Crucial Bliss is an offshoot of the Crucial Blast label, who normally specialize in all things heavy, sludgy, grinding, brutal... well, you get the idea. In the past we've reviewed Crucial Blast titles from Burmese, Genghis Tron, The Goslings, Skullflower and a bunch more. Crucial Bliss focuses on stuff that is more... well, blissful. But not always blissful in the strictest sense. Sure we reviewed Aidan Baker's Periodic a few lists back and that was indeed blissful. But now we've got the latest from Crown Of Amaranth, which while still blissful, is hardly peaceful or dreamy or any of the other descriptors you might associate with bliss.
Amaranth, is a grain, but not just any grain. It was used by the Aztecs, mixed with other ingredients to form edible idols that were consumed before human sacrifices. When the Spanish conquered the Aztecs, they banned the evil grain thinking it would stop the human sacrifice. Quite a lot of historical baggage for a little old grain. But that bloody bit of history is somehow appropriate considering Crown Of Amaranth's sound, a harsh and harrowing, ominous and foreboding set of drones. Miniature epic soundscapes of disembodied guitar fragments set adrift amidst a sea of hissing white noise and muted industrial scrape, fuzzy indistinct broadcasts from the ether, mumbled scratchy abstract missives rendered in crumbling melodies and washes of swirling static, church organs drift and dissipate into haunting junglescapes tangled up with bits of crooned vocals and processed slabs of grinding droning crunch. The last few tracks up the ante aggression-wise, and dip bruised and bloodied toes into a black pool of serious noise, emitting bursts of full on shriek and hiss, but almost always tempered by stretches of dark tranquility and brutal bliss.
SUPER LIMITED. We got these direct from the band. Not sure how long they will last or if we'll ever be able to get more...
Dulcet. That's good word and a fine one to describe this new album from Adem. While this was playing in the store, we had quite a few queries as to whether this was a new Rufus Wainwright album. It isn't, but it still might please folks who swoon at the thought of Mr. Wainwright singing in a more pastoral setting. For those of you just joining us (and who are wonderin' what all the fuss is about), Adem Ilhan (along with Four Tet's Kieran Hebden) used to be in the aQ fave band known as Fridge. Love And Other Planets has also drawn comparisons to Sufjan Stevens in his more celestial folk-tronic mode. This lovely album is filled with the sincerest heartfelt but not overly sweet sentiments. Check out "X Is For Kisses". Awwww.
I'd like to thank whomever was working the counter at Rockit Scientist in NYC, one day when I happened to visit that very cool East Village record shop a couple years ago. 'Cause they happened to be spinning an LP reissue of this, the lone album by obscure krautrock act Ainigma. Never had heard of 'em before, but they made an impression, as I'm a sucker for all early heavy progressive '70s sounds. And for the time it was originally released (1973) these guys were pretty heavy, though it's definitely an low-budget, basement sort of underground production. Especially heavy is the 17 minute title track, which even includes about a minute and a half of drum solo! Shades of Iron Butterfly's "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida"! Also as per Iron Butterfly, there's a LOT of organ on this album, swirling and chunking amid the wailing guitar and pounding drums. No surprise then that the REALLY big influence on these teenage Bavarian lads was Vincent Crane's Atomic Rooster, along with other organ-based heavies out of the UK back then like Uriah Heep and Deep Purple. But Ainigma's take on those sounds was definitely waaay fuzzed and garagey-punk, and also quite jammy, more instrumental than vocal oriented.
So ever since that day at Rockit Scientist I'd been hoping for a cd reissue to materialize, and now at last Garden Of Delights has done the job, giving it their usual swank treatment (two bonus tracks plus thick booklet w/ German and English liner notes, lyrics, band photos, and even pictures of -previous- reissues of this record!), nice!
Ladies and gentlemen, The Blues Deceivers! Huh? Yes that's what this trio is calling themselves, says so right on the back of this spooky lil' 3". These three guitarists (representing Japan, Australia, and the USA respectively, all well known in underground music circles) agree that the tradition of 'the blues' should or could be (or already was) an aspect of their approach to experimental improvised guitar, and so teamed up for this live recording at the 2004 Bomb the Space Festival in Wellington, New Zealand to let their guitars gently weep and moan (like the willow of the title) in desolate and dismal blues style... avant "blues" that is, droning and eerie and abstract and evocative. The Blues Deceivers are definitely not the sort of blues band you'd find booked at the Boom Boom Room fer instance. No vocals, no drums... the only voices those of their guitars and the ghosts they conjure. For fans of Loren Connors, for sure, and also all three of these players, who have explored such old timey territory in their work to some degree or other before.
It's 18 minutes, 47 seconds long in case you're wondering about how much music they fit on the 3" format, in this case.
Killer underground black metal battle to the death between the Finns and the Italians, released on Finnish cult metal label Bestial Burst. Angmar, from Finland (not to be confused with the French Angmar) offer up some fuzzy plodding blackness, dirgey and primitive, ultra lo-fi and buzzy, with simple drumming, and super anguished vocals. A sort of buzzing black thrash with some old school Celtic Frost moments here and there.
The True Endless from Italy counter with their own black blast, some serious buzzing black Mayhem worship. Lightning fast swirls of thick fuzz guitar, manic riffing and blurry blast beats. Two tracks of completely blown out Norwegian style classic blackness, bookending a gorgeously depressive doomic dirge, with sludgy guitars, plodding glacial drumming and howling guttural vocals.
Slightly sexist (sexy?) aside: The True Endless also feature on bass, Soulfucker, quite possibly the hottest corpsepainted lady we've ever seen!
The return of our favorite classic hard rocking, shit kicking, wild eyed Southern rock band. Okay so, there's not a whole lot of them left, but that's exactly why we gotta love the ones we got. There's Raging Slab of course. Our love for them is eternal. There's new kids on the block, Black Stone Cherry, who are cool, but get a little close to mainstream MTV Nickelback territory. Then there's Antler. Who we originally thought were indie rock kids taking the piss. But their debut was just too fucking good. And too fucking genuine to be anything but. Allan and Andee saw them live at CMJ, in front of a slightly confused crowd, who were obviously unprepared to the cowboy boots, the cowboy hats, the Southern boogie, the twang and the killer classic Southern rock that was exactly what we were there to see.
Record number two finds the band in fine form. Still channeling Lynrd Skynrd, the Allman Brothers, the Outlaws, Blackfoot, but adding some extra stomp, some more crunchy guitar, but staying true to their Southern rock roots. It's perplexing why these guys were on Indie meta label Tortuga and are now part of Small Stone's stoner rock stable. These guys should be HUGE. On some major label. Playing stadiums, touring the Midwest and the South, showing rednecks worldwide that real Southern rock and roll is not dead. These guys should be wrapped in Confederate flags and showered with whiskey and weed, a harem of pretty little trailer trash girls, a private jet with a big set of antlers painted on the tail. That's what this sounds like. Kids who were 15 and 16 when Skynrd's Pronounced... came out, were getting high, getting drunk, and blasting shit like this in their Dad's pick up, parking by the lake and trying to get to second base with their second cousin.
Maybe one of these days, some label bigwig will figure out what the hell is going on, wine and dine these motherfuckers, hustle them into some penthouse office, ply them with booze and drugs, have them sign in blood on the dotted line, shove them in a tour bus and set them free to rule the rock and roll world like the boogie born Southern Rock scions they truly are!
Sludge is like a drug. Those of us who are hooked, can never get enough. And the heavier or weirder it gets, the more we need every fix to be just a little bit slower, a little bit heavier, a little bit more fucked up and freaked out. This stuff is already pushing the limits of how slow and heavy it can go, you can only get so slow and heavy before notes and melody and any sort of tonal color disappear completely resulting in what is essentially a super dense drone (and lord knows we love those too!!) so most of the bands that have been supplying us with our sludge fix of late have pushed the limits of slow and heavy obviously, but have mostly managed to twist their particular take on the sludge and the doom and the drone into seriously creepy and contorted shapes.
Thus we have Atavist. On first listen, they seem to be trudging down the same black and glacial path as Khanate, plodding Neanderthal drums, crumbling downtuned grit caked guitar rumble, and of course super processed demonically gurgled growls and shrieks. A horrifying and harrowing slow motion journey through the blackest pits of hell for sure. That along would be enough to have us jonesing. But then Atavist mix in some super unlikely elements. First, they actually rock. Not the whole time, but sometimes, they slip into an actual stonery doomic riff, and the tempo picks up, not too much, more like moving from steamroller tempo to runaway dumptruck tempo, but it definitely rocks, heavily and furiously, but never strays from the sludge too long, always slowing back down like said dumptruck plunging into a stretch of road where the tar has melted into black quicksand. The other unlikely element is a certain strange melodic flair, which seems unlikely, but somehow fits perfectly nestled amongst the surrounding doom. From the dreamy, propulsive post rock buried within the first track, gorgeous minor key guitar arpeggios, and shuffling loping almost krautlike rhythms (sounding at moments like a more dirge-y Katatonia) to the delicate intro to the second track, a glistening framework of soft melancholy melody and subtle simple bass lines, all drifting in a swirl of ambient haze (complete with a super creepy sample from the movie Session 9). There are even some blasts of full on freenoise freakout.
But Atavist at their core, are sludge pure and not so simple. Mighty hellbeasts wielding impossibly heavy slabs of ultrasludge, hurling dense chunks of black sound, moving in slow motion, but laying waste to all who cower before them. Neverending Eyehategod-ish high end feedback, dirge-y superdistorted bass grooves slowed waaaaaay down, until they're almost just big muddy smears of low end, guitars so low they sound like they're being dragged behind a truck through a tarpit. Those of you who have been fiending for more Khanate, Eyehategod, Moss, Bunkur, Monarch or who just need your head dunked in hot tar and beaten with feeding back guitars once in a while, may have just found the perfect prescription for your deathdoomdronedirgesludge fix.
This is one awesomely confusing record. We weren't sure what to expect, but it definitely wasn't this. Bursts of grinding downtuned death metal give way to shuffling jazzy lounge music, mathy riffing morphs into prog rock workouts which give way to simple dreampop strumming. There's Super spacious slowcore, reverbed guitars and shuffling jazz drums, weird underwater melodies and funereal horns... and Pell Mell style instrumental almost surf rock with total "Wipeout" drums.
It's all a little overwhelming, and confusing, but in a good way. And unlike a lot of genre jumping outfits, none of these disparate sounds, and impossible mash ups sound at all forced. In fact, the band has such a deft hand with arrangements, that when you're listening to Eleven Theaters, it's hard to imagine that any band would NOT combine all of these styles and genres. Lilting Appalachian folk, drifts and shimmers into some angular Amrep style dirge rock, tripped out dronelike shimmer, all glistening guitars and whirling ambience, gives way to ultra lush jazzy mope rock, complete with horn section and cymbal sizzle, huge pummeling sludge rock splinters into a completely noise drenched splattery free jazz drum freakout before breaking down into soft focus ambient drift only to explode into a monstrous dirge all over again.
Maybe these guys are mostly a metal band... but it's really hard to tell. Especially after taking this all in. Definitely mind expanding, and certainly mostly for those with a very wide range of tastes, but like we said, it's hard not to love this record, every part of it, from the dreamy to the heavy, from the dark and dangerous to the goofy and absurd. Really cool.
A brand new full length from local noisemaker Axolotl. We've carried loads of releases from this one man band, almost all of them cd-r's and thus almost all of them now out of print. Way Blank is actually, as far as we can tell, only the second proper cd (not cd-r) release so far, and we're glad it's a real cd, cuz it's pretty awesome.
Following up the Chemical Theater 12", Axolotly continues on the road toward a fuzzier dreamier place, more Gas and M83 and Tim Hecker than Yellow Swans and Wolf Eyes.
Everything is soft and fuzzy and bathed in a warm whirring glow. The opener "Penuma" sounds like it could have been plucked right off one of the Pop Ambient collections. Buried vocals, drifting melodic murk, all wrapped in thick slow shifting layers of fuzzy glistening sonic gauze. The second track is similarly murk and indistinct, but manages to build abstract rhythms out of crumbling distorted sonic fragments, a rumbling, creaking, whirring soundscape that builds into a massive wall of pitch shifting fuzz. Pretty glorious sounding actually. Massive and dramatic and so dreamy.
The rest of the tracks are all variations on the same glorious theme, blurry indistinct smears of foggy soft focus sound, buried melodies and distant sonic shadows, everything whirling and swirling, a cloudy ambient abstract drift through a warbly world of warm colors. A gorgeous new direction for Axolotl, one we definitely hope he'll continue to explore, joining his new sonic brethren, Gas, Tim Hecker, Fennesz, Basinski, et al., as they chart meandering dreamlike journeys into unknown worlds of sound.
Bad Brains were (are?) arguably the greatest hardcore band of all time, and this collection of killer footage from three consecutive nights of shows way back in 1982 definitively demonstrate what a powerhouse they were. 1982 was indeed a good year for H.R. and the boys for sure, and by the looks of the crowd bounding all over the stage -at times it's hard pick out the actual band members -- they can do no wrong.
The dreads may still short at this stage, and yes, there are a few Rasta soliloquies here and there, but for the most part, the mosh level stays high. Frontman H.R. is always in command, staking out his little portion of the stage, and while axeman Dr. Know is still developing his craft, even back then, he was already blowing minds. And it sure is pretty weird to see the bald white kids skanking around to the stony-Jah riddums... But that's part of what made Bad Brains so bad ass. It's a very racially diverse crowd and everyone seems to be there to mosh or skank and not to fight or fuck shit up. Which is pretty cool.
The footage itself has a wonderful quality to it, especially for the era, the audio is good and it seems as though the video was compiled using the best songs from each of the three nights at CBGB's. You can't go wrong with this, and we'd be hard pressed not to recommend this as CRUCIAL to your '80s hardcore video archive.
Whoa! From the get-go, Bobby Bare Jr. is revvin' up his country rock motor full throttle. Is he drivin' a tractor? Heck no! It's more of a bulldozer or steamroller! The Longest Meow just might be his most spirited full length to date (yes, studio albums included)! A somewhat unconventional live album, apparently it was recorded over a marathon eleven hour session back in March. His backing band on it is nothing short of star-studded. The Young Criminals Starvation League includes folks from My Morning Jacket, And You Will Know Us From The Trail Of Dead, and Lambchop. Yee haw! As an added treat, amid his rowdy Americana original numbers you'll find an odd barebones cover of The Pixies' "Where Is My Mind". Always endearingly loose and irreverent.
Y'know how sometimes a lil' itch can drive you totally nuts, downright crazy! We can assure you that Basement Jaxx's Crazy Itch Radio will not have the same effect. Sure it tingles and tickles, but in the way that might make you wanna get up 'n' shake yer moneymaker. Hmmph, did we just say that?! Anyhoo, this is a bubbly candy-coated dance club party record that goes splendidly well with the new one by Los Amigos Invisibles. These folks just wanna have a good time... won't you join 'em?
Although it's only a very small section inside our store, many of our most devout and curious shoppers have found gem after gem in our Italian Prog section. Franco Battiato is one of those gems for sure. One of those endlessly creative artists who completely defies categorization. Sweeping in scope and eccentric in all the right ways it's no surprise that Battiato has finally begun to get the attention he so rightly deserves, as folks like Jim O'Rourke have gone out of their way to champion these forward thinking sounds from decades ago. Released in 1973, Pollution is a psychedelic synth masterpiece foreshadowing so much of what was to come in the landscape of electronic music. With out-of-this-world synths that make Rick Wakeman's playing seem pedestrian, and an otherworldly dimension orchestrated to perfection. Like David Axelrod getting super psychedelic and arranging a record for Ash Ra Tempel. So extravagant yet totally coherent. These sounds are so alive, so full of color, wonder and beauty. It goes without saying that as more folks discover this record it will probably be sampled to death, and we wouldn't be all that surprised if Four Tet, DJ Shadow, or Plaid hadn't already borrowed a bit here and there. Like Jean Claude Vannier's L'Enfant Assassin Des Mouches, this is an early '70s psych-prog masterpiece that is an across the board AQ favorite!
Beck might be trying a bunch of new things in terms of presentation and packaging (for one thing the cover is a blank grid on which you can arrange the provided very Vice Magazine looking stickers), but it sure feels like he's retreading a lot of old terrain musically. Some songs sound like total rehashings of his 'hits' from Odelay and Sea Change. Actually two lyrics keep taking turns popping into our collective aQ head when we listen to this album. They are Steve Miller's "time keeps on slippin'... slippin'... slippin' into the fyooochaaa" from back in the '70s and Beck's own "I got two turntables and a microphone" from "Where It's At" (on his Odelay album). That said, all in all though this *is* a solid Beck album. It just didn't register the "Holy shit, this is groundbreaking stuff!" reaction that all the pre-release press made it out to be. It's just good ol' Beck recrafted and redesigned with fresh cool sounds and stickers too!
We play this game around AQ called "Why? Do you like it?" It's designed to not let us be prejudiced by preconceived notions when listening to music. Once in a while when we're playing a record and a co-worker asks we're listing to, rather than just telling them, we'll respond instead with "Why? Do you like it?" Thus the person has to decide if they should be honest, risking embarrassment, 'cause if they say they hate it, it might be something they own and supposedly love, and if they say they love it, it could be that record they claim to hate. It actually works out pretty well. We've all had to fess up to liking stuff we supposedly hated. And we've discovered that records we thought we loved (or at least owned) that we didn't really care for all that much.
It's kind of hard to be unaffected by all the things -other- than the music. Stuff you read, how popular a band is, other folks who like the band. It all colors your opinions whether you want it to or not. So, we always just sort of figured we would hate the Black Keys. I'm not sure we ever even heard them, they just sort of seemed like a band we would hate. Then we went to Arthurfest in L.A. last year, and happened upon a stage where some bad ass blown out psychedelic blues rock band was completely destroying. A two piece, just guitar and drums, and they were loud and heavy, soulful and freaked out. Well, it ends up it was the Black Keys and we were forced, happily we might add, to change our tune. And while once in a while, the Black Keys will dip into bad blues or boring jam rock, for the most part, we have to admit, we really dig these guys! After that fateful show, we went back and checked out their records and that just cemented it. These guys kick ass.
So here we have the latest, not sure if this is the 4th or 5th, but it's another blast of blown out proto-metal psychedelic blues. We're usually opposed to bands who choose to ditch an instrument. No bass player, just drums and bass, whatever. It usually sounds like something is missing. Not so here. These guys sound a little stripped down sure, but it suits them. Gives the guitar room to slither all over the place. A warm wild buzz, over a relentlessly groovy drummer, who pounds and shuffles, and hangs all over every riff, like he's adding his own imaginary bass lines. And the vocals are killer, lazy and sun baked, perfectly complimenting the fuzzy psychrock guitar jams. We hear a lot of Groundhogs, some Zeppelin, which is awesome! A few folks here, thought they heard some Fabulous Thunderbirds. Which is maybe not so. It all sort of depends on what sort of musical background you're bringing to the table. Either way, it's hard to resist this Magic Potion, a gloriously fuzzy, laid back, groove laden, buzzy blues rawk and roll concoction.
There was a time when the kind of youthful angsty fury of bands like the Blood Brothers and The Locust wouldn't have been touched with a ten foot pole by major labels. My how times change. Seems the virulent noise those kids make is pretty darn marketable these days. Think a band of razor-wielding temper tantrums. Amid the squelchy scratch-yer-eyes-out vocalizations lurk little operatics a la Mars Volta's Cedric Bixler. Well, with the exception of the seventh track "Spit Shine Your Black Clouds" which falls more in line with the danceable post-punk groove of The Rapture...er, Gang Of Four. For fans of At The Drive-In, The Locust, The Mars Volta, and Nation Of Ulysses.
If you thought the last few Blut Aus Nord records were weird, and freaked out, and fucked up, then this new disc is gonna have you either cowering in the corner with all the lights off and clutching some sort of talisman to ward off whatever the fuck kind of evil this record is emanating, or you'll be scratching your head wondering "What the fuck?" Or if you're anything like us, you'll be doing both, and loving it.
Any vestige of buzzing black metal has been shed and in its place a completely abstract, confusional world of muddy blackness. This music is so weird it's almost impossible to describe it in words. It's most definitely not black metal. It is certainly black, or at least some very very dark shade of gray, but it would be hard to definitively describe this as metal. Imagine all the super Slinty post rock parts from the most recent Deathspell Omega record, take all of those parts, play them all at once, some forward, some in reverse, run them all through banks of effects, and you'll have something like Mort. There are no blast beats, not mosquito-like riffing, in fact Mort hovers a lot closer to doom than to black metal.
But even doom wouldn't really begin to describe the loping lurching weirdness. Every track is a strange assemblage of damaged drum machines, dizzying circusy keyboards a dense oppressive swirl of guitars that sound like they are constantly being tuned and detuned. Super woozy and sea sick sounding. Completely and almost overwhelmingly chaotic. Like the songs are constantly threatening to fall apart at any moment. Which lends the proceedings a certain amount of tension and dramatic gravitas. Leads drift in and out, and sort of warble and wail, before breaking a part and sinking into the murk. The vocals are like another layer of low end rumble, a thick reverberating whir. Everything constantly shifting and blurring, pitches shifting up and down, swarms of creepy little FX appear and then fade away, long stretches of black ambience, punctuated by bursts of near industrial pummel. So weird. But it's mainly the riffs that make this record as fucked up as it is. They're not black metal riffs really, barely even metal riffs, some sort of gothy no-wave sounding deconstructed guitar torture. Sort of like if they had Greg Ginn come in and play a bunch of angular fucked up Black Flag riffs and then slowed them WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY down and doused them in effects and randomly adjusted the tape speed, so the band and the various instruments seem to slowly shift in and out of phase, occasionally falling together in one huge blast of black fury, only to slowly drift to pieces again.
So weird and dark, and strangely mournful and melancholy. Some bastardized mix of Abruptum, M83 and Nortt. A baffling and brilliant, blissed out no-wave black doom ambient post rock masterpiece.
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We've never really reviewed any records by either of these cats, even though they've both been causing quite a stir in the electronic underground and have a bunch of releases under their belts. But what better way to induct them into AQ land than with this two way split.
Dutch mash up master Bong-Ra presents a massive forty minute mix, dumping in everything and the kitchen sink, HI NRG techno, nineties rave music, reggae, drum and bass, gabber, two step garage, even some Crazy World Of Arthur Brown. We barely recognize any of it, but it's all so good, and the mix is so perfect, it -almost- sounds like all of these bits and pieces were meant to be together. Gloriously schizophrenic, super manic and relentlessly fun and funky. Some essential dance party music for sure.
But never one to be outdone, Belgian dancefloor destroyer Sickboy offers up his own 30 minute megamix, another dizzying swirl but this one is HEAVY on the hip hop, lots of killer rappers and classic joints all tangled up with manic drill and bass, European house music, dancehall and pretty much everything else under the sun. The rhythm stays pretty constant, a relentless techno throb peppered with bits of Sean Paul, soul and RnB and lots of stuttery synth stabs, hiccuping beats, chopped and screwed vocals, and tons of random samples. Phew. We don't even dance and we're exhausted.
When we reviewed the debut full length from The Bronx way back in 2003, we described them as alternately sounding like a metalcore Strokes, a poppier Coalesce, or some bastard offspring of Rocket From The Crypt, Quicksand, and the Hives. And come record number two, not too much has changed. This is supercharged, sweat soaked, furious, foot stomping wild and wooly, heavy and groovy rock and roll. The only real difference is that their sonic palette has definitely expanded a bit. Some tracks are full on blown out near grind metalcore, others are all slithery swagger like some Aerosmith / Stooges mashup. Still others are some sort of stadium ready Southern rock all big choruses and plenty of distorted twang. A couple tracks actually remind us of long gone aggro rock faves Barkmarket, and once in a while we hear some At The Drive In, and the fact is, that the Bronx are a little bit of all of those things. But they take all of those bands, whip the various parts into a serious frenzy and go fucking nuts. And it's pretty damn irresistible. The songs are catchy and fun, heavy and fucked up, but like all the bands they borrow from, they're probably even more lethal live. But for now, if you're in need of some seriously freaked out RAWK, this should definitely hit the spot.
First off, this is the current, stoner rock Buffalo from Argentina, not the '70s stoner rock Buffalo from Australia. We reviewed this Buffalo's Temporada de Huracanes album a couple years ago, and also their more recent split with Astroqueen. Now they're back with an equally rockin', and equally Kyuss-y / Queens Of The Stone Age-y follow up. Yep, they might owe ol' Josh Homme a royalty check or two, but you can't fault 'em for doing what they do, really damn well. They've got big fuzzy guitars and big, desert rock melodies, that's for sure. Lots of moody / heavy dynamics. If you like their countrymen Los Natas, you should definitely give these guys a listen too. Imported on the slow boat from Argentina, so you gotta be patient if we run out...
Though the album title conjures images of the dental variety, there's nothing of the toothy nor toothsome sort here. And although this is a new Califone album, the music actually harkens back to the warm, earthy sound of Ben Massarella and Tim Rutili's former band Red Red Meat much more so than Califone. Indeed it's more oriented towards the song than the soundtrack, and what fine songs they are! Some of them haunt while some others lope and some groove a bit. And y'know what else? Some of us even think songs like "A Chinese Actor" and "Our Kittens See Ghosts" sound more like a Beck album than the new Beck album. Strange, eh? The band also does a wonderful cover of Psychic TV's "The Orchids" which apparently was a central influential force on this album as a whole. Recommended.
Second album (we never reviewed the first, but it was great!) from this all-instrumental, uber-technical, quasi-death metal act. We say quasi 'cause Canvas Solaris are NOT all about being brutal. Yeah, a lot of this is pretty aggro. But then a lot of it is quite calm and delicate too. What they ARE all about is demonstrating some jaw-dropping chops and songwriting complexity. Dizzying, stop on a dime stuff. Fretboard frenzies matched only by the inhuman drumming. So, if you're into shred for shred's sake, they've got what you want! Conversely, if words like "progressive" and "technical" and "fusion" turn you off, forget about this... And it's definitely not all metal-sounding. Amidst all the brain melting million-notes-per-minute heaviness there are tracks based entirely on ethnic, acoustic instrumentation, or on synthesizer generated atmospherics. That makes Penumbra Diffuse more, well, diffuse than their previous release. But no less intricate, creative, or dissonant! More ambient, however. That is, if you can actually say that something that mostly sorta sounds like The Fucking Champs meet Meshuggah is at all 'ambient'!
Slip this new Capitol Years album up alongside the latest one from the Pernice Brothers, and you'll have the yummiest soft pop double scoop. Really, the two go together perfectly. Their lilting vocal harmonies and chiming guitars recall the splendor of Big Star and The Raspberries. Despite the album's title which might lead you to expect an electric dancefloor packer like Radio 4 or The Rapture, these eleven polished reverb-drenched songs will prolly have you swaying gently in the autumn leaves instead. Take it nice and easy. Soooooo good.
It's been a while since we've heard from the Cardiacs, UK's mightiest, spazz-prog pop outfit ever. No fault of theirs, it just took some organizing to get another big batch of Cardiacs discs sent over. This one's not a new one but along with Guns (now sadly out of print) and Songs For Ships And Irons it's another of our favorites.
Our pal Jussi from Circle might just be the biggest Cardiacs fan in the world (just narrowly edging us out) having subjected Andee to hours and hours of listening and viewing when he was in Finland, prompting him to undertake a secret mission when he was in the UK next, to track down and purchase ALL of the Cardiacs records. That 'all' amounted to close to 20 different titles, so he settled for 5 or 6, and loved them all. As did everyone we played them for. So, since the band has NO distribution in the states, we contacted the band directly and convinced them to send us discs, and here we are. Andee now does own every single Cardiacs record and loves every one of 'em. We listed Guns and Songs For Ships And Irons, a year or two back, both going over like gangbusters, so we figured next time we sorted out a big Cardiacs order we'd get a bunch of Heaven Born And Ever Bright.
So here we are. This one starts off with an epic, lush Queen-like (the band, not the, er, Queen) fanfare. Martial drums, thick swaths of organ and a chorus of vocals all singing praise to the band's own label The Alphabet Business Concern and then it's down to business, the business of impossible convoluted lush mini-epics. But how to describe the sound? Well when we first heard the Cardiacs we thought Toy Dolls meets Uz Jsme Doma meets Queen meets the Rocky Horror Picture Show soundtrack meets XTC but more punk rock, and more prog. And that still pretty much hits it right on the head. Madly strummed guitars, manic drumming, a chorus of vocals, some high, some low, mainman Tim Smith handling the majority, but often sparring with one or more other vocalists, angular riffing and dense swirls of sound over bouncy rhythms, streaks of circusy keyboards, and maddeningly catchy hooks everywhere.
Totally over the top, super dramatic and wild, like every song is some demonic musical brought to life. Imagine some circle of hell, where demented musical theater freaks and prog obsessed metalheads and nerdy twee popsters are all forced to collaborate on 3 minute long musical plays for eternity. And it's been thousands of years, so everyone has gone good and mad, and this is their most recent batch. Fucking brilliant.
Easily, one of the most important reissues of 2006, East Of The Sun available again though Andrew Chalk's own Faraway Press, complete with breathtakingly resplendent packaging: a silkscreened and embossed printing. These recordings originally came out in 1994 as a cassette, released through Ora's in-house label, Ora being an early collective that revolved around Chalk, Colin Potter, and Darren Tate with occasional assistance from Jonathan Coleclough, mnortham, Lol Coxhill, and a handful of like-minded British drone enthusiasts. A few years later, the Italian label Hic Sunt Leones convinced Chalk to reissue the cassette in digital form. That CD version of East Of The Sun compressed the two sides of the cassette into a single 50 minute piece and was flushed out with some complementary dronescaping. Chalk was never happy with the Hic Sunt Leones version; and thus his reissue of the album returns to the original version found on the cassette, now gloriously remastered in its entirety. For those persnickety types, the 17 minutes or so which concluded the Hic Sunt Leones version is not here; but that is a minor loss compared to the pinnacle of drone-based minimalism found here.
Sure, Eno's ambient records On Land and Thursday Afternoon were milestones in the realm of ambient music, setting an impressionist context through which any number of the images, thoughts, and ideals could be imagined; but that strategy was perfected by Andrew Chalk on a couple of records. There was his ephemeral album Sumac in collaboration with Jonathan Coleclough, there was the first Mirror album Eye Of The Storm, and there's East Of The Sun. Very dark without becoming unbearably cold, East Of The Sun is a constant bloom of nocturnal frequencies, whose origins may be thoroughly blurred bass guitar or possibly some resonant artifact from Chalk's acoustic work in Organum. Regardless, the resultant drones drift with no beginning and no end, merely rippling, reflecting, and turning upon themselves in a perpetual, very slow motion turbulence. Leaves tumbling in autumnal twilight. Fog spilling over coastal hills. Moonlight tickling the agitated surface of a pond. Any of these organic references for meditation on simplicity to reach the sublime and the profound could easily apply to Chalk's East Of The Sun. Not just recommended, this is required listening.
Our favorite Finnish label and perhaps one of our favorite labels anywhere on the globe go into the vaults for this one and we're so happy they did. Chamellows (aka Sleeping Bags) is the scrappy, playful, naive pop side of Lau Nau (Laura Naukkarinen, whose Locust release from a few years back was a big AQ favorite!) and visual artist Mikko Kuorinki. Pulled from various limited edition 7"s and cassette only releases these are recordings that date back as far as a decade ago. This is sweet and demented lo-fi pop with lively experimentation and an answering machine quality recording that suits these songs so perfectly. Had us thinking of what Ariel Pink might sound like if he were from Finland. Or The Shaggs and Daniel Johnston brought into a vacant house in the middle of Finland with some ragtag equipment and some yummy psychedelics on the tip of their tongues. So warped and wonderful!
Previously available only in the now out of print triple cd set An Angel Moves Too Fast To See: Selected Works 1971-1989, "Two Gongs", that set's highlight is finally available as a single disc.
Two huge gongs are beaten, rubbed, bowed, struck and shaken to produce an unbelievably rich, rumbling, moaning drone, with overtones that shift restlessly and endlessly changing the emotions of the piece every second. Dark and languorous, deep and powerful. Fans of that Dielectric Karen Stackpole gongs 12" we listed a year or two back will love this, as will fans of Flynt, Maclise, Cale, Coleclough, Organum and other masters of the mighty drone. So awesome.
To truly understand our love of this band we have to go WAY back. Before they even existed in fact, to a time where we were all loving a band called the Replacements. Not that we don't STILL love the replacements. But back in the late eighties, the Replacements were everything we wanted in a rock band. Heavy, noisy, sloppy, drunk, wild and catchy as hell. But, then we discovered Soul Asylum, who had the same sort of raggedy rocking Midwestern charm, but who were a little more punk rock (having started out as a band called Loud Fast Rules after all) and with songs that were a little more fucked up. Sort of like a 'weirder' Replacements. But there was another step after that. One that probably only a handful of folks took. Sure we were loving Soul Asylum, but we were still longing for something a little heavier and weirder and more fucked up. Which was to be found in a little band called Skunk, who had a couple records on TwinTone near the end of the eighties, after which they disappeared without a trace.
Which is a damn shame. With all this indie rock crate digging going on lately, someone should definitely grab those two Skunk records and stick em on a single disc and reissue them RIGHT NOW! The Skunk song "(I'm Such A) Chump / (To Be The) Chump" is like the "Freebird" or "Stairway To Heaven" of indie rock. Super long, tons of parts, completely spic and packed with raging punk rock riffs, sweet indie jangle, Maiden-ish harmony guitar leads, and a super bad ass raspy vocal. But what does all this have to do with Chavez? Well, one third of the long lost Skunk eventually ended up in Chavez, and we can't help but hear some of what we loved so much in Skunk, in the much more modern and angular, but no less indie and jangly Chavez.
So here we have the ultimate, and as far as we know, absolutely comprehensive, Chavez collection, gathering up both the albums, Gone Glimmering and Ride The Fader, all the b-side tracks from every single, an unreleased studio track, two videos, and a tour documentary, TWO massive books with all the art from the albums, the singles and tons of extra liner notes and photos. We did list the two Chavez records a while back, two records we loved but that predated the AQ list, and even then we thought about making them records of the week, but they were nearly a decade old, so it seemed a little strange. But now with this deluxe double cd / dvd reissue set, the kind folks at Matador have presented us with the perfect opportunity to make -both- records record of the week AT ONCE! Which makes perfect sense really. Gone Glimmering and Ride The Fader are the perfect one-two punch. Two discs of thick angular guitars, strange start stop riffing, a sort of indie rock AC/DC. Catchy and heavy, but so subtle and jangly and pretty weird too. We love them both equally, so this set is a godsend. But let's dip into the reviews of the individual records for more on just how dang great these discs really are.
Gone Glimmering: Chavez were hardly unknown, or even underground -- this record was released on Matador after all -- but they were one of those bands that just seemed to sort of slip under everyone's radar, which is unfortunate (or perhaps for the best) as they could've easily been massively huge MTV stadium stars next to the likes of Nirvana and Soundgarden. They had the heaviness and the catchiness that came to define grunge bands of the time, but Chavez's approach to song-writing was still idiosyncratic and immediately recognizable -- they have a way of just having the guitars and drums going, the guitars playing a simple ringing repetitive not-quite harmonic, building an eerie sort of drone until the bass finally cuts in, leveling buildings and setting the groove. This unique separation of instruments on tracks like "Break Up Your Band", "The Ghost By the Sea" and the minor-epic closer "Relaxed Fit" creates the perfect counter-point of tension for the eventual explosive cohesion when the four members coalesce into an insidiously catchy chorus. And then there's "Pentagram Ring" -- the best song Nirvana never wrote and one of the all-time catchiest jump-around-and-smash-your-bedroom-to-shit teenage angst anthems ever!
Ride The Fader: This 1996 album from Chavez is a decidedly mellower affair than the noise-drenched assault of their riveting debut Gone Glimmering. Ride the Fader is a logical and dare we say more mature follow-up, with better and almost heavier production than before. Now when we say it's mellower that's not meant to imply lazier or less intense, instead, the band has loosed some of its Nirvana-inspired grunge trappings and opted for a more patient and understated tone, mixing menace and melody not unlike a heavier Slint. Not to say that the quartet can't still kick out the super whacked-out feedback fuzz on such house-levelers as "Tight Around the Jaws" and the epic harmonic heaviness of "You Must Be Stopped", once again leaving their most massive riffage for the mighty album closer. But mostly these are elegantly pretty, finely crafted and astutely affecting songs that stand alongside other practitioners of 'slow rock', from a band interested in both the subtle hook and blown amps. If mixing Floor, Low, Slint and Nirvana makes sense to you, this record has everything you want.
So there you have it. Anyone who missed out on Chavez completely are in for a big ol' treat. And fans of the band will absolutely want this too, remastered sound, tons of liner notes, all the singles tracks in one place, videos, an unreleased song, plus you won't have to feel too bad about rebuying 'em as this double cd / dvd set is priced like a single cd!
The immediately likeable Chin Up Chin Up follow the tried and true indie rock template set by bands like Pinback, Modest Mouse, Built To Spill with the punchy upstart attitude of bands like Hot Hot Heat and Maximo Park. Extra boyish and extra catchy on this their third full length, these Chicago based fellas have got it down! And wouldn't you know it, this was recorded by Brian Deck who's also worked his studio magic on Modest Mouse and Iron & Wine so you know he's well-versed in traversing this terrain.
Cold War Kids are like the new Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. Before you or I have even heard a single note of music, we've already read about them in every magazine, every blog, we know we're supposed to be prepared to love them more than any band we've ever heard. It's weird, good bands do deserve to be hyped, but at some point that sort of hype does as much damage as it does good. We were pretty much prepared to hate these guys. But you know what, fuck it. We don't care what we're supposed to do, or like, or think. We threw this on and tried to forget everything we'd heard and read, and you know what, this is pretty darn good. A groovy slinky bluesy indie rock heavy on the piano, guitar jangle, simple shuffling percussion that sometimes builds into a serious thump, but it's the vocals that pretty much define their sound. A gorgeous high wailing croon, a mix of Jack White, Robert Plant, the guys from Wolfmother and Rufus Wainwright. Going from slithery to super dramatic, whispery to campy, but always super emotional, wrapped languidly around any melody that comes its way. You can definitely see these guys getting huge. They're simultaneously a jangly indie rock band and a very theatrical chamber rock performance troop. They probably kill in tiny clubs, they sound huge and flamboyant and wild, but they'll probably end up in theaters and galleries, performing for the upper crust and art elite. But maybe you'll get lucky and see them before that happens. Might already be too late.
Be sure and stick around for the hidden secret track, a killer lo-fi gospel blues jam that sounds like Wainwright via Dylan! Nice.
Colleen is the only music maker we can think of who can so perfectly crawl into our hearts, curling up and making it feel like home, with such delicacy and the softest sweetest touch. While not the official follow up to her gorgeous sophomore outing, The Golden Morning Breaks, this is a collection of recordings she made when commissioned by the French national radio station to record music for a special broadcast of Atelier De Creation Radiophonique (Radiophonic Workshop Of Creation). In taking on this commission Colleen decided to use the opportunity to further explore her love of and work with music boxes. Using everything from miniature music boxes hidden in 1940's birthday cards to huge Victorian parlor boxes, she hijacks and tweaks these boxes to create even more melodic, haunting, and beautiful creations. Whether playing them with her fingers or using a mallet, resampling, adding delay, reverb or pitch shifting, Colleen is one of those rare souls who can somehow make the sound of music boxes even more precious, delicate and dreamlike. Luckily she was happy enough with the results that she allowed Leaf to release this under the name Colleen Et Les Boites (Colleen and the Music Boxes). And once again we wish we could commission Colleen to make music for all of our dreams. So totally beautiful!
Customers have been bugging us for a while now to track down some music from German psychedelic stoner rock outfit, and boy are we glad we did. Huge Hendrixian guitars, sun baked and lysergic, like someone snuck into Kyuss's old practice space and swiped THAT guitar tone, but then somehow managed to make it even MORE druggy and fuzzy. Furious blown out space rock jams, that are HUGE and THICK with snarling psychedelic guitars and pounding drums. But Color Haze balance these drug fueled freakouts with long stretches of jazzy shuffle, shimmering cymbals, muted riffing, simple throbbing bass, but it only sets you up to have you head caved in when the hammer falls. And fall it does, hard and heavy and so gloriously downtuned and freaked out.
And the Hendrix thing is actually not all that far off, we might mention Santana too. Color Haze are a weird mash up of epic heart-of-the-sun space rock a la Monster Magnet and Hawkwind, super overblown acid fried stoner rock a la Kyuss, but with plenty of that classic Hendrix guitar fuzz, and dreamily psychedelic Santanian stretched out jams.
Not sure exactly what it is about these guys, but when they lock into a jam, we get totally lost, completely carried away, and when the track finally winds down, we sort of shake out head, all bleary eyed, and try to remember where the hell we are and how we got there. Which probably tells you all you need to know about the potency of these super stoned, drug drenched, space rock freakouts for sure.
Last list (#249) we reviewed the quite lovely Hundloka, Flockblomstriga 1 cd on Hapna by this Swedish sound artiste... in which we mentioned another release of his, devoted entirely to FAKE field recordings of nature sounds. That is, what sound remarkably like real bird calls and frog croakings and insect buzzings but are totally artificial constructs made by Dahl himself. No actual creatures involved. That's this 36 minute disc, Habitat. And it's fantastic, if you (like us) revel in the organic textures of outdoorsy soundscapes. Knowing how it was made -- at home with computer, electronics, accordion, recorder, speakers, toys, etc. -- is an interesting twist, but concept aside it's just a really nice listen. And (almost) totally convincing. If you didn't know better you'd imagine Dahl stalking critters in the wild with his microphone...but there'd be something strange, sorta plastic and brightly, wrongly colored about the landscape, enhanced with CGI animation perhaps. Very pleasant and somehow peculiar...
This cd-r release is limited to 100 numbered copies, of which we got the last ten of 'em!! The label is sold out, we won't be getting any more...
Nobody does suave, sleek, atmospheric electronic pop better then Air, so it's no surprise that this solo outing from one half of the French duo, hits the same spot pretty much dead on. Jean-Benoit Dunckel took time in between Air's follow up to Talkie Walkie and their work on Charlotte Gainsbourg's upcoming release to make his first solo record. This definitely leans toward the more song orientated pop leanings of Air. Still so lush, dreamy and sensual but with melodies and vocals that find their way into your head and don't ever go away. Catchy and inviting, this has bedtime romance written all over it. One of those great records to lounge around in the morning to, or to use as a secret weapon when you want to put the moves on that special someone. THE make-out record of 2006.
It's been a while since we heard from these Montreal musicmakers. From the sounds of this new album, it sure seems like they've been polishing their chops, and sharpening their songwriting quills in the interim. This elegant Canadian band has actually been together for over a decade, but while other similarly art-pop minded Canadian indie groups (Broken Social Scene, Hidden Cameras, Arcade Fire to name just three) have been flooding the playing field both at home and abroad, Murray Lightburn and co. have taken their own sweet time -- releasing their debut album in 2000 and what is their third full length proper now six years later. The (typically Canadian self-deprecatingly titled) Gang Of Losers is considerably more accessible and straightforward than The Dears we remember. Each song is far less ornate and theatrical than those on either 2004's No Cities Left or 2000's End Of A Hollywood Bedtime Story. Nonetheless, the group's engaging pop dramatics continue to remind us of old Pulp. A good thing! Much like Jarvis Cocker, Lightburn has definitely got some great slightly tweaked yet lavish pop sensibilities of his own. One question tho': For the main melody in the ninth song "Whites Only Party" did the band borrow the "Perfume" descending piano line from the latest Sparks album? It's certainly a catchy lil' line in a catchy lil' tune... er, both of 'em! Heartily recommended for fans of all of the abovementioned artists, really!
Bonus: Included are three U.S. exclusive tracks ("The Highest", a demo version of "Whites Only Party", and an acoustic version of "There Goes My Outfit").
We love Nate Denver. And his Neck. How could we not? He's so cool and cute and funny and nice and he's one talented motherfucker. From wielding a string-ed stick in the free skronk noise merchants Total Shutdown, to his strummy folk warblings, to his fucked up metal obsessed weirdness, to his masterful vocalizing in the now defunct Dig That Body Up It's Alive, to his weird rambling white boy hip hop, to his amazing artwork and completely demented stories, hard to resist.
So here we have Nate's latest project, a book of short stories, 50x50 stories he calls 'em, which means 50 stories, each 50 words long, accompanied by 50 drawings. The stories are awesome. From wacked and surreal, to simple and poignant, from awww shucks to what the fuck. Sweet and sour, happy and sad, usually somehow both. Nate's gorgeous and mesmerizing mini elephant artwork is all over the place too, but let's give some props to Mr. Zak Sally, formerly of slowcore legends Low, now master of the La Mano publishing house, the man who helped layout, design and print this puppy, cuz it is one beautiful looking little tome. The pages are all rough edged, printed on gorgeous thick textured paper stock. The cover is a sort of irridescent grey, with a dizzying mini elephant design printed in metallic silver ink, with built in dust jacket, and more printed metallic elephants on the end papers. And all over the book there are really funny little testimonials from Mick Turner of The Dirty Three, Mark Whiteley, the editor of Slap Skateboarding magazine, MF Grimm and Tom Araya of Slayer ("I hate this book.") as well as an introduction by Adam Jones of Tool!
As if that weren't enough, also included is a brand new Nate Denver's Neck full length album, "Ghost Alarm", packed with Denver's sweet folky ramblings, seriously funky hip hop jams, his playful white boy flow in full effect (he teams up with MF Grimm on one track!!), lots of little random snippets, Nate as a child, a botched shout out from the GZA, a killer introduction with a bunch of super stars giving Nate a shout out (see if you can figure out who's who), and all sorts of other random sonic weirdness.
Absolutely fucking amazing, looking AND sounding. All Hail Nate Denver!! And his all powerful Neck!!
From the same label that brought us recent bouts of brilliantly fucked black metal from Wolok and Lorn as well as classic releases from Blodulv and Glorior Belli comes this killer split, featuring two grim legends from the Swedish black metal underground.
The awesomely named Dimhymn do some impossible to describe black doom classic rock? Or something. Not sure what else to call it. Super blown out distorted black chug, haunting high end guitar licks, and incredibly catchy little bridges, a plodding dirge that sort of lopes along before the music suddenly screeches to a halt and is replaced by some classical piano, only to immediately be stomped on by a huge black cloud. A massive furious riffy freakout, guitars in the red and crumbling all over the place. The drums so hot that the cymbals' sizzle threaten to overwhelm everything. And before you know it the music blinks out again and in its place a haunting alien ambience that bloops and bleeps before once again the blackness descends. The song ends with mournful reverbed trumpet that sort of drifts off into the ether. WHAT THE FUCK? So awesome.
The second track is a huge chunk of black drone, pointillist piano dropped into a bleak soundscape of thick grinding fuzz and insect like melodies.
The final track starts off with melancholy guitar melodies before launching into a SUPER catchy groovy black thrash, with soaring melodies, and massive almost Nirvana like breakdowns, the sound still totally overblown and in the red. And again, the weird reverbed trumpet pops in without any warning, disappearing just as fast. The track ends with more of the classical piano from the first track. Wow. So amazing. We hear lots of weird black metal, but Dimhymn's half of the split has catapulted them damn near right to the front of the fucked black metal line!
Tough to follow up something like that, so fellow Swedes Hypothermia don't try to out-weird Dimhymn, but somehow manage to be just as bizarre but in an entirely different way. Epic fuzzed out glacial dirge, thick riffs spread out in a black smear, the drums a caveman plod, and some of the most fucked vocals ever. From weird, something-caught-in-the-throat sort of strangulated grunts and mewls, to guttural growls that occasionally break into falsetto-y squeaks as if the vocalist hit puberty right in the middle of recording. Sounds funny, but the overall effect is more creepy than anything. The finish the disc off with an epic 16 minute midtempo buzzscape. Looped riffs, totally repetitive and hypnotic, occasionally the drums break into a not-so-fast blast, but for the most part this is drone drenched monochromatic black dirge rock. Almost like a grim black metal Circle, or a blackened Spacemen 3, all stretched out fuzz guitar and endless trancelike riffing. So great.
A pretty much perfect split. Two more impossibly damaged and absolutely essential outsider black metal bands to add to the ever growing list!
Whoa. Argentina's most "weird-ass" Sabbath stylers seem to have gone totally black coffee, forget the decaf. Grinding growling galloping METAL here, folks. Sure there's still proggy changes and acoustic guitars and mad laughter and all sorts of whatnot, but the main focus of these eleven tracks is pretty much kicking your ass with crunchy guitar riffage!! And then barking savagely in gruff Spanish at your crumpled form. Sabbathy doom is still an aspect of their sound, but we'd never mistake this for Cathedral, let alone Kyuss. It's way too fierce and thrashy. If you've heard their previously reviewed (and highlighted) Luciferatu album, or their split with Abdullah, just imagine that but with less crazy "clowning around" we guess you could say. Less eccentric / more EVIL. Or less '70s / more '80s. Perhaps they've been listening to a lot of old Slayer and Celtic Frost lately?! In any event, they're still pretty much our favorite metal band from Argentina, no doubt (we're counting Los Natas as more of a stoner/psych outfit). By the way, we imported these directly from South America and when/if we run out, it'll probably be a while before we get more, just so you know.
We've proudly proclaimed Ukrainian black metal horde Drudkh to be our favorite band from that particularly kick ass region (although we pretty much love all of those bands: Hate Forest, Nokturnal Mortum, Astrofaes, Lucifugum, etc.) and we've been meaning to get some of their back catalog in after reviewing their most recent record Blood In Our Wells.
Lebedynyy Shlyakh aka The Swan Road, just might be our favorite of all of their records, released barely a year before Blood In Our Wells, it's a super dark and emotional, brittle lo-fi dronelike blast of Burzumic buzz but with all sorts of strange parts and sounds, weird arrangements and very distinctly Drudkh-like elements. It definitely gets harder and harder to describe exactly what makes one frosty grim black metal record stand out, they all buzz and blast, everything is fuzzy and black, and of course grim and harsh and cult and cold and brutal and pummeling. So it usually comes down to the songwriting, the riffs, the arrangements, even some sonic subtleties that just can't be so easily put into words.
With Drudkh, it's just that. They imbue their sound with all sorts of unlikely sonic elements that perfectly balance the more traditional black metal sounds. Lots of the riffs are strangely angular and distinctly un-black metal, almost like post rock parts of classic metal riffs. There are brief bits of acoustic guitar, often hovering beneath a thick swirl of blackened hiss and crumbling fuzz. Plus there are all sorts of strange folky elements, and some super emotional minor key leads, that just sort of soar and hover, all majestic and so epic. But it's not so much those parts and pieces as the way they are integrated, the way the songs exude a sort of magic and chemistry. And the thing is, Lebedynyy Shlyakh is not so hateful and grim, it's weirdly hopeful sounding, more musical than a lot of black metal. Minor key sure, but more melancholy than miserable. And the arrangements and strange melodies evoke a sort of epic loping post rock more than the bleak buzz of Burzum or Mayhem. Which definitely makes Drudkh a whole 'nother beast. Mathy and melodic, with lots of unexpected twists and turns, structural and melodic, buzzing and black, but a buzzing blackness twisted into entirely new shapes. Revisiting this disc it's easy to see why we were (and still are) so blown away. SO RECOMMENDED!
Ensemble is actually one fellow named Olivier Alary, but he isn't alone. He's made a habit of working with fine singers (Chanelle Kimber and Bjork to name just two!). Here on his sophomore album he's enlisted the vocal support of Lou Barlow, Camille Claverie, Mileece and Chan Marshall. Alary clearly allows his guests' respective styles to dictate each song's direction -- the Barlow song sounds Barlow-penned, the Marshall one closely resembles a Cat Power tune, and we're not familiar with Mileece but her collaboration is markedly different from the rest in its downtempo groove. That said, the overall vibe is one of Sea And Cake-y breezy mellowness and softly lit Sondre Lerche-esque smoothness, so much so that this is almost like yachting music for the indie set. Time to take your boat out on the lake.
We were sent a whole bunch of cd-r's by the mysterious Expo '70 a few months back, each one with a strange cool cover, one was some seventies styled naked females making out, another (this one in fact) was an homage to one of those seventies Actuel jazz record label album sleeves. We were already kind of sold, but then we threw them on, and WOAH!! Not at all what we expected. We were imagining some sort of droney free noise whatever, but instead, we got an earful of some timeless cosmic space music, some lost ambient krautrock. So spaced out and lovely. We listed Exquisite Lust on the last list and everyone went nuts for it, so we decided to list another one, and it's just as good. A bit heavier on the guitar, but still completely and utterly droney and dreamlike.
Surfaces is a non-stop journey through inner space, an abstract world of drifting guitars, stretched out into whispy drifts of shimmery ambience, strummed steel strings reverberate over muted propulsive thrum, huge glistening expanses of thick flowing whir oozes from rumbling amplifiers, grinding low end fuzz slithers in and around wandering bass burble, bits of guitar melody break into fragments and float downstream, over a rippling undercurrent of spaced out FX. Totally mesmerizing and ethereal, but strangely rhythmic. Channeling the sprit of Eno, Popol Vuh, Ash Ra Tempel, Tangerine Dream, A.R. And The Machines and other kosmik travellers, Expo '70 weave guitars, Moogs, sitars, and loads of effects into an expansive ambient shimmer, allowing sonic ripples to slowly spread out into the ether. So good. Anyone who bought the first one will probably need this one too. And all you spaced out interdimensional Kosmiche drone explorers could hardly do better than Expo '70 as the soundtrack to your late night, outer space, journeys into the unknown...
One of the most unsung midwest hardcore bands of the (very) early 80's, Lansing, Michigan's The Fix bludgeoned and bloodied every eardrum in earshot way back in those halcyon days when "Midwest Rules" was the credo amongst many of the early Touch & Go bands.
As it turns out, The Fix records are some of the hardest (and priciest) to come across so as part of the recent 25th. anniversary Touch & Go celebration (congrats, btw) we see the reissue of this "hardcore 101 primer" compiling both 7"s, various comp singles, session outtakes and live tracks.
Included are some swell "back in the day" liner notes from Byron Coley, Mr. Hank Rollins, Thurston Moore & Tesco Vee. Any band that has that foursome singing their praises has got to be pretty fucking fearsome.
The Fix lasted less than two years, and a few of the members ended up starting an amazing band called Blight (a killer re-issue reviewed here a while back) who also burnt out pretty fast, but the legacy of these bands still occupies a unique niche in the history of American Hardcore.
No band these days, no matter how 'punk', would ever be able to recreate these sorts of sounds and emotions, it was a special time, where emotional music wasn't just some Hot Topic Emo (TM) brand, but a lifestyle, full of real anger and frustration and desperation, the sounds of true, dead end, teenage angst.
We've been accused of being house music haters. And there's some truth to that. But is one certain obtuse branch of the house music family tree that had us the second we laid ears on it. A while back, the Chain Reaction label introduced a super stripped down, minimal house music, that was quickly dubbed "heroin house", for it's murky druggy laid back feel. It was like hearing house music through a drug induced haze. Or hearing the sound of throbbing four on the floor dance music seeping through the floor of your apartment from the late night dance club below. A super minimal throb. just a pulse really, a completely hypnotic, barely there rhythm, that just shifts and shimmers and works its way into your head, into your chest, into your soul. Hard to imagine people dancing to this music. It's a little like chillout music, but way more rigid and rhythmic. It sounds a little like the music that was created for those 3 o4 people still on their feet, after a night of serious imbibing, who are unwilling to stop dancing, but can't muster anything more than a druggy shuffle, or a barely visible shimmy. Playing on and on and on until the final one drops. For those of us who don't dabble in either drugs OR dancing, this music fulfills a function much like drone music, in fact, it is a sort of drone music, the beats and throbs and pulses are like a segmented drone, a completely hypnotic static sound that carries us into oblivion.
Fluxion's Vibrant Forms just might be our favorite of the Chain Reaction bunch, the most skeletal, the most monochrome, the most everything minimal, it's like techno music composed by Steve Reich. Slowly shifting subtleties and barely drifting overtones, over a framework of repetition. Loops that shift ever so slightly, creating the sensation of change, while keeping us suspended, drifting, in a state of dreamlike suspension. Maybe one of our favorite "techno" records ever. Fans of Gas and the more rhythmic end of the Pop Ambient spectrum NEED this. As might the more daring dronesters amongst you...
How can you resist a record with a sticker on the front proclaiming it to be "California doom folk"? Well, we sure as heck can't. And what if that sticker was pasted over a huge floating white-bearded head floating in the clouds like some spirit of Yahowha back from the dead to haunt our musical dreams. Well, you'd have us again. So we were pretty much sold before we got the disc to the player. But in all fairness, we should also mention that not only is Flying Canyon the project of one half of Golden Hotel, who we raved about on a past list, but that half also happens to be AQ regular Cayce Lindner, who you can see on the AQ customers page, and who haunts the hallowed halls of AQ on an almost daily basis.
But the fact that Cayce is a friend of ours isn't the reason we were so enamored of Golden Hotel, or the reason this slab of California doom folk has been kicking our asses. Nope. It's because Cayce has a way with a guitar and a killer knack for abstract free folk songsmithery. It helps too that in Flying Canyon he's teamed up with members of The Skygreen Leopards and Kelly Stoltz's band. Where Golden Hotel was dark and lugubrious, dreamy and droney, Flying Canyon is much more druggy and desert-y, twangy and sun baked, laid back and lysergic.
From the opening track, "In The Reflection", a dead ringer for Terry Reid's "Seed Of Memory", you're already wandering in a dreamlike daze, across some dusty windblown musical world, a wounded wasteland, that while inhospitable and rife with death and misery, is still strangely warm and safe, you find yourself clearing away some dust and rubble, dead leaves and brittle branches, laying back, eyes closed, the sun turning the inside of your eyelids a blood red, and letting the sun burn you away, bleaching your bones, as you become part of the landscape, your dust part of the swirling storm, the sound, a disembodied floating free folk, perfectly captured by the Flying Canyon.
The label website describes Flying Canyon as the Eagles on Robitussen, but it's a little closer to Crosby, Stills, Nash And Young on horse tranquilizers. A super lo-fi arid expanse of murky late afternoon haze and stoned fuzzy fug. The strainer on the snare drum rattles and drifts like the warning of a snake coiled up in the hot summer sun. The bass is thick like melted tar, a fuzzy fat rumble, warm warbly melodies wrapped around a soft focus folk drift, in the distance, fluttering flutes and warm swells of shimmering organ, like a musical mirage. All left all to hover in a lush field of room sound and drifting fuzz, above which float Lindner's ghostly vocals, an about-to-crack Neil Young warble, emotional and rich and honest, so much so that Lindner even manages to sing the words "rock and roll" in a song, without it sounding wrong. Instead, you can imagine that this is some sort of rock and roll. A rock and roll that was left in the sun too long, allowed to melt and change shape, a dusty, almost forgotten relic, that still retains some mysterious inner glow, a beauty that transcends the ravages of time. Go ahead. Sit back. Rest those weary bones, close those tired eyes. This is just about the perfect place for waitin' around to die...
We've been trying to track down music from this mysterious Norweigian black metal one man band for ages now and finally managed to get enough to list. We're constantly extolling the virtues of retarded / damaged / fucked / outsider black metal (see the Benighted Leams review elsewhere on this list) and we're always on the lookout for more. And Furze definitely fits the bill. In fact, we've been touting Benighted Leams as "perhaps the most retarded black metal band ever" for years now, but it seems like Furze might be just sneak in and steal that 'honor' for themselves. Let's talk about the packaging first. The cover is all black except for some weeds laid out next to each other. The back is all white (!) with a photo of what appears to be two young trick or treaters, one dressed like a witch, the other like a ghost. The Furze logo on the back is printed over three witches brooms. the back of the booklet has a very South Park-like painting of a white sign under a blood dripping sky, The sign reads: "Come, come sit listen to our cogent black metal necrosis". Inside the booklet, Mr Furze is carrying a lantern through a snowy forest.
While Necromanzee Cogent is black metal, sonically it sounds way more like a doom record, slow doomy riffs, one track even sounds exactly Black Sabbath, but played by a grade school music class. The whole record starts off with haunting Jandekian mumbling before erupting into clumsy, mid tempo doooooom. Totally random drumming, fuzzed out atonal organ melodies and anguished heavily reverbed moaning, not really metal so much as some strange Scott Walker / Jandek / Nick Cave caterwaul occasionally whispering ominously but more often gurgling and squealing and yelping. There are occasional blasts of -actual- black metal, but it's almost as if he can't manage to play that fast for that long and is forced to slow down and often abandon song structure all together, resulting in lots of creepy ambient bits, with scraping reverbed guitar strings and all sort of weird sounds. Most of the record is a sludgy doomy, plodding thud rock, almost like some long lost Amrep band, but filtered through the frosty blackened mind of some Norwegian black metal troll. Also, somewhat surprisingly there are some really gorgeous blissed out post-rocky guitar ambience, keening guitar melodies suspended in a massive blackened emptiness. Everything up until this point has only served to get you ready for the massive 20+ minute final track "Sathanas' Megalomania". From high end chiming shimmer, to slow building droning creepiness, to church-like organ and plodding drum with deep chanting and scary demonic screeches, to full on epic black metal with REALLY loud monster vocals, to haunting funereal doom until the end of the song where levels and song structure and vocals all seem to go haywire. As the metal maelstrom dissipates, the song becomes a chaotic swirl of weird sped up disembodied voices, snippets of crappy AM radio, snatches of distorted orchestra, squealing feedback and groaning downtuned guitars. Phew. Yikes. After listening to this record we feel like we've been dragged naked over rocks and thistles, through a snowy forest, into a fiery pit where we were quickly eaten by a huge demon, and promptly shat out. You know what we're talking about: tired, filthy, demoralized, violated, bruised and battered. But surprisingly really really good.
A snotty young crew of Providence Rhode Island roughnecks, both male and female, kicking up a seriously intense racket. Aggro, over the top, grinding, post punk / punk rock. Angular guitars, furious drumming, like some long lost Amrep band brought back to life and given a serious hit of screamo, and dosed with a little metallic sludge.
Limited to 500 copies, on cotton candy pink vinyl, in cool hand cut sleeves.
From all the over the top dour, embittered romanticisms that he unfurls in his Magnetic Fields and solo recordings, who wouldn't think that Stephin Merritt had a dark tormented soul... a downright tragicomedy-lovin' goth side? Well, if there was any question, The Gothic Archies is where he lets it all hang out. Yup, this is Stephin Merritt's 'goth rock' project, but as with each of his other themed ensembles this one comes with a wry wink and a sly twist. It's actually only sort of goth. You might think of him as sort of the living equivalent of a black velvet painting of a sad clown complete with tear creeping down one cheek. In case you couldn't guess from the title, this is his ode to the Lemony Snicket's book series. Each song is lovingly dedicated to one of the thirteen volumes - all in muted dusky tones, funereal paces, slightly absurd lyrics. Ahh, birds of a feather! There's also two extra treats: the band's original tune done for the audiobook version of The Carnivorous Carnival and a Gothic Archies theme song. So silly! His singing is at its ripest deepest atonal best. The compositions are nicely varied, as are the instrumentations. It's all so wonderfully antique-y in a novel Musee Mechanique kind of way. Verily a goodly fan pleaser!
This split is a super interesting match up, pairing two bands who ostensibly play the same sort of music, but who have dramatically different approaches to their sound.
Up first are the Red Sparowes, who take the metallic post rock angle, stretching their tracks out into loping epics, that loop and repeat hypnotically building to a massive crescendo, all soaring guitars and keening melodies. Eventually breaking back down into mesmerizingly mathy rhythms and melancholy ambience. The drumming is awesome, Simple but so powerful and propulsive, definitely driving the band, helping shape these aggressive epics.
Gregor Samsa, come at their post rock from a whole 'nother direction, choosing to drift instead of pummel, to float and hover instead of pound and wail. In addition to the typical rock band instrumentation, GS are augmented by cello, violin and upright bass, which adds to their simple understated majesty. Both tracks here are spacious near ambient affairs. Simple, spare reverbed guitars, tons of glistening reverb, hushed, near whispered vocals, sounding very much Low or Galaxie 500. So dreamy and lush and laid back. Eventually the first track builds into a super dramatic sweep of soaring strings and crashing drums, not heavy, just intense and emotional. So nice. The second track starts with a blissed out drone, shimmering and sparkling, before the drums and guitars kick in, turning the track into something more Loop or Spacemen 3 or Swervedriver than any sort of metallic post rock. Again the strings swoop in to add all sorts of emotion and urgency, turning the track into a fuzzy minor key dreamdrone fuzz rock epic! Man, we love this band. In fact we love BOTH these bands. An absolutely killer split.
Okay, we only got a handful of these in, and in very limited sizes, but we figured we oughta grab as many as we can since so many AQ fans are such huge Wolf Eyes and Grey Daturas freaks. That means act fast, and don't be too bummed if we've already sold out. We took every single one the bands had left.
So this pack includes a killer red on black Grey Daturas t-shirt, a Grey Daturas pin, and a gorgeous full color poster. Super limited, and of the sets with large t-shirts we only got 4!!!
The shirt/poster/button combo has to ship in a tube, so if you order this with other items it will have to ship separately and thus there will be an extra shipping charge.
Okay, we only got a handful of these in, and in very limited sizes, but we figured we oughta grab as many as we can since so many AQ fans are such huge Wolf Eyes and Grey Daturas freaks. That means act fast, and don't be too bummed if we've already sold out. We took every single one the bands had left.
So this pack includes a killer red on black Grey Daturas t-shirt, a Grey Daturas pin, and a gorgeous full color poster. Super limited, and of the sets with medium t-shirts we only got 8!!!
The shirt/poster/button combo has to ship in a tube, so if you order this with other items it will have to ship separately and thus there will be an extra shipping charge.
