of Pentagram's Bobby Liebling just a bit, but deeper, dronier, and more chant-like, singing of such things as "when heart dies and soul is torn" and "drifting through the blizzard, wondering how lonely you've become"... In addition, the occasional use of acoustic guitars and uptempo attacks of metallic chug, vary the album nicely. But overall, with this one, you're simply doomed, doomed, doomed. For fans of fellow Finns Reverend Bizarre, and also early Cathedral, early Trouble, and maybe even CoC's Blind... A class act.
Everything about Father Beard is far away, which makes sense since it's the project of former Mirza members Brian Lucas and Mark Williams and they live far away -- from us and from each other. Brian lives in Thailand and Mark lives in Spain, but somehow, it seems like they managed to meet in an air cave high above their two countries and record an album of narcotic, whisper-quiet songs. Plodding bass keeps the music from drifting aimlessly in the ether, while street-sound field recordings lend a Sublime Frequency sense of mystery and foreignness. Imagine Spacemen 3 buzzing out of a broken radio in an un-airconditioned cab on a street crowded with tuk-tuks and bovine - but instead of being sweaty, dusty and stressed out, you're high on delay pedals, drifting down the Mekong and off the edge of the earth. Recommended listening for humid afternoons and early morning opium dens.
Oh man. If you are a faithful Aquarius list reader and lover of musical oddities, just stop right here, and push the buy button because you need this record. Judson Fountain was born in 1952 and was obsessed with radio dramas since he was old enough to talk. In fact as soon as he was able to talk he began doing impressions of cackling hags, wicked witches and all sorts of animals. All of which would come to play a big part in these radio dramas right here. Recorded between the ages of 17 and 22, these eight dramas are only a drop in the bucket of the hundreds of radio plays Judson wrote and performed. All of them primitive and simple, but amazingly creative and entertaining, and all featuring Judson's unique vocalisations along with his partner/foil Sandor Weisberger. But there's no way to describe them, you just have to hear them. Judson has a crazy East Coast accent, and he talks like a hyper school boy who thinks faster than he can get the words out, which you can hear in a handful of interviews preceding some of the radio dramas. Using crude sound effects and sometimes painfully deliberate plot exposition, these dramas all rely on Judson and Sandor's crazy array of voices, from Irish Brogue, to old Thai man, to teenage gangster to tuneless singing grandma, to British detective to various witches and demonic women, all with distinctly hysterical and completely bizarre cackles. The plots are all very simple, good vs. Evil, haunted houses and witches and stuff. But they are all done so sort-of-professionally and so earnestly that they're just completely irresistable. Listen to "Garbage Can From Thailand" and you'll immediately know what we mean. Judson is just so cute. And so is Sandor who introduces each drama (which he pronounces drahmmer) and also reads the credits afterwards. I've had a Judson Fountain cassette for years now thanks to AQ pal Jay Lesser so you can imagine how excited we were that some of this stuff was actually finally getting released. Our only complaint is why did Innova make it a cd-r??! It's got a professionally printed booklet and everything, so how hard would it have been to press up real cds?! It costs as much as a real cd after all. Cd-r or not, this is so good, and so funny, and so cute, and so weirdly brilliant, that it definitely needs to be in your collection!
The SF indie label Kimosciotic run by Le Flange Du Mal's Chris Rolls is a hard one to pin down. In the last five years he's offered up the soul'n'hip hop of DJ Unagi, the electro-disco-bizarro of Crack We Are Rock, the atmospheric electronics of Not Breathing and the scuzz murk art rawk of Ezeetiger. One of the few common links we've been able to sleuth out is that many of the artists seem to have a penchant for costumes, disguises and devil-may-care attitude. Now get a load of Fuckwolf, Kimosciotic's latest release. They fit right in! From the looks of the photos in the insert, medical masks, wigs, coveralls, a lemon tree, sunglasses, a reel-to-reel, drums, electric guitar and bass all came into play during the recording of this cd. Some degree of propulsiveness lurks within and seeps out occasionally, but the overall results are a molten sludge filth stew that draws equal influence from the industrial and no-wave music of the '70s and '80s.
We have to admit, we're not the biggest Magik Markers fans. But get MM's Pete Nolan in a room with Marcia Bassett (Double Leopards, Hototogisu) and the results are divine. A gloriously expansive free-drone raga, a swirling wall of buzz and squeal and keening high end guitars and roaring amps, thick washes of buzzing strings and wild streaks of upper register skree. Huge drifts of abstract sound, that manage to move and drive, within their almost static clouds of drone and shimmer lurk dreamy melodies, strange sonic whorls, and super simple percussion. Ultra divine drug drenched raga drone bliss out of the highest order. Not sure what else to say. This is like the best parts of Sunroof!, Vibracathedral Orchestra, Jazzfinger, Sunburned Hand Of The Man, boiled down to its utter essence, packed into pipes made out of monkey skulls and smoked. A potent blend of mysterious musicks, hidden in a cave at the top of some perilous peak, reachable by only the bravest of souls. Once in the cave, follow the light, and observe as the cave opens up into a star filled sky, a small spot where one can watch the light of the universe shift and shimmer. This is that sound. Essential.
Some musical pairings just make perfect sense. Case in point, Siouxsie And The Banshees' Steve Severin and The Cure's Robert Smith. Originally released in 1983, The Glove is getting the same reissue treatment as the early Cure albums which means there is an extra disc which in this case is where the magic is hidden. On the original release there were label/legality issues which kept Smith's voice from appearing on all except two tracks so a last minute singer was needed which ended up being Jeanette Landray, who was the girlfriend of The Banshees drummer Budgie. While her vocals kind of work, it's always been the kind of record that you always pictured with Smith's vintage vocals throughout. And this reissue makes that dream come true as the bonus disc is filled with demo versions on which Smith sings those very song making this reissue even more essential. Robert Smith in 1983 singing with Severin from The Banshees playing, what more could you want?
The return of the mighty Gorgoroth!!! With all the non musical drama surrounding these guys it's sometimes hard to remember that Gorgoroth remain one of the only TRUE Norwegian black metal bands still totally capable of utter blackened musical destruction. Vocalist Gaahl has had it tough, arrested, headed for prison, but as we've learned from Lords Of Chaos, if you're gonna commit a heinous crime, do it in Norway. 14 years for first degree murder. Gaahl only got a year or so for taking a man hostage and torturing him. But what this might tell you is that Gorgoroth are indeed still very very EVIL. And they sound like it.
There are seemingly two schools of thought on Gorgoroth. There are those who love OLD Gorgoroth, Under The Sign Of Hell being THE ONE, and there are those, like us who lean toward Destroyer, the band's most noisy and fucked up record. We actually love both, but as we're sure you know, we tend to lean toward the damaged and demented. Ad Majorem Sathanas Gloriam falls mostly on the side of the former, a TRUE buzzing and blasting blackness, that does sound fucking fantastic but is not really weird or noisy or fucked up. We still love it, cuz these guys can still basically do no wrong, ands if you are hankering for some blasting frosty fury, some true grim classic sounding black metal, this will definitely hit the spot. The production is better, the band is tighter, the songs are maybe catchier, but it basically sounds like a modernized version of Under The Sign Of Hell, which is a VERY good thing. Secretly we were hoping for the band to totally drop us in our tracks with the weirdest black metal record ever, cuz if anyone is capable of coming up with such a thing, it's Gorgoroth, but hell, we've been to busy banging our heads to really notice.
The Green Blossoms are the duo of Anthony Guerra and Aiko Koga, and the two create gorgeously sun dappled little universes of droning ambient twang pop perfection. With just ukulele, guitar, harmonica, pitch pipes and vocals, these two stroll through some fantastical world of constant summery bliss, sometimes it's night, but even then, their world is brilliantly lit by sparkling stars, a full moon, and warm crackling campfires. Guitars and ukes play delicate little melodies, each melody then looped into an hypnotic swirl of blissed out mesmer, then each one is wreathed in some sort of diffused fuzz, a deep glowing halo of sound, be it tinkling chimes, warm processed vocal harmonies, or dense dreamy drones.
This is some absolutely gorgeous, late afternoon, early early morning, hammock swaying in the breeze, back porch sunset, late night crackling fire, staring at the stars, floating in the middle of the sea looking up at the clear blue sky, cool mountain stream, sleeping in the tree shade, closing your eyes and drifting off, sweet, soft, warm and wonderful blissful dreaminess!
This is one serious assemblage of European electronic noisemakers. We're pretty familiar with Mr. Lasse Marhaug, but the rest of these sonic terrorists are new names to us: Lene Grenager, Harald Fetveit, Lucio Capece and Mattin. Armed with a mighty arsenal of soundmaking implements: electric cello, turntables, microphones, effect boxes, sax, mixing board and some computer feedback, these guys weave two epic, wide open soundscapes of hiss and fuzz, glitch and hum, a lowercase soundworld of buzzy electronic fuckery, huge thick swaths of pink noise whir that quickly subsides into a distant topographical map of barely there sound, tiny bursts of hiss or warble dot a spare plain of muted creak and bird cheep squeak, a sea of shortwave drift, and minimal shift that morphs into a corrosive flow of psychedelic sine wave freakout and grinding industrial grit. Instrument cable buzz and caustic distorted whitenoise hiss hover in a weightless field of scattered sonic debris, mostly space, but along with the bursts of sonic turbulence, create some sort of super stretched out impossible to define non-rhythm. Like a sweetly drifting slab of dark ambience being constantly interfered with by Merzbowian transmissions from some alternate universe. Nice!
We'll still never be able to understand why the whole world isn't gaga for Guapo. Without a doubt one of the best, weirdest, and most inventive modern prog outfits there is. Everyone who digs Magma should definitely have some cd shelf space set aside for Guapo. Record after record of dense, tangled, catchy spacey, far out post rock prog brilliance. A record on Andee's tUMULt label, a release on Mike Patton's Ipecac label, tours with Circle and various other underground bigwigs. What's it gonna take? Well at least we know AQ customers are hip to Guapo's unique musical world, and with that in mind we managed to get a bunch of these super limited tour EPs, from Aurora Borealis, the same folks who put out the Grails 12", the Moss cd, the Fungal Hex double picture disc, the Crebain picture disc and the Moss / Wolfmangler split cd. And this Guapo cd ep somehow manages to fit just perfectly. Or imperfectly. Especially considering how weird this ep is, even by Guapo's already weird standards. Gone is pretty much any trace of musical bombast, which is what pretty much defines prog. Instead, this two part epic is a gorgeously slow and moody crawl, a slithering jazzy shimmer, with shuffling drum skitter and melancholy piano, slippery underwater bass that's murky and smoky and dreamily ominous. The second track picks up where the first one left off, gradually adding more elements, a distant wah guitar, some strange metallic percussion, creepy zither like melodies, the whole thing growing ever so slightly busier musically and getting creepier by the second, with the bass building into the driving force, a thick propulsive throb under a swirl of haunted house like jazz shuffle. Sounds a bit like what we might imagine a horror movie soundtrack by the Necks might sound like. Cool!
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Are you ready to bounce your head up and down and sway side to side and jump up and down and all around in your bedroom when you are all alone and the new Hidden Cameras is blasting from your stereo. Cause that's what we've been doing pretty much nonstop since Awoo has come out. The third full length from the glorious pop band from Toronto does not disappoint one bit. With an impeccable ability to write hooks that will stay in your head for days and weeks and months to come. This is pop music at its smartest and most delightful level of catchy bliss. While some recent reviews of this record have harped over the fact that the lyrics aren't as dirty or sexual as past releases we think those minds are missing the point. This was never a novelty band about a simple joke or dirty one-liner. Their queer politics are for sure still strong in their heart and more then almost anyone else they have an amazing ability to sing songs that both talk to the body and the heart. Taking some of the best parts of R.E.M and Belle & Sebastian, Hidden Cameras have carved a spot for themselves as one of the pop bands who most definitely matter!
Daniel Higgs is a very strange man. Or maybe we should say, Daniel (Arcus Incus Ululat) Higgs, Interdimensional Song-Seamstress, is a very strange man. His artwork is amazing and bizarre, Spock ears and eye-balled Christmas trees, emaciated figures riding strange hellish beasts, an amazing personal mythology represented as a menagerie of impossible and impossibly beautiful figures and beasts. His music seems to somehow embody the same mystery, a world that Higgs inhabits simultaneously to his presence in our own. That must be the only thing that can truly explain the man and his music. That he walks around, one foot in our world, of people places and things, the other in some kaleidoscopic world where sounds are tasted and sights are smelled, a synesthetic wonderland, that when translated and brought over to our plain of existence, appears distorted, twisted, haunting and hard to fathom. But at the same time imbued with some otherworldly warmth and a beauty that while alien, represents a higher state, maybe unreachable here. That is Higgs' gift. He is a traveler and a troubadour. He allows us to see visions, to hear musical mysteries. Through paintings, drawings, tattoos and especially music. From the moment we first heard his 'rock' band Lungfish we were smitten. Actually, the very first time we heard Lungfish was in a record store in another town, years ago. Our first thought was "What the hell is this?" But after several more songs, we were compelled to sheepishly approach the counter and ask the clerk what was playing. We bought it, and loved it. And maybe that's the magic of Higgs' music. It's esoteric and not always approachable. It takes some trust, a leap of faith, some sonic daring. But that faith is always repaid many times over. Outside of Lungfish, Higgs also plays in the Pupils along with his Lungfish bandmate Asa, a more intimate stripped down version of his rock band. The same cyclical riffs and chant like vocals, but all acoustic, and sparsely arranged. There is also his amazing sort-of Appalachian solo guitar work, and his very very strange solo Jew's harp recordings.
This disc is Higgs' first proper solo release and manages to tie up all his disparate sonic threads into one big gorgeous Gordian knot.
Several tracks sound like they could have come straight off the Pupils record. Simple, haunting acoustic guitar riffs, repeated and repeated until they becomes totally hypnotic, mantra like, with Higgs' gorgeous vocals over the top, a mix of old timey sea shanty and folk standard. The rest drift dreamily from sound to sound, like a sonic journey through the soul of the man. Gorgeous tangles of banjo or some banjo-like instrument drift amidst field recordings of birds (knowing Higgs it may have been actually recorded right there in the woods, although he has been known to travel with a portable recorder to capture whatever strikes his fancy) a steel string buzz, that wanders from near traditional sounding Appalachian twang to some sort of jaunty Celtic melody to brief melodic flurries, impossibly buzzy and blurry. Thick swaths of buzzing guitar swirl and squirm, doomy, melancholy melodies spread out over a machine like whir, sounding like a guitar being played like a bagpipe. While over the top drifts tiny tangles of steel string picking all drenched in strange FX and allowed to twist and distort, sounding almost the way a Jew's harp does when you change the shape of your mouth. And as if pre-ordained (which it most likely was), out comes the Jew's harp, but it sounds like no Jew's harp you've ever heard. Super brittle and distorted, like some sort of metallic marimba, or a Konono outtake broadcast via shortwave and played through a crappy transistor radio. A gorgeous buzzy abstract hoedown. Finally, the record winds up (most definitely not down) with a thick swirl of super lo-fi psych guitar freakout, the chords and notes bent and twisted, pitches slipping back and forth, overtones subtly shifting, notes colliding and exploding into little bursts of jagged buzz before settling back into a droning hypnotic thrum. Like some alien jig, if aliens had a practice space full of strangely tuned guitars and really loud amps with blown speakers. And again, it sounds like somehow Higgs figured out a way to hold the guitar up to his mouth and play it like a Jew's harp, the sounds changing shape as much as tone, a warm and fuzzed out smear of distorted buzz that washes over you, as does this whole sonic scripture, like a shower of rich wet soil and sparkling uncut diamonds.
Robyn Hitchcock rules, doesn't he? Yes, he does. Never disappoints, never falters, just goes about his unerringly fine songsmithery with little or no regard for current trends. His wry, witty brain-twisting stories/lyrics, creative guitar lines, catchy choruses and singing voice are all unmistakable. And while his pop supremacy hasn't gone unnoticed -- he's definitely influenced legions of young artists over the years -- it sure deserves a whole lot more. Listening to Ole! Tarantula reminded us not only of how much we dig his music but also of how many more recent artists sound like him (The Decemberists and Jets To Brazil to name just a couple). These days there's precious few artists of this high caliber and staying power. Actually the only ones who immediately come to mind are The Minus Five's Scott McCaughey and the Go-Betweens (Grant McLennan RIP). The former is one of the musical luminaries that make up Hitchcock's backing band The Venus 3. The rest of the trio are Peter Buck and Bill Rieflin. Additional guests include The Soft Boys' Kimberley Rew, Morris Windsor (also of The Soft Boys and The Egyptians), Presidents Of The United States Of America's Chris Ballew, Harvey Danger's Sean Nelson and Ian McLagan of Faces. Stellar!
We never really thought of Hototogisu as a 'noise' band. Sure they're noisy, sometimes REALLY noisy, but there is always a certain raga drone element to their thick-sheet-of-sound rooooaaaar, which makes perfect sense since the two members also make sounds in the Double Leopards and as Sunroof! / Skullflower. And in Hototogisu, you could always hear that struggle, between the Double Leopards' minimal murky crawl, the high end ur-drone of Sunroof! and Skullflower's coruscating wall of feedback pummel. And the results were divine, at once harsh and beautiful, glistening but jagged and brutal.
Then there's Prurient, who we ALWAYS considered to be a noise band. Shrieking feedback, industrial grind, primitive percussion, maniacal howling vocals, all wrapped in buzzing clouds of glitch and hiss and buzz and screech. A seriously intense and pulverizing onslaught of sound. BUT, Prurient also has that special something that keeps their records from sounding like third rate Merzbow or a wannabe Whitehouse. Sure it's noise music, but it's layered and textural and weird and in a really difficult harsh way, pretty dang listenable.
So what happens when you take those two completely different approaches to noise music and make them one? Well, to begin with, as you may have surmised, you get something pretty fucking noisy, and just a cursory listen reveals a thick squirming snarl of harsh hateful sound. And in fact, the first few listens had folks in the store wondering if this was actually blacknoise terrorists Stalaggh, and that's not all that far off the mark. But closer listening reveals a deep dark cavernous world of noise(s), deep resonant washes of rumbling buzz, foghorn-like blares of jagged grinding throb, thick waves of staticky hum, blinding flares of shrieking feedback, epic squalls of chest rattling low end moan, grinding industrial clatter blasted into glistening shards. all constantly pulsing, and throbbing, swaying and shifting, like drifting aimlessly across a stormy obsidian sea, where the water is a roiling swirl of black buzz, and the storm clouds above are thick smears of throbbing metallic crunch, the wind like gusts of ear splitting feedback, and you the listener clinging desperately to your stereo, lest you be hurled into blackness and swallowed whole. Pretty fucking cool.
(Deep radio announcer's voice) Neil... Michael... Hagerty... in what is quite possibly his most melodically straight-forward album to date! Gasp! Shock! Oh my! While his last couple of Howling Hex releases have left us with the mental image of the former Royal Truxer fumbling to press the 'record' button while being completely baked out of his mind -- those were some seriously rad, fucked-up records! -- Nightclub Version Of The Eternal comes across as almost completely sober... which actually makes it even more bizarre in the whole scheme of Hagerty's trademark off-kilter swampy bluesy cheez-tinged tunes. Keepin' us all on our toes. Recommended for fans of the poppier, sunnier side of Royal Trux!
The duo of drummer Thomas Stronen (Food) and keyboardist Stale Storlokken (Supersilent) are back with a second album of playful, percolating improvisation on the ever-reliable Rune Grammofon label. Now these Norwegians are calling themselves Humcrush, which was the title of their album from last year, issued under their own names. Whatever they call it, the music they make is pretty neat. It's a restless blend of live instruments and electronics that somehow sounds catchy and composed, even though this is live-in-the-studio improv. Maybe it's too obscure of a reference, but Humcrush could perhaps be likened to a collision between the Shaking Ray Levis and Autechre. Inventive, very much rhythmically alive and full of glitchy abstraction, some of Hornswoogle would make groovy music for a jungle-themed lounge populated by dancing robots. Other parts feature cinematic atmospheres, or bleepy bloopy computer jingles, or sitar-y keyboards, or what sound a bit like fractured calypso beats... all very exotic and inventive and (importantly) quite listenable, considering it's just Stronen and Storlokken shaking out their respective bags of tricks, on the go. And then the final track, "Cyborg I" takes a turn for the uneasy. It's like the part of a horror film where the doll comes to life and kills everybody (sez Pam).
When we last heard from this mysterious ensemble, we likened their sound to some sort of Alien Folkways collection. Vibrant images of Alan Lomax in a space suit going from planet to planet, recording the natives, as they perform strange ritualistic folk music, the likes of which we had never heard on Earth before. This latest missive from the strangely monickered Ignatz, plays out in a similarly alien fashion, although this time it sounds like we've travelled toward the center of the Earth, rooting out all of the subterranean dwellers, from the bottom of the sea to bottomless pits, to maze like warrens of underground caverns, bat people, strange lizard like folk, a new breed of eyeless humanoid, with strange suction cup stumps instead of limbs. All living happily beneath the surface, building elaborate civilizations, and most importantly creating their own folk music. Bits and pieces slightly resemble some of the more terrestrial sounds we're accustomed to. Maybe some of the underground dwellers heard snippets of music drifting down through cracks or storm drains, but even those sounds were twisted and reshaped into new sounds.
This Subterranean Folkways collection was gathered from over 400 trips below the surface, from all over the world, below China, beneath Egypt, underneath the Canadian Tundra, within several famous peaks, and in several legendary volcanos. Each culture and "people" developed on their own, separated from the rest of humanity and the rest of the sub-dwellers, their evolutionary paths taking many unexpected twists and turns, which are of course reflected in the music. A haunting disembodied angular blues folk, cobbled together from sharp jagged riffs that float in a dark cloud of spacious reverb while from way below huge pulses of depth charge bass float to the surface, threatening to swallow everything whole. Dense clouds of chirping crickets and tangled birdsong are woven into thick sonic brambles, a swirling confusional knot of sound, a bit like Sunroof! occurring in nature, while underneath a strange melodic tapping drifts and a moaned vocal floats ominously. Pulsing bagpipe like guitars intertwine with haunting chant like vocals, lilting electric guitar melodies zig and zag beneath warbly swells of fuzzy organ. A distant disembodied blues, pulled apart and tossed into a huge blaack pool. left to drift and spin and eventually sink below the surface. A stumbling Jandekian dirge, atonal vocals, over shifting swirls of detuned guitar and glistening high end shimmer. Mysterious and so wonderful.
We anxiously await the next Folkways collection, gathered on various excursions into the human body, to record the indigenous musics of the many creatures and organisms that call our human forms home!
Another winner from the seemingly infallible Students Of Decay cd-r label. Who hereby join the ranks of AQ faves like Pseudo Arcana and Celebrate Psi Phenomenon. Maybe not in terms of sheer output, but certainly in terms of quality! This one features a familiar name and some strange underground cross pollination. You may not recognize the name Jade Emperor, but by now, you probably know the name Brad Rose, as the man who runs another killer label, Digitalis, and who also performs as The North Sea. For Jade Emperor, Rose teams up with Wilson Lee and the two explore a haunting world of abstract Appalachia and buzzing ragas and murky drones. The first track is the perfect demonstration. Over the course of 13 minutes, steel string guitars buzz and shimmer, Eastern sounding melodies drift delicately. chords ring out and fade away, this ambient folk gradually overtaken by a subtle murmuring rumble, that builds to a dark and slithery smear of sound, over which, haunting super affected psych guitar figures twist and turn. Slightly sinister but totally captivating. For the second track, the guitars retreat and allow slow waves of buzzing drone to build into a slow pulsing current.
Then the final track is like an unhinged version of the first. As if the band performing the opening track, were suddenly transported to another place. Free of gravity, of the laws of nature and physics. So the music just sort of drifts and dissipates, riffs splinter into fragments, strummed chords become sing spinning notes, the track breaks apart into its constituent parts, and the result is a dense cloud of sounds and notes and whirs and buzzes and melodic fragments and instrumental snippets, a sort of organic raga, decay becoming the music of nature. Gorgeous!
LIMITED TO 100 COPIES! So you can bet these won't last long...
Savage Pencil cover art. Gothic font. Grim graphics. Black metal sonics. So this is the new Jazzkammer?! Metal Machine Music sees this Norwegian electronic noise duo changing their name (slightly) and suddenly adopting a black/death/doom metal sound. Maybe in this case we should say Metal, using the capital M for it like The Wire magazine does. Not sure what inspired this new direction, we'd hate to think it was just that in avant-experimental-indie circles Metal is now 'cool', and that they thought hey if SUNNO))) can do it, why not us? But chances are that being from Norway they're well aware of the black metal scene and dig a lot of the same stuff about it that we do, the perhaps unintentional avant-gardisms of bands like Abruptum for instance, and figured it was time to delve into it fully themselves. What matters, anyway, is how did Jazkamer's Metal Machine Music turn out? Well, we like it! First off, Jazkamer, as opposed to Jazzkammer, is not a duo, they've brought in some other folks to help out, including a real ringer -- Ivar Bjornson of AQ fave Viking black prog metallers Enslaved!! So we're taking it pretty seriously already.
The first track, "Friends Of Satan" is a pretty harsh intro, and should serve to weed out listeners who AREN'T in fact friends of Satan. It's a blurred, blasting battery of drums and distortion, not unlike that sampled death metal disc by Francisco Lopez, Untitled 104. Or the Dave Lombardo track on Jonathan Bepler's Cremaster 2 soundtrack. The chorus of anguished vokills at the end of the track further nail down Jazkamer's black metal ballsiness. They'd be pleased to know that someone here asked, when this was playing, "What's that? Besides headache-inducing?" Following that, we encounter one of this album's main events, the 16:51 "The Worms Will Get In", a study in slow-motion, doom-dirge minimalism a la SUNNO))), Earth, and Khanate. Simple but effective. When it ends, it's a jarring segue into the next track, the jagged "Abomination". Probably the thing on here that most sounds like it could be from a "normal" black metal album, albeit with No Wave / Voivodian influences. Next up, the title track, that's along the same lines as "Abomination" but, like, ten times noisier. And then, the finale, the 12 and a half minute "Occult Glider" that's a menacing ambient fuzzed-drone soundscape, beautiful and powerful.
We're impressed. Our doubts were quashed. Better than any Jazzkammer album we'd previously heard, as a matter of fact!
