As the back cover informs us, "+/- covers BB and BB covers +/-". Seems simple enough, don't it? And if you're not familiar with these two bands you'd probably already guess just from the bands' names that this might be a rather odd pairing. So we thought. However, it's not as strange as we initially believed. Seems Blood Thirsty Butchers have gone through something of a transformation in the years since we last heard from them... it has been quite a while. If our memory serves correctly, they used to be a gritty indie hardcore band from Japan. As far as we know they're still from Japan, but they've mellowed considerably. They make dreamy post-rockish pop with angelic female and boyish vocals with a very occasional blast of gnarly guitar aggression. They're so much closer in sound to soft popsters +/- than we could ever have anticipated. Soooo, whatcha get is a pretty consistent half dozen delicious indie pop tunes with feverishly strummed Unrest-style jangly guitars. So at home on the Teenbeat record label.
Before you go, geez ANOTHER Acid Mothers Temple album alreddy?? remember that this AMT isn't that AMT. Acid Mothers Temple & The Pink Ladies Blues is a totally different band, in fact, one of the members of this trio isn't even Japanese, he's the French guy who runs Fractal. But that doesn't stop him (or them) from sounding like they should all be wearing big Makoto Kawabata beards! Their music's definitely THAT hairy. This second album of theirs, The Soul Of A Mountain Wolf, is all about heavy and droning riffage. It's like "Rumble" on LSD. All-instrumental, nothin' but far-out guitar wailin' action, supported by pounding drums and bass. Any AMT fan, of any AMT, is gonna be pleased. One thing though, this isn't that long of a cd. "Sandoza Death Blues" from their debut was almost as long as this whole disc, which is just under 20 minutes total. Hmmm. But it's good stuff, if blown-out, acid-fried bluesy psych geetar stomp is your thing!! Ain't it??
BACK IN STOCK!
We're beginning to think EEE is our new favorite black metal label. After last list's brilliant Light Shall Prevail, and now this disc from Agathothodion (with tons more still to review).
We're ready to convert! Convert? Oh yeah, we forgot to mention, this is WHITE metal, as in the opposite of black metal. Un-black metal. This is not satanic or hateful, instead it's hopeful and holy. But you'd never know it from listening. Agathothodion is bizarre and creepy and dark and, well, very very black sounding. And the thing is, while some of us have problems with religion being so dogmatic, this particular sonic representation of Christianity is anything but dogmatic. In fact it points out just how cookie cutter the majority of black metal really is. What we're getting at here, is this is some totally demented, freaked out, blissed out and drone-y, haunting and hypnotic ambient experimental black metal. They list their influences as GOD, JESUS CHRIST, Xasthur, Burzum, Leviathan, Isis, but they might as well have also listed Benighted Leams, Urfaust, Dead Reptile Shrine... you get what we're talking about. This stuff is fucking amazing! Traum Von Gott collects two long out of print eps, Stavkirke and Telos, and adds a bonus track)
So what the hell does it sound like?
A buzzing blackness that's spread out into a thick loping wash of blurry buzz, super dreamy, fuzzy warm midtempo black metal, soft swirls of midtempo trudge, totally hypnotic and drone-y, but it's the vocals that had us. Some sort of ancient sounding ghostlike falsetto croon. Drenched in reverb, not singing lyrics so much as just sort of moaning, and groaning. It almost sounds like the guy from Urfaust when he's 100 years old, his wheelchair pushed up to the mic, as a reedy disembodied voice drifts from his parched lips. Totally intense and creepy, definitely some of the most unique vocals we've heard. And while at first they sound completely bizarre, after a while, you really can't imagine the vocals sounding any other way. But that's not all that's strange about this band. They also break their song down into strange little post rock interludes with weird bloopy underwater bass, almost like a black metal Three Mile Pilot. But it really is the vocals, a nearly hysterical sounding completely chilling tortured cry spreading over the proceedings like a blood red fog. Almost like the sound you could imagine coming from behind a locked door in an insane asylum, that strange inmate who has been sitting in the corner for 20 years, mouth and eyes covered, but who continues to wail at all hours of the day.
Man, this is so great, pretty much all we've been listening to. We were all ready to proclaim the Light Shall Prevail record as our new favorite black metal record (the same guy behind that band too we think) but now we're not so sure. Might just be easier to begin singing the praises of white metal and proclaim EEE our new favorite label...
We had sort of given up on ever getting this in stock, which was killing us. One of our favorite records of last year (one of Andee's top 10), a record some of us listened to EVERY DAY, over and over. Heavy and buzzy, but so beautiful and relentlessly catchy. Sure we've had black metal records in the past that were 'pretty'. Catchy too. But those records took their hooks and their soaring melodies and wrapped them all up in spiky blackness, subtly catching our ear beneath all the buzz, the prettiness more a byproduct than a reason for being. But Amesoeurs are completely different. It's almost like some shoegazey, indie druggy drone rock band decided their blissed out indie jangle needed more, well, BLACKNESS, and thus enlisted a corpsepainted frontman, with a demonic banshee shriek, to wail and gnash his teeth over the band's nearly perfect buzzing pop.
From the first notes of the opener "Bonheur Ampute" you're hooked. If you didn't know what was playing, you'd probably be thinking it was some lost Swervedriver track, or some modern band channeling My Bloody Valentine and Ride. The music is that gorgeous. The guitars are thick and heavy, a little buzzy, but they glisten and sparkle, and well, jangle. The opening riff is so impossibly catchy, sort of minor key, but only barely, this is simply perfect pop music wrapped in a thin layer of buzzing blackness. There's no denying it. A loping riff, underpinned by strummed acoustic guitar, while over the top guitars keen and soar, melodies intertwine, harmonies drift and shimmer, even the black metal shriek starts to transform into something less evil becoming more just another element of the blissy poppy buzz. Near the end of the first track, all the other instruments drop out leaving just the acoustic guitar, and when the band kicks back in, they go for it, transforming the track into some otherworldy buzzpop, that original riff ringing out, but over the top some gorgeously melodic underwater, blooping Pinback like bass lines and soaring angular guitar melodies.
The second track begins with a haunting spidery Slinty guitar line, minor key and skeletal, hovering in a wide open expanse of dark shimmer, when the band lurches into action, the main riff sounds like some classic Maiden hook, transformed into a loping pop song, the band eventually ramp it up, the drums becoming a double kicking blast, the vocals shrieking, but the main melody remains and the song becomes a haunting emotional minor key buzz drenched slab of shoegazer black metal, complete with acoustic breakdowns and a mysterious percussive coda.
The final track opens up with another gorgeous tangled bit of clean guitar, that turns into straight up clean ringing indie jangle, but surprises us with ethereal female vocals, which transform it into some nineties sounding dark pop like Velocity Girl or something. Eventually, a buzzing guitar joins the fray, and by the end, it's another swirling blackened slab of blissed out buzz. So fucking awesome.
Black metal record of the year! Of forever! And that's assuming that this even counts as black metal... Either way, this is absolutely essential. Black metalheads don't be put off by the prettiness, we love us some Antaeus and Katharsis and Darkthrone and all that, but this is just so goddamn good. And all you indie rock mix tape makers, try blowing somebody's mind by slipping one of these tracks into your next mix, right there between Spoon and Pavement. The perfect black metal gateway drug...
(And be sure to check out -- if you can find 'em -- Amesoeurs mainman Neige's other bands, Alcest, who take the blissed out pop thing even further, and Peste Noire, a more black, but equally strange and pretty outfit. We'll try to track them down for the store, but who knows...)
Those Broken Social Scene folks don't let grass grow beneath their feet in between albums. Heck no, much like fellow Canadian music collective/family Godspeed You Black Emperor, side projects and offshoots abound. And they're all quite different from each other! And they're all quite good! Andrew Whiteman is the lead guitarist for BSS, but he also goes it alone as mildly eccentric The Apostle Of Hustle (well, sorta, his BSS bantams have been known to sit in on occasion). This is the follow-up to his solo debut Folkloric Feel from 2004. His suave laid-back charm is pretty hard to resist particularly when he's singing in Spanish. Yes indeedie, National Anthem Of Nowhere is filled with tasty horns, flamenco tinged guitars and subtle Latin influences (perhaps even more so than on his debut which he recorded shortly after returning from a culturally enriched stay with his godmother in El Barrio Santa Suarez, Cuba). That said, National Anthem Of Nowhere's definitely got some energetic, quirkful, peppy pop propulsion. A definite standout is the dreamy fifth track "Cheap Like Sebastien" with its organ drones and sweet female backing vocals. Very reminiscent of Stereolab or Broadcast. Really good.
Whoa Aqueduct (aka David Terry), wha'happened?! It's as if sometime between now and your last album I Sold Gold you absorbed a cache of cheesy '80s TV sitcom theme song capsules into your system -- especially in the horn, keyboard and synth line departments. Think equal parts Billy Vera And The Beaters, Bruce Hornsby And The Range and Andrew Gold with lyrics like "you gotta keep it together before it all falls apart" ("Keep It Together") and "When it's all said and done you know that I'll be the one" (Broken Records")! Much of Or Give Me Death is strangely cliched in places and treads precariously on the borders of sappy schlock. Granted, that unto itself takes its own special skill. But that said, it's tempered back into something more palatable by Terry's consistently clever songwriting and vocals which do shine through and more closely resemble those of Andy Partridge and XTC.
Nooooo, say it isn't so! Ten Years Of Tears -- a collection of Arab Strap odds'n'ends -- marks the close of Aidan Moffat and Malcolm Middleton's tavern of awesome melancholic vitriolic folk (the band played their final shows in late 2006). These Scots always shined brightest when they were sounding their most liquor-blurred, beleaguered and foul tempered singing about fucked up relationships, tawdry sexual liaisons, and assorted other daily downers atop programmed beat driven folksiness. Theirs was (and is) the perfect music to play when you wanna be dancing and be all bummed out at the same time. This fan-pleasing cd compiles alternate versions, remixes, live recordings and B-sides rounded out by a few album tracks. Keep an ear out for their rousing cover of Bonnie Tyler's "It's A Heartache".
It's not surprising that Rites Of Uncovering sounds like Palace on overdrive, as Arbouretum's mastermind, David Huemann, is a veteran sessions musician for both of the Oldham brothers as well as Cass McCombs. In fact, Paul Oldham takes on production duties through this sort-of concept record based on the writings of Paul Bowles. But avoiding conventional song-structures for a more organic evolving approach of shambling tribal blues and rustic folk motifs plays to Heumann's strengths as a big picture songwriter steering clear of the first person confessional stance of Will Oldham's narratives. If you wish those Bonnie Prince Billy records had a more epic musical bite to them, then Arbourteum might just fill your prescription.
2004's Funeral made it clear that Arcade Fire aren't shy about dishin' the melodrama and bombast, and this time around they definitely make no bones about it. From the super deluxe boxed lenticular packaging to the eleven songs contained within, these decidedly unreserved Canucks are laying it on extra heavy. They've taken the goods from Funeral and juiced 'em up even more, delivering an unquestionable fan pleaser that maintains the infectious spark of their debut, but drapes it with more opulent finery. Musically this is most notable in the cathedral organ and choral departments. It may have you wondering if you're attending a wedding or a funeral! However, those musings are swiftly swept away by the soaring, big Chicago style horns in "Windowsill" and "No Cars Go" (another candidate for single material in our books!). We'd say the obvious choice for a first single on the album is the second tune "Keep The Car Running", but has anyone else noticed that it sounds as if it could break into John Cafferty And The Beaver Brown Band's "On The Dark Side" from that '80s flick Eddie And The Cruisers at any moment? In fact, Arcade Fire conjure numerous other touchstones of that decade -- the female vocals remarkably resemble Kim Wilde as the male ones do Bono, the somber opening pulse of the album closer "My Body Is A Cage" echoes Phil Collins' "In The Air Tonight". But there sure as heck ain't nothin' wrong with a little bit of musical nostalgia, especially when it's all wrapped up oh so pretty, in thick sonic swaths of lush dramatic dreamery and plush poppiness.
Aidan Baker is back, still vying for the most prolific man in show business award (well, at least underground, free drone show business) with a double shot of washed out dreamy droniness. There's the latest from Nadja, reflecting his more metal side, and then there's this, the follow up to last year's Pendulum, which was a fantastic slab of glistening disembodied dronemusic. Green & Gold follows suit but with an interesting twist. Vocals. Lots of 'em. Baker is no stranger to singing, his whispery croon has graced more than a few of his releases, but on G & G, the vocals are a big part of the songs, and the songs are actual songs, with drums, and verses and choruses and everything. Well, sort of.
Some tracks, like the untitled opener, are indeed still just wispy slow shifting expanses of fuzzy dreamlike sound, which we can NEVER get enough of, but others, like "Chainsaw", are actual lowercase, slow motion, dark and dolorous slowcore pop songs. Simple murky guitar riffs, wreathed of course in all manner of reverb and soft focus fuzz, hovering over stripped down shuffling rhythms, while Baker croons softly over the top, a hushed almost whisper, sounding not entirely unlike Iron & Wine's Sam Beam actually. Even the music sounds a little like a blissier tarpit version of Iron & Wine. There is some definite twang there, subtle, but it's there, nestled amidst the delicate folky strum and the glistening sonic glimmer. Imagine an even more somnambulant Low, or Spacemen 3 at 16 rpm, a ultra druggy (druggier?) Galaxie 500, each track a pop song mumbled and murky, a moonlit crawl through a hazy landscape of shuffle and shimmer, of strum and twang, all wrapped up in soft swirls of shimmer.
Essential for fans of all things Jeck and Tim Hecker and Jasper TX and Machinefabriek and Grouper and Troum and Main and the like, but also worth a listen for more adventurous fans of Iron & Wine, Spacemen 3, Galaxie 500, Low and other slowcore drugrock dreaminess...
There was a time not too long ago, when Aidan Baker and his various projects (Nadja, Arc) were an underground secret. Loads of super limited releases, a small but loyal following. But that is slowly beginning to change. It was unavoidable really. A quick look at Baker's website reveals the fact that there are over sixty releases, as well as a bunch of compilation appearances. And all of the ones we've heard display a deft hand at dark minimal drones, slow crushing sludge and krautrock flecked psychedelic drift (solo, Nadja and Arc respectively). Often some delirious mix of the three. On Oneiromancer, Baker flies solo, managing a small one man ensemble of electric guitar, bass guitar, tapeloops, piano, percussion, drum machine, vocals all recorded on recorded on 4-track, and woven into rumbling, cavernous dronescapes, filled with all manner of little sonic imperfections, haunting fragments of melody, noisy clatter, and ambient hiss and whir. Each track is a murky musical journey through thick washes of lowercase sound. Whether it's the subaquatic drift of the album's opener, floating weightless through a dark but sun dappled undersea world, or the conversation filled cavern of the second track, voices shimmer and echo, surrounded by soft billowing low end, and haunting footstep like click and thump. The whole record continues in the same vein, exploring lost worlds, at its darkest, Oneiromancer invokes a sense of dread, a feeling of claustrophobia, incorporating elements of industrial noise, processed vocals, creaking groaning metal and thick heavily effected guitar, at its dreamiest, it's a tranquil spacescape of soft shapes and liquid atmospheres, an eyes closed out of body sonic experience. So lovely.
Limited to 600 copies. The first 300 contain a bonus live disc, recorded live in 2005. We'll have the double disc version as long as they last. The live set, recorded using only the sound of processed guitars, is just as lovely as Oneiromancer, but a lot more shimmery and dreamlike, muted and mumbled, a truly lovely exploration into the guitar, revealing a mysterious stringed soundworld far removed from strumming and picking, a distant land of abstract beauty.
What comes to mind when you think of The Bee Gees? Saturday Night Fever? Disco? White suits? 30 years of cheesy disco dancing to "Stayin' Alive"? The awesome(ly atrocious) film version of the Beatles' Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band? SNL's "Barry Gibb Talk Show"? Probably all of those things.
Which is too bad, 'cuz if it weren't for all that stuff, maybe you'd think instead of lush melancholy experimental pop music, incredible vocal harmonies, horns, strings, orchestras, mellotrons, the Beatles, the Beach Boys, the Zombies...
Some of you probably have no idea what the heck we're on about, but well before disco and Saturday Night Fever and all that, way back in 1967, the Bee Gees were crafting some of the loveliest, most compellingly mysterious pop music around. With a sound that borrowed from other bands of the time, most notably the aforementioned big three, the Beatles, the Beach Boys and the Zombies, but incorporated those influences into a sound that was distinctly their own. A sound at times gorgeously classic sounding, and at others surprisingly strange and dark and experimental.
The influence of the Beatles and the Beach Boys is undeniable. The song "Please Read Me" is incredibly Beach Boys-esque, and marks the first time the group would employ falsetto vocal harmonies, obviously influenced by Brian Wilson, and which would of course become their trademark. And the cover of 1st is by the artist Klaus Voorman, who of course also designed the Beatles' Revolver. But scratch a little below the surface, and there is so much more. A musical world of dreamlike, melancholy psychedelia.
"Holiday" is a brooding and moody dirge, with haunting organ swells, and pizzicato strings, with soft horns and simple percussion, and a gorgeous vocal melody, as well as a strange and impossibly catchy bridge with simple nonsense vocals. Then there's "Red Chair, Fade Away" a dreamy, rainbow hued blast of psychedelic pop, blissed out and trippy, with tons of layered production, fuzzy guitars, jazzy horns, fluttering flute, all wrapped in a stained glass production, peppered with circusy calliopes and soaring strings.
But two of the tracks on 1st really stand out. Lovely and catchy, but so dark and emotionally intense. The first is "Every Christian Lion Hearted Man Will Show You", which begins with minor key strings over monk-like chanting background vocals, before the Strawberry Fields vocals kick in, over a shuffled rhythm and some deliriously fuzzy psych guitar, with the chanting vocals resurfacing throughout the song before it fades into a truly haunting outro, just those strings and some heavily reverbed drums that stumble into the darkness. The other is the amazingly monickered "New York Mining Disaster 1941" with it's haunting nearly a capella verses (backed up by barely audible guitar strumming WAY down in the mix), jangly guitars, throbbing simple percussion, the whole track mournful and melancholy, the minor key brightening briefly for the chorus before drifting baack into haunting melancholia. The track is laced with strange funereal strings, and again the vocals are just so beautiful, lush and dreamy.
The rest of the record is just as fantastic, every song a strange gem, it's difficult to pick which ones to mention, you'll of course recognize "To Love Somebody", which while not a huge hit for them (although it did crack the top 20), has become an international pop standard, and was originally a track the band wrote for Otis Redding, but their version is the best, so lush and rife with layer after layer of instrumentation, as well as some amazing melodic flourishes left off subsequent cover versions, then there's "Cucumber Castle" with its super dramatic strings, Spanish sounding trumpets, moaning cellos, and bizarre player piano background trills, all behind a main melody that is so unbelievably catchy... we could go on and on and on. Needless to say, it's difficult to not go all gushy and declare this as one of the all time greatest pop records. But what the heck, it is! Listen to this enough and you just may banish all thoughts of white suits and light up dancefloors from your head forever!
Gorgeously elaborate reissue, in a full color 8 panel digipak, full color with tons of amazing photos, a massive booklet also packed with photos, with lengthy liner notes, as well as notes on each track from the surviving members. The first disc contains the full version of the album, in both stereo AND mono, the second disc contains 9 alternate and early versions (including two dramatically different versions of "New York Mining Disaster 1941") as well as 5 unreleased tracks, most of which are as good as anything on the album proper!
A little 7" blast of grim and necro, super raw, thrashing blackness. Old old old old skool brutality. As the sleeve says, Poison Of The Underground. And this is the real underground. On one side, Chilean horde Force of Darkness, on the other black thrashing Swedes Bestial Mockery. And just because this is raw and old school doesn't mean there might not be a few surprises in store.
Force Of Darkness, offer up, as the insert proclaims, an "Evil South American Black Thrash Attack", all buzzing riffs and thrashing drums, but what it doesn't tell you, is that the vocals are demented! Ultra fast tongue twisting garbled shddHSshUAHsaoaosa. Like the singer is possessed and speaking in tongues. Pretty far out. Bestial Mockery counter with, again, according to the insert, their won brand of black thrash, "Unpure, Unholy, Untight!" And it is all of those things, especially untight. A wildly thrashing slab of black brutality, wrapped in an ultra necro lo-fi production with some riffs that manage to be surprisingly catchy.
Cool, thick black and white sleeves, with printed inserts, complete with lyrics, skulls, bullet belts and more! LIMITED TO 500 COPIES, each sleeve hand numbered.
The Bird And The Bee describe their music as sounding like "A futuristic 1960's American film set in Brazil."�This may be an accurate depiction of their sound, but the sixties are long gone.�Fast forward to 2007 where, you too, may have noticed the ever-growing popularity of indie-pop backing primetime programming. Our money is on the band's music gracing the soundtrack of shows like The O.C. or Grey's Anatomy.
The L.A. based duo's sound is not innovative, but a very well done version of the same lounge-pop we have grown to know and love from bands like Broadcast and Camera Obscura.�In fact, the whimsical vocal styling of Inara George is so familiar, you might find it difficult not to go digging through your record collection to pinpoint her former projects. A quick web search reveals that George met band mate Greg Kurstin a few years ago. The two quickly formed a friendship predicated upon their mutual love for old jazz standards (George is the daughter of the late Little Feat guitarist/singer Lowell George; Kurstin studied jazz piano with Mingus's pianist).�In 2005 George recorded a solo album with producer Mike Andrews � Kurstin provided some of the backing instrumentation for that album.
While the pair's love of old jazz standards may only shine through for the discerning ear, anyone can appreciate the talent brought forth on their debut album.�Kurstin plays nearly all of the instruments on the record, and you don't have to be a jazz aficionado to realize that he is a damn good pianist.�The electric organ and synth melodies are unpretentious and come off California-surfy on some songs and a tinge psychedelic on others, but never distract from the bitter-sweet airy vocals put forth by George as she describes the often gritty push and pull of life and love.
The Black Lips kick ass live... and occasionally they do so in Spanish... at least on this cd which captured the band live in Tijuana... with gallons of tequila, beer and a mariachi band in tow among other things and beings. A wild, fist-pumpin', eyes comin' unfocused, clothing comin' undone, trashy garage rawk train wreck drenched with sweat and the above mentioned intoxicants. We suspect that countless brain cells were obliterated this eve.
This is the stuff!!! Pure, grim, cult, frosty, necro, dirge-y, buzzing, midtempo, Burzumic and Mayhemic black metal from Russia! No keyboards, or corpse paint, or even long hair for that matter! Just simple, brutal, stripped down TRUE black metal. Swarming guitars, pounding drums, and anguished, tortured vocals (ala SF black metal legends Weakling) make up this nihilistic hellbrew of cacophonous brutality. Blackdeath are the brilliantly monickered duo of Para Bellum and Abysslooker, and Fucking Fullmoon Foundation will surely sate your unquenchable thirst for primitive grimness.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY. While we're waiting to get restocked on the cd version of this killer split (in the next week or two!), which flew out of here after our last list, we managed to get 30 copies of the picture disc vinyl version. Unfortunately that's all we're ever gonna get, so as always, act fast!
Hard to know what to say about Leviathan that we haven't said already. Quite possibly the most innovative outfit in black metal today. The man behind Leviathan, Wrest, has taken traditional black metal and turned it into something new and strange and completely out there, while somehow remaining totally grim and true to the black metal tradition. Here, he is teamed up with Russian black metal group Blackdeath, who specialize in extremely primitive buzzy and blurry black metal a la Burzum, Darkthrone and the like. The most remarkable thing about Blackdeath besides their simple droning fuzzed out riffs, and frosty atmosphere, is the vocals, a weird raspy warble, that slips from black metal shriek to weirdly anguished falsetto, reminding us a lot of SF BM legends Weakling. And the guitars are so thick and buzzy and blown out that you almost can't hear the drums, which lends the whole thing a super hypnotic drone quality that we LOVE. As if playing off of Blackdeath's primitive grimness, Leviathan hits right back with four tracks of his own full on grim buzz, but as with everything he does, no matter how true and grim the sound is, no matter how blasting the drums or buzzing the guitars are, there is always lots of stuff going on beneath the surface, or in the arrangements, not always easy to explain, just this intangible something that makes Leviathan's sound so unique and so much creepier and intense. Minor key melodies, weird stretches of industrial ambience, strangely affected vocals, haunting drones and bizarre soundscapes, all woven into the already twisted framework of Leviathan's uniquely hellish black metal.
WE WERE ONLY ABLE TO GET 25 COPIES. ONCE THEY ARE GONE, THEY ARE GONE FOR GOOD!!!
Boredoms bonanza! Vice follows up their Stateside re-issuance of Super Roots 1, 3, and 5 with Super Roots 6, 7, and 8! For those who missed our reviews of the first batch, on list 258, let's recap: Japanese band the Boredoms, whose "regular" albums are pretty darn wacked-out to begin with (kitchen sink craziness inspired by everything from the Butthole Surfers to Faust to the Ramones to Lee "Scratch" Perry to Alice Coltrane), started a series of even more experimental, mostly ep-length discs in the mid '90s that we think had a lot to do with the eventual evolution of their signature sound from their earlier, chaotic noise-punk surf-metal madness to the psychedelic, trance-out sounds heard on more recent records like Seadrum / House Of Sun. Most of these Super Roots cds were import-only items, until now. So fans who couldn't find or afford the expensive Japanese editions before should offer thanks to Vice!
Super Roots 6, from 1996, is one that Warner Reprise did at one point issue domestically in the USA, as bizarre as that seems now. It's been out of print for a long time, and it's one of our faves in the Super Roots series, so if you missed it back when, we'd suggest picking it up now. Unlike Super Roots 3 and 5, this isn't one long track. And it's not the sound of a live band either. Super Roots 6 is more of a studio project, 17 very rhythmic, mostly instrumental tracks (66 minutes total)... it's the Boredoms' "electronica" album, almost. Or certainly the closest a Boredoms disc has come to one of Eye's DJ mixes. There's certainly bits of noisy weirdness on here (naturally) but the dubby, droning, shuffling beats of a lot of this record are rather more soothing and laid back than (up to this point) we'd come to expect from the Bore-tribe. Mesmerizing like SR 5, but in more varied, less extreme ways. Some of this reminds us a bit of a mellower Christine 23 Onna, with all the synth and groove goin' on. Like the best of the Boredoms, ultimately unique, confounding, and utterly wonderful.
PS. the booklet features a photo of the Boredoms all wearing those red Devo dome hats -- all right!
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Who but the Boredoms could do a cover of a song by veteran UK punk rockers The Mekons and turn it into an extended, summery cosmic trance-out? First released in 1998, the 33 minute Super Roots 7 ep remakes a Mekons number called "Where Were You?" into something completely different and very Boredoms indeed, three times over.
Track one sounds like if you had to play the Beach Boys on a pocket calculator. Then track two energetically takes off into something more like Super AE album, krauty spaceship noises mixed with field recordings and broken-down drones. Percussive, swooshy, videogamey. This twenty minute long (!) track eventually settles into a Neu!-ish groove that sounds more like Circle than the Mekons wethinks. This version, "7--> (Boriginal)" is a true Bore-classic that no fan of the band should miss out on hearing, which is perhaps why the third track is an abbreviated Eye remix of the same.
Again, big ups to Vice for making this out of print and previously import-only gem available once again! This Vice edition replaces the original mini-LP sleeve style packaging with a conventional digipack, but keeps the graphics more or less intact.
From 1999, SR8 is a three track ep just like its predecessor. It's centered on a cover of a classic anime theme song by Isao Tomita, "Jungle Taitei". They do it up in total Bore-mode, sounding like a cross between something off of Vision Creation Newsun and some Martin Denny or Arthur Lyman exotica. There's also two remixes, a percussively damaged one by Eye and a seriously lovely and spaced-out one by cult electronic composer Yann Tomita (no relation to Isao), which takes up over half this disc's 14+ minute run-time. Nice.
Vice has repackaged this in a jewel case, and unlike the rest of their Super Roots reissues, these have no obi.
Now Vice just needs to get the rights to put out the Rebore series too...
Calla continue along on the course they set on their last album Collisions, retooling their sound into something absolutely befitting their label home Beggars Banquet. Indeed, they sit all comfy next to young label mates Film School and The Early Years who've also molded their jangle/distortion guitar sounds after their late '80s / early '90s heady brood rock forefathers such as Bauhaus and their members' numerous solo projects, The Cure, and Radiohead. Very well executed, albeit probably nothing you haven't heard already. Strength In Numbers counts up to a solid baker's dozen lushly produced numbers clenched with tormented angst and mournful aches. A standout track comes halfway through the album. "Bronson" takes the band slightly away from the tried and true into more rhythmically complex and intriguing terrain.
Circle X were a mysterious and mythical aggro angular artrock band formed in Louisville in the late seventies, eventually relocating to NYC and falling in with the No Wave crowd, stumbling on the noise rock periphery for years, even recording a record in 1994, before disappearing completely not long after. We have been huge fans since we first heard these guys way back when, all of their records are amazing, and amazingly difficult, all unfortunately out of print, including this one apparently, but a distributor found a stash so we grabbed all we could so you all could get a gander at the filthy, sweaty, fucked up sound of Kentucky art rock circa 1979.
Of all their recordings, this short sharp blast (4 songs, 11:33) of growling vitriolic fury is probably our favorite. It's the meanest and leanest, essentially a punk rock record, with lots of swagger and snarl, a sort of damaged art rock version of the Stooges: fuzzed out jagged guitars, often soaring into squealing angular harmonies, pounding drums, that often explode into convoluted splattery fills or stumble into bizarre almost tribal anti-rhythms, and the vocals, woah! A raspy howl, that always sounds on the verge of cracking completely, wild and untamed, half shout, half spoken, but so emotive and intense. A breathless furious delivery that perfectly suits the band's primal pound. On their dirge-y version of "Onward Christian Soldiers" you can definitely hear bits of early Swans, Copshootcop, and other NYC junkyard thugs, with its relentless pound and tangled atonal washes of super distorted guitar. This shit is raw and intense and primal and so goddamn good.
Fans of down and dirty, scuzzy garage rock stomp will be way into this (think Brainbombs, Stooges, etc.) as will art rockers not afraid to get a little dirty.
WE ONLY HAVE ABOUT 15 COPIES!!! And since this is way out of print, when these are gone they are gone for good!
Latest blast of audial mayhem from Finland's grim buzz horde Clandestine Blaze. People around here forget what a metal stronghold Finland is. It's not all faeries and forests and drum circles and acoustic guitars. There is a serious black cloud hanging over the land. As is demonstrated by the various black minions who call Finland home. It's strange, for being one of our favorite BM outfits, we've actually never reviewed a Clandestine Blaze record before (not counting the split with Deathspell Omega), thankfully, this new one is as good if not better than any of the other CB releases. Frontman Mikko Aspa in addition to being the single soul behind CB, is also a member of Finnish ultra doomsters Fleshpress, and strangely enough, also sings for AQ faves Deathspell Omega.
But Clandestine Blaze is not doom, nor avant black metal, no this is old school black buzz, grim and frosty, primitive and necro.
Each track is based around a single riff, played over and over, inducing a glorious trancelike state, the guitars relentlessly buzzing, the riffing so drenched in reverb that the notes wash into each other becoming one long buzzing drone, the vocals a hellish croak, dripping with FX as well. This is true black metal for sure, but as with a lot of that stuff, a purity of vision often produces unintended sonic results, much like isolation, a sound develops, that while at it's root is indeed pure and true, contains elements that gradually seep in to the sound. Usually making the music even more special and unique. Such is the case for sure with CB, while a cursory listen reveals a simple buzzing black metal, closer listening reveals mysterious depths, layers upon layers, arrangements that coalesce into strange shapes. A perfect example is the 12 minute long, midtempo centerpiece "Ashes Of The Eternal Wanderer", a completely hypnotic blackened blur, the guitars and drums buzzing into a thick snarling drone, almost dreamlike at times, which is one of the reasons we love the buzz of black metal so much, that trancey dronelike element, and that is all over Church Of Atrocity. It's not so much about the riffs, or the arrangements, it's the sound, a whirling buzzing blackness that wraps your head in a dark cloud, fills your ears with black buzz and carries you off...
But heck, don't let all this high falutin' talk of drones and purity of vision, scare you off, Church Of Atrocity is just as enjoyable as a simple blown out chunk of brutal old school blackness! Either way, highly recommended.
It makes perfect sense that Closer To Carbon would qualify their experimental-chamber-pop opus II as 'scores for unmade films.' All of these instrumental numbers enjoy a theatrical sentiment, as expressed through a variety of strings plus a cavalcade of junkstore objects whose offkiltered quirkiness add many a Tom Waits / Sleepytime Gorilla Museum reference. When not exploring the eccentrically cinematic, Closer To Carbon finds themselves in much darker waters, more comparable to the maudlin Victorian waltzes of Rasputina.
Mr. Bobby Conn straps his glam pants on for another tripped-outta-yer-mind rock'n'roll extravaganza! King For A Day starts out on a rather somber samba-tinged tone, but it doesn't take long for Conn and co. to rev their engines and launch his rock opera into full gear. We personally prefer the songs that shoot rockets of glitter and flaming guitar noodles to the ones on which Conn slows things down to love-you-down ballad croonery (kinda reminds us somewhat unpleasantly of Tony Hadley of Spandau Ballet). Highlights include the adventure rock of "Sinking Ship" and the bright and buoyant Monkee-ish pop moment "Love Let Me Down". Woo hoo!
When we highlighted those Graham Nash records a while back, some of us were hoping we would soon get other records from the Crosby, Stills Nash and Young camp, especially this one, David Crosby's only solo album of the period, If I Could Only Remember My Name. It took some cajoling to bring this record in as about half the store loves this record to death while the other half, er....well, let's just say they aren't quite as enthusiastic about it. But for those of us who love it, we are glad to finally share it. When you hear people talking about the "West Coast sound", we can't think of a more archetypical record than this. Mellow, shambolic, and laid back with that Laurel Canyon sun-tripped hippie vibe, this is the most sublime and transcendental recording to come out of the vast CSN&Y catalog, and that's including the member's mother bands, The Byrds, The Hollies and Buffalo Springfield. With loose song structures, soaring and often-wordless vocal harmonies, and Dead-ish guitar meanderings (a point of contention with the haters), this record's hippie earnestness may not be for everyone. But it stands as a musical pinnacle for the contemporary folk scene, freak or otherwise, and you can hear its influence clearly on bands like Skygreen Leopards, Bright Black Morning Light and Feathers. Hands down, it's the best wake-and-bake album ever!
So weird and so wonderful! Man, if only the Krofft Supershow was still on the air Deerhoof would be the best house band ever. Sid and Marty's tweaked candy-colored tv show trips are the perfect visual match for this Bay Area band's sounds. Imagine taking your sugar-buzzed ears for a wild rollercoaster ride on which the loops and corkscrews are all twisted into such macrame knots that you lose all sense of which way is up! Delirious thrills and chills galore. Friend Opportunity continues on from where The Runners Four left off with even grander scale productions that wouldn't be at all out of place in some theatrical musical... a very psychedelic one, mind you! We heart Deerhoof!
French heavy psychedelic acid rock proto-metal. Yes we said French. Last year, via the interweb, we got clued in to the existence of some way rare and obscure late '60s / early '70s heaviness from the land of baguettes and berets. Rotomagus, Les Variations, Chico Magnetic Band, Quo Vadis, Zoo... Francais Metal de Proto!! We'd had no idea. So we're happy now we've tracked down a few import cds bearing proof of this hitherto unknown phenomenon. This one's by a band from Paris called Docdail. Housed in a cardboard sleeve, this cd features just four tracks -- the A and B sides of Docdail's first two singles, from 1969 and 1970, which might be their entire recorded output as far as we know. In fact we don't know much about these guys at all -- except that at they wrote at least one song, found here, that is mindblowingly heavy for 1969!!!
This disc starts off with "Sad Harold", an electric blues number that while decent enough probably won't get anybody too excited. It definitely betrays nothing of the utterly ahead-of-its-time onslaught of psychedelic instro-sludge found on the flip, track two here, "Aere Perennius". A way HEAVY acid jam, man. Doubtless this one was influenced by Jimi Hendrix, but to us sounds more like freakin' Steel Pole Bathtub! If we were told this was a band from the early '90s on AmRep, we'd have believed it, except maybe during a breakdown halfway through when some vocals come in, briefly shouting in Latin and French. Simply astonishing, and worth the price of this disc to those of you obsessed, like us, with the early daze of the heavy. Following that, third up on the disc, is the not-quite-as-heavy "Stone Me", a song as groovy and stonery as you'd hope from the title. Reminds us maybe of Steppenwolf. The B-side to that wraps things up, a much mellower track called "Why Do You Cry" that is slow, sad and sweet, which Docdail manages quite nicely. Leaving us puzzled though... it would seem that Docdail didn't really "get it" (or their management/audiences didn't), 'cause otherwise why the heck wouldn't they have taken the incredible, extreme sound of "Aere Perennius" and run with it?? Maybe they scared themselves, who knows!
The latest issue of indie/folk/drone/psych tome, Dream magazine, helping to fill the void left by the loss of the late great Broken Face.
This time in the magazine: Loren Connors, P.G. Six, Yellow6, Antony Milton, Josephine Foster, Beequeen, Ivor Cutler, Henry Flynt, Larkin Grimm, Sharron Kraus, Tor Lundvall, Linda Perhacs, Mayo Thompson and of course a massive amount of record reviews.
And as always, it comes with a cd as well, jam packed with rare and unreleased tracks from Function, Adrian Crowley, Mike Tamburo, Sharron Kraus, Keenan Lawler, Lumeny, The Kitchen Cynics, Farina, The Moon Upstairs, Absalom, Yellow6, St. Mary's, The Left Outsides, Crashing Dreams, Freiband and Tor Lundvall.
Although it really really sounds like one, the new Eluvium album is not a film soundtrack. Copia breathes deeply with instrumental cinematic expanses. Much like what Rachel's and their label base Quarterstick did for chamber music back in the mid-'90s, Eluvium (aka Matthew Cooper) and his label home Temporary Residence are doing for ambient, new age and classical compositions, exposing it to a new audience, today's indie scene (even more so since he's hitting the road with Explosions In The Sky). Undeniably influenced deeply by genre patriarchs the sublime and venerable Phillip Glass and Brian Eno, Cooper's middle name just might be 'austerity'... well, with the exception of the muted cannon blasts in the final track. That said, we couldn't help but notice that the ninth track "Reciting The Airships" sounds more than a little like the intro to Journey's "Don't Stop Believing"! Nonetheless oh so very somber and beautiful.
If we told Hanatarash fans that this new cd WASN'T chock full of totally insane, random, chaotic noise, they'd be disappointed. So -- don't worry, no disappointment! The first release from Boredoms leader Eye Yamantaka's noise project Hanatarash in many moons (10 years?) is finally here, and it's a collaboration with UK noise artist Evil Moisture, aka Andy Bolus, who's based now in France and has quite a few cassettes and cds of extremely difficult listening under his belt. Together (and you can't tell who's doing what) they've produced 35 brief tracks of ear-hole destroying noise, somewhat in the style of Hanatarash 4: Aids-a-delic from 1994. It's a crazy collage of cut-up sounds, some snippets of recognizable "music" sprinkled amidst a heckuva lot of distorted turntable and microphone abuse, whooshing groaning screaming overload that just keeps on keepin' on, an endless barrage with no discernible structure, noises constantly morphing into some new noises but never making any sense. It's a bit like the sounds you might imagine some truly nightmarish Rube Goldberg device might make. And you've gotta love the "song" titles: "Never Mind The Overdosing", "Fingertip Believer", "Atomichy in the LSD", "Bank Punks / Noise Bank"... Also this includes "covers" of songs by both Survivor and The Exploited, supposedly. Limited edition of 500 copies by the way.
Now available on vinyl! And the lp version also includes the bonus remix cd...
We've always been fans of Explosions In The Sky. One of the post Mogwai, post Godspeed outfits so adept at crafting super epic and emotional instrumental soundscapes -- post rock, math rock, jangly pop, chamber music, all sort of whipped into grandiose cinematic swells. But past records, while sounding amazing, with the right balance of mood and metal, hush and heaviness, still stuck a little too close to the template of their forbears. EITS were like the perfect mix of Godspeed and old more bombastic Mogwai. And not much more. Nothing wrong with that really, it just never totally blew us away.
But All Of A Sudden I Miss Everyone is different. And it does blow us away. In a big way. It still sounds like EITS, and thus still sounds a bit like Godspeed and Mogwai, but like any great band in the last 20 years, it's not who you steal from, or what you steal, it's how you make what you steal your own. And EITS have made epic instrumental post rock all their own. The opener is everything this sort of music could and should be. Super dense and dramatic, spacious and emotional, opening with keening high end melodies over big jangly guitar strum and huge percussive For Those About To Rock blasts, the guitars slowly intertwining and drifting off, fading to a moody minor key post rock drift, underpinned by layer after layer of fuzzy blissy guitar and a motorik rhythmic shuffle before the completely perfect bridge, a spaced out melody, all dynamic and epic, that will definitely give you goosebumps, before launching into a full on heavy math rock groove, incorporating that same hair raising melody, with some killer drumming and a veritable orchestra of guitars.
The rest of the record plays out in similar, albeit slightly less bombastic fashion. Each track perfectly leading into the next, an expansive post rock epic, separated into movements, chiming guitars, thick riffs, each track gloriously tangled and emotional, with long stretches of cinematic ambience, some shimmering strings, glistening melodies, lush harmonies, bits of piano, and some amazingly expressive drumming.
The All Of A Sudden lp also includes a cd, which contains an entire remix of the album, each track reworked by a different artist. Jesu turns the epic opener into a fuzzier, blissier, and toward the end a MUCH heavier beast. Adem's remix is all low key and abstract, acoustic guitars, simple percussion and glistening chimes, a whispery shadow of the original. The Paper Chase wraps the original track in a glorious swirl of murky ambience, adding a stuttery drum machine rhythm and all sorts of strange sonic filigree. Mountains gives their track a serious Pop Ambient makeover, stretched out and languorous, swirling and shimmery, ending with a long expanse of solo piano. Four Tet's reimagination is the most dramatic, a blissed out shuffling electronic workout, all processed drums, shuffling and skittering, with the original track nestled beneath layers of synth fuzz and strange subtle FX. Finally, labelmates Eluvium transform the album closer into a fuzzy smear of pixelated ambience, that builds and builds, much like the original, but in this version, into a blown out, super distorted fuzzy dreamscape.
Two versions of the same record, both stunning! So recommended.
Newest (and fifth in the series, we've reviewed two others, we'll try to get to all of 'em eventually!) in a new series of ULTRA LIMITED hand made drone / ambient cd-r's from this new boutique label specializing in short form 3" cd-r's of dark drone drenched ambiance.
This latest installment comes from the percussion duo of Tim Feeney and Matt Samolis, this 20+ minute piece is all percussion and is the soundtrack to a short film, documenting the destruction of a television set, from the perspective of the TV, and manages to be clattery and chaotic while at the same time being dreamy and hypnotic. A multilayered soundscape, in the foreground, a dense filed of clang and clatter, like someone rifling through a silverware drawer, or someone digging through a bucket filled with pottery shards, a jagged bit of crunching and crashing, that manages to be sort of nice to listen to, as the track progresses, it sounds more like someone bending metal, creaking and grinding, the sound of rubber stretching, rubbing against steel, sort of industrial but also sort of creepy. In the background, bits of metal moan and groan, like distant foghorns, slow, whale call like tones, drifting across the sound field all wrapped up in reverb. Later on the creaking and groaning bits of metal, get louder, more insistent, sheets of metal boom out like thunder, bits of metallic high end scream like feeding back guitars, a muted cacophony, as weirdly lovely as it is creepy and abrasive.
ULTRA LIMITED TO ONLY 50 COPIES!!! Painstakingly hand assembled. Tiny 3" pale green fold over sleeves, with a glossy sepia toned image affixed to the front, sealed at the bottom with two rivets, tied with a ribbon, with a little circular badge. Inside the disc nestles between two sheets of gorgeously textured paper, hand printed and so lovely.
Live record from everybody's favorite laptopping guitarist (or guitar playing laptopper) Christian Fennesz, released on the new (to us at least) Japanese label Headz, in a gorgeous sleeve designed by Touch's Jon Wozencroft. A little over 40 minutes of gorgeous, squelching, hazy shimmer. The disc starts off with a burst of scratchy barbed wire static, before the submerged melodies and summery warmth slowly rise to the surface. As the disc progresses Fennesz's guitar surfaces more and more, as lazily strummed acoustic guitars dodge digital crunch, and fingerpicked notes are captured and sent careening wildly through the thick wash of digital whir, crackly sputter, and gritty fuzz. Moments of melodic tranquility bob weightlessly on a sea of crackling glitches and resonant flickers of crumbling distortion, as the melodies struggle to stay afloat. So completely lovely and at the same time so ferocious and harsh, a dichotomy of sound that seems to define the glorious sonic explorations of Fennesz.
Ok, this is a black metal band, but non-metallers into the improv-drone sounds of the Jewelled Antler collective, Richard Youngs/Simon Wickham-Smith and the like should keep reading!
Not to be confused with the other Forest we've raved about (the psychedelic British folk band from thirty years ago), *this* Forest is a Russian black metal outfit, and a pretty good one belonging to the raw, primitive, corpse-painted end of the genre. The first four tracks on here consist of blasting, frozen Darkthrone worship, keeping alive the cult spirit that so few bands today still possess -- maybe because those tracks were actually recorded in 1996. Malevolent, majestic pagan metal full of Burzumic mayhem. Fans of this vein of true, trancey black metal darkness will be pleased. And if that was all that was on this disc we'd think it was cool. But then comes the fifth and final track, a surprise twenty-minute opus called "Winter Howl" taken from a 1994 rehearsal tape. Suddenly Forest isn't so obviously black metal at all, they've entered a psych-drone realm that's more akin to the aforementioned Jewelled Antler stuff (Thuja, The Birdtree, etc) or Taj Mahal Travellers or Reynols or Amon Duul's krautrock jams, still as forest-y and primitive as the preceding metal songs though. A wavering whispy wordless vocal winds over a bed of lost, primal percussion and haunting washes of mild feedback. Simple melody lines on guitar wander through the increasing haze, with deeper vocals providing additional layers of drone. If you really heard this in a forest you'd be mesmerized and scared, but it's really nice and pretty (in a damaged way) when heard at home...pretty to us anyway, dunno if Kaldrad and Dagorath meant it to be so! The vocals, until they get a little more metal-ly, totally remind us of the bliss-out singing by British folk experimentalist Richard Youngs or Jewelled Antler's pop soul Jason Honea. If Finnish avant-forest-folk folks like Avarus and Kemialliset Ystavat or the Jewelled Antler collective decided to make black metal, this is what's we'd imagine it would sound like! (Actually, there IS an upcoming black metal-inspired release from Jewelled Antler, a 3" cd-r by a group they call Tomes, but Tomes takes an even more subtle approach than "Winter Howl"...look for that here at AQ soon!) Meanwhile, on the black metal side, fans of Mistigo Varggoth Darkestra, Caacrinolas, Potentiam, and other weird ones should dig this track, along with Forest's other more typical black metal sounds. Recommended.
Hey now, isn't this Japanese-surname-laden band moniker quite a red herring?
1. Although they do seem to be very obsessed with all things Japanese, they themselves are not Japanese. They are from Brighton.
2. The group is not a duo, they are actually a trio.
3. They have nothing to do with The Karate Kid.
All that stuff aside, apparently they've got the hip kids overseas drooling and dancing for their tunes that blend the kraut-synth pop of The Notwist, the icily detached electro-wave of Ladytron, the chillout groove of Air and the propulsive dance punk of LCD Soundsystem. This cd is their first U.S. release and it compiles new versions of the six songs that appeared on their first three limited vinyl only 10" singles (originally released in '05/'06 on U.K. label Tirk), three brand new tracks and one U.S. exclusive track "Reeboks In Heaven".
In the voice of Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons: "Best band EVER."
No, we're not actually implying an endorsement of Gallhammer by Comic Book Guy. But, IF Comic Book Guy was into old school death/black/doom metal and crusty punk (which, we'd imagine he probably isn't) -and- was really into cute Japanese girls (which, chances are, he is), then, well, Gallhammer would be one of his favorite bands. We can't help but like 'em lot ourselves. We reviewed their debut cd Gloomy Lights back on list 235, and pointed out then that while a trio of cute, Japanese girls with raccoon eyes playing in the style of '80s doom pioneers Hellhammer was an obvious high-concept selling point, from -listening- to it you sure couldn't tell they were cute or even female. But you could tell that their music was utterly grim and wretched and heavy as hell, which for us was enough to recommend it. Glacial riffs, pounding drums, atmospheric breaks, deathly croaks... raw and primitive and very effective!
We also reported that they'd gotten signed to Peaceville, who have cleverly determined that the best way to introduce Gallhammer to the masses isn't with a new album (still upcoming) but with this, a collection of demos and rehearsal tracks. Oh, and with a DVD disc of live performances. That's the clever part. Once you see vocalist/bassist Vivian Slaughter in her Celtic Frost t-shirt, staring blankly into space and grunting inhumanly into the microphone, you'll be smitten. Or watch drummer Risa Reaper thrash her kit, providing back-up screams too. Or witness guitarist Mika Penetrator (Amebix t-shirt for her) crank out the riffage whilst contributing blood-curdling vokills as well... it's all over. Is there a fan club? Where do we sign up? Seriously, though, the live footage is convincing. They're a killer band. And have a great sense of theatrics, looking so much like those spooky girls you always see in Japanese horror films with their long black hair and hollow eyes.
The DVD features 24 songs from six shows filmed at various venues in Japan between 2005 and 2006. Some are pro shot (the show at Okayama Pepper Land which is presented in its entirety) and others are more bootleggy lookin' but still perfectly acceptable. And there's also a photo gallery of stills to stimulate more fanboy drool.
Meanwhile, on the audio disc, you get twelve tracks including two exclusive demos of (brutal) brand new songs, along with rarities going back to before the Gloomy Lights album. If you've heard Gallhammer before, you know this is gonna be crushing. Far from cartoonish. If you haven't heard 'em, this a good place to enter their haunted world of misanthropic moody metal. Imagine if Unsane, Corrupted and Zeni Geva got together in a cave to make the soundtrack to some freaky J-horror flick, after listening to nothing but Tom G. Warrior's earliest output and the occasional Velvet Underground album for inspiration. Cool, eh?
Here's a band we haven't heard from in ages, and to be honest, one we honestly thought we might not ever hear from again. O'Rourke is in Sonic Youth, Grubbs has his own stuff going on, but back in the day, Gastr Del Sol were a post rock beast. Born of the mighty Bastro, they took that muscled math rock and twisted it all up into something much artier and more avant garde, and we LOVED it. Heck, we still do. So it's awesome to hear this blast from the past. Not actually a new record, this is a fancy new reissue of a long out of print 7", and boy it sounds as good as ever.
Beginning with a blast of old skool post rock, strummed angular acoustic guitar and complex drumming, before giving way to a mellow mathy folk, which quickly crumbles into strange melodic fragments, almost sounding like a Gastr Del Sol track proper, chopped up and put together in some random order. Nice.
The flipside starts off again, with a blast of post rock fury, aggressive acoustic guitar riffing and some seriously chaotic math rock drum freak out, before blissing out into a droney drift, complete with strange field recordings of children laughing and playing before fading out into a slow shimmer, all muted electronics and reverbed piano. So nice.
Packaged in a thick vinyl sleeve with a full color sleeve, pressed on clear vinyl with a full color center label. Simple, stark and striking.
The return of Fflint!! The first release in almost a year from our hands down, favorite fucked outsider electronic label. Avid readers of the AQ list need only see the names Berkowitz Lake And Dahmer, Cavendish Sanguine, Pendro, Cousin Silas and of course the Gideon Leeches, to know what sort of mind bending, ear shredding electronic fuckery these freaks have in store for us.
The Gideon Leeches, aka Steve Nuttall, was the first group on Fflint, not in some way made up of one (or both) of the two shadowy souls behind the Fflint curtain. But hearing this (and the previous disc, The Freezing Point) one would be forgiven for assuming that it was actually a like minded trio responsible for all of these sounds. Some sort of freakish three headed calf, plopped down behind some busted up turntables, an old sampler and a mixing desk, kept alive with a steady diet of crisps and beer. The results are suitably damaged and off kilter. And glorious!!!
So here we have Blessed Is The Noise, the work of one of those three heads, and what a piece of work it is too. Like most Fflint discs, it's a very fine balance between droning beauty and complete chaos, and as we might expect (and hope), the Leeches have no problem diving headfirst into either. Or both. It's electronic music, but it's sure as heel not 'danceable', it's dark and droney, but not really soothing and tranquil. But then again, it sort of is. Both. Soothing AND tranquil. And danceable. OK, not really danceable.
Vocals are chopped and sliced and diced and reassembled into some sort of damaged robotic Portishead thing, and set adrift amidst a soft shimmery backdrop, before the backdrop revolts and becomes dense and corrosive, moaning like bowed sheets of metal, but remaining still somehow droney and dreamy. Thick swaths of sparkling sunbaked sound are wrapped around a relentlessly catchy nursery rhyme melody, like an ice cream truck driving directly into the center of the sun. A vast expanse of vibrating rods, all shimmering and quivering and letting off soft metallic whirs, is submerged beneath 6 inches of muddy water, while a row of parked cars honks along, the whole thing recorded on a wax cylinder and played back through a hearing aid. Elsewhere, an orchestra of keening high end tones is wrapped around a throbbing rumbling whir, the sound of a crying child is subsumed by a million skipping cds, their skipping creating a warm womb like whir, while also unleashing inadvertent subtly rhythmic pulses. Gorgeous blurry drifts of muted melody are stretched into gauzy sheets and draped over ghostly vocals. A Sunroof! like din is channelled through the spirit of a player piano, resulting in a strange old timey abstract free noise Ur-drone, and so much more...
Blessed Is The Noise is nearly indescribable, or more precisely seems to be more easily described in terms of rods and player pianos and honking horns and ice cream trucks, than tone and timbre, but that's precisely what makes it so magical. Like all of the Fflint stuff, it's gorgeous and confusional, lovely, yet cracked, far out, but completely catchy at the same time. And also, as with all of the Fflint stuff, so wholeheartedly recommended!
Rev-Ola brings us the sweet summer breeze early this year by reissuing this pop-jazz gem from Astrud Gilberto. Famous for her refreshingly lackadaisical vocal debut on Stan Getz's "The Girl from Ipanema", September 17, 1969 marks her last recording date with the Verve label (released in America as "Let Go", with a different song order), as the Bossa Nova craze that had invaded America since the mid-sixties was waning. Filled with more contemporary covers than Brazilian standards, including songs by the Bee Gees, The Beatles, The Doors and Harry Nilsson, the album's standout track is the eight minute opener, a cover of Chicago's "Beginnings", a beat-heavy groover that fans of Wax Poetics will drool over. But the Brazilian cuts are still strong with "Let Go (Canto de Ossanha)" popularized by Elis Regina, being a return to the soft samba vibe that made Gilberto famous. It'll be easy to cringe at some of the more obvious pop interpretations like "Light My Fire", but most of the time her choices work. It's better to think of it like this: without Astrud Gilberto, there would be no Nouvelle Vague!
Another frosty blast of mighty white metal. Or unblack metal. Whatever you want to call it, this stuff is blacker in sound, if not in spirit, than much of the so called black metal that comes our way. And as if to prove just how un-evil they are, Glaciial have reclaimed the extra 'i' (like in Celestiial, Mutiilation, etc.) as if to spit in the face of the dark lord. No longer is buzzing black metal strictly the purview of Satan, a new movement of positive, Christian black metal has slowly been making waves, creating a totally mindblowing catalog of bizarre and super original black metal. Buzzing and brutal enough to appeal to the true grim warriors, but weird enough to have -us- all in a lather, and with a positive message that goes down a lot smoother delivered via a face full of corpse painted spike encrusted unblack buzz!
Glaciial is a trio made up of three of the most active members in the Midwestern unblack metal scene, one part Light Shall Prevail (reviewed here a few lists back), one part Flaskavsae and one part Wrathful Plague and the result is again, fucking NUTS!!! The sticker on the cd describes this as fast and atmospheric black metal, but boy does that not nearly do this record justice. It is definitely atmospheric in that the buzz is so pervasive and blown out and thick that it smears into a massive slow shifting whirl of swirling buzz, even though the music it's wrapped around is blazing fast. And there are melodies, these songs have hooks like crazy, but they are buried under a million pounds of black buzz. But it's the vocals. What is it with all these unblack metal bands?! It's like they are all capable of singing in tongues. The Agathothodion we reviewed had some of the weirdest vocals we had ever heard, a moaning drifting croon, like a smeared falsetto. But the vocals here take the cake. We might go so far as to say most fucked and most amazing vocals EVER. A hissing rasp that alternately sounds like a Tuvan throat singer with a tracheotomy or a Sleestak. A swirling reverbed distorted raspy whisper that whips over the icy backdrop like some frozen arctic wind. HHHHHHHZZZZZZHHHZZZZZZZ. Awesome. And when the band slows down and dooms out it's seriously fucking frightening.
Get down on your knees and bask in the divine unblack glory that is Glaciial!!
Wow! The first vinyl-only (that's right, no plans for a cd we're told) Sublime Frequencies release focuses on a single group rather than an anthology of regional folk and pop or collaged radio broadcasts. Struck by an ecstatically squealing lo-fi blast of electric guitar from a song heard on Moroccan radio, the Sub Freq's main man, Alan Bishop went on a quest for the regional origins of that particular electric sound. Canvassing numerous cassette dealers, he was only able to identify the music as Sahwari and to pinpoint the region as the Western Sahara, a disputed territory nestled on the Atlantic Coast of North Africa between Morocco and Mauritania where frequent political struggles have caused the massive displacement of the region's indigenous people. A few months later, Bishop's colleague, Hisham Mayet, armed with Bishop's recording travelled back to Morocco to continue the search, ending up in the last outpost of the Western Sahara, Daklha, where through the help of the Sahwari shopkeepers was finally led to the creator of the strange music himself, Baamar Salmou, or as he is known in Sahwari, Doueh. Born in 1964. Doueh learned guitar on a homemade instrument fashioned from pieces of wood and steel strings. In 1981, influenced by Mauritanian music as well as Spanish cassettes imported from Europe and America of Jimi Hendrix and James Brown, he formed Group Doueh, fast becoming one of the definitive groups in the region, playing in festivals all over Northern Africa and even in France and Portugal. His wife Halima later joined as a vocalist and percussionist and in later incarnations, Doueh's son Jamal joined on keyboards. The tracks on this release are all taken from Doueh's personal archive except for two recordings made by Mayet, early last year. This is definitely some of the strangest and twisted ethnic music we've heard in awhile with its buzzing lo-fi circular guitar hooks and exhuberant vocalising and infectious rhythms, reminding us of aspects of Konono No1's DIY tinkering, Tartit's desert trance-jams and a bit of the Shaggs self-taught charm (not so much in sound, but how a lot of the guitar parts follow the vocals). Limited to 1000 copies, this is so awesome and highly recommended!!
As much as we love downtuned sludge and the whole dronedoomdirge static guitar buzz thing, and we do, believe us, we do, we love it even more when bands take that sound and warp it into something completely new. Such is the case with Aphotic Leech, a 35 minute single track from the duo known as Half Makeshift. Well, not sure if it's a duo as one guy is credited with piano, guitar, organ, glitch work and manipulation, while the other guy apparently "unknowningly provided all [the] percussion". Strange...
As is this disc. It begins with a sudden flurry of glitchy static that quickly gives way to dark dolorous piano, picking out a mournful, funereal melody, the notes drifting over simple chiming percussion, while beneath hover stretched out marimba melodies and a low distant thunderous rumbling. This dour march is occasionally enveloped in dense clouds of crumbling distortion and thick swaths of damaged electronics, always returning to it's spacious dark lilt. It's all very dynamic as well, with dark clusters of notes punching through the shimmery moodiness every once in a while, always retreating to a glacial drift. The notes on the piano gradually change form, wreathed in glitch, turned inside out, flipped backwards, often just subtly altered to flicker like some old projector, eventually erupting in a thick, grinding low end drone, the notes completely obscured, wrapped in thick swaths of crackle and glitch, the whole thing threatening to split apart, like watching the sky blacken and crumble above you, not long after the piano is swallowed up by a thick molten flow of black downtuned guitar drone, and you may think SUNNO))) is heavy? But this is more than heavy, caustic and black, a dense sludge so thick it barely makes it out of the speakers, but this low-end assault is peppered with strange production glitches, malfunctioning electronics, the notes, the sounds, all damaged and decaying, as if they might fall to the ground and break into a million pieces, but as long as they retain their shape, they are capable of crushing everything in their path.
Eventually the piano returns, but the notes are chopped into strange skipping rhythms, the rumbling, guitar crumble relegated to a swirling black backdrop, and finally, after one brief blast of black hole guitar grime, the track reverts to it's blissed out black ramble, culminating in a dark stuttering piano fade out....
Absolutely essential for the drone-doom-death-dirge inclined, fans of all things SUNNO))), Nadja, Fear Falls Burning, Trollmann, Boris, Marzuraan... Packaged in a super striking fold over sleeve, with a black on gold jellyfish on one side, and a truly revolting, but gorgeous penis-head-mask thing on the other, an amazing photograph by Max Aguilera-Hellweg, who was also responsible for the amazing photos on the sleeve of Fantomas' Delerium Cordia.
LIMITED TO 500 COPIES!!
Here's the moody, massive return of Scott "Wino" Weinrich's state-of-the-art progressive stoner rock power trio, their third full-length. Wino's gnarled croon and distinctive, fat guitar tone is at this point a national treasure (of the Doomed Nation that is), and The Resurrection Of Whiskey Foote gives all of us fans another chance to bask in his dark glory. Bassist Bruce Falkinberg performs his share of vocal duties as well, belting out the lead on several songs with a sort of ragged Blackie Lawless rasp, sounding better than previous albums when we wondered why the heck Wino wasn't singing all the songs.
The Hidden Hand is sort of like an advanced version of Wino's previous outfit Spirit Caravan: more adventurous, more complex, more melodic. The songs here range from plodding psych to raging grunge, calling to mind Sabbath (of course), the Southern rock of Skynyrd, and (thus) Pepper-era Corrosion Of Conformity. The 46 year old Wino is definitely keeping one foot in the '70s here, as always... and the other in the 1700s, as apparently this album ("thinking man's" stoner rock for sure) has a semi-conceptual historical fiction storyline having to do with the made-up title character in post Revolutionary War America. It's all very cryptic of course, but we think perhaps reference is being made to the anti-tax Whiskey Rebellion of the 1790s, that was squashed by President Washington. That would fit in with what we know to be Wino's suspicions about our Federal government today. Hmm, well while we take Wino's conspiratorial notions with a grain of salt, we are fully accepting of his powerful guitar riffs! And we never before thought that taking AP American History in high school would help us review a stoner rock record...
Ladies and gentlemen, may we decant a new High Llamas album for your listening enjoyment? Ah yes, you can almost hear the tinkling of silverware on fine bone china as the dinner plates are cleared away at the supper club, and the elegant guests settle in for their after dinner mints, waltzing and musical performance. The follow-up to 2003's Beet, Maize & Corn, Can Cladders features more immaculately groomed, glorious orchestral pop from the golden quill of Sean O'Hagan that tiptoes delicately along the outskirts of Lawrence Welk's well manicured topiaried hedges (well, we don't know for sure that Mr. Welk had hedges let alone topiaried ones, but we can dream can't we?). We've always thought the High Llamas' presence on the Drag City label to be somewhat incongruous alongside the likes of Neil Michael Hagerty, Weird War, Brother JT, Neil Hamburger, U.S. Maple, and the Fucking Champs. But hey, don't we all need something a little soft'n'pretty every so often?! This is downright easy listening that's possibly just as palatable to the grannies as it is to the kids. Don't forget your doilies!
Final release from Polish horde Infernum, which is essentially as far as we can tell just a different version of Graveland. Although there seems to be some complicated backstory and two different Infernums from the same town. One made up entirely of session members (Rob Darken and Capricornus of Graveland) the other fronted by the protege of the original founder who killed himself. Weird. The liner notes are funny / disturbing, explaining that Darken and Capricornus were grateful that the other guy killed himself and that their only regret was that he died at his own hands instead of theirs. Woah.
But whatever, this is some awesome, buzzing black metal done Polish style. The Graveland sound is all over Infernum. The original version of this was released as a bootleg back in 1996 without keyboards or vocals, and after the death of Anextiomarus, Darken and Capricornus finished it and released it as you hear it now. Keyboards all over the place. Thick washes of epic grandiose synths, howled vocals, over furious midtempo black thrash, buzzing insectoid riffs, blasting drums, weird choral vocals, but the coolest part of this disc is the weird sort of post rocky breakdowns, with clean guitars and tribal rhythms, minor key and moody, they sort of jangle and lope along lazily until the blackness drops and the band explode again into freaked out grim black furor. Fans of Graveland will obviously NEED this, but folks into weird black metal will probably find this much to their liking...
Another gorgeous missive from former AQ record of the week recipient Jasper TX, aka Swedish sound sculptor Dag Rosenqvist. For more on the obfuscated beauty of Jasper TX, check the review of I'll Be Long Gone Before My Light Reaches You elsewhere on the AQ site, where we wax rhapsodic about the fuzzy, blurry, shimmery pixelated dreamscapes Rosenqvist seems to be able to muster from thin air.
For this brief two track blast, Rosenqvist ups the noise ante just a bit, but balances it with plenty of blurry beauty and dreamy ambience. The opener shifts from a creaking, nearly not there whisper, to a huge buzzing squall of crumbling distortion and keening high end shimmer, which quickly gives way to a super spacious near ambient minor key drift. The second track, clocking in at 15 minutes, spends its first two minutes rumbling at the edge of human perception, before a melody begins to emerge, the notes ringing out, hovering above the roiling near silent rumbles below, before beginning to swell, the notes ringing out longer, thick gauzy streaks of reverb wrapping themselves around the fragments of melody, wreathed in bits of glitch and crackle, glimmering and glistening, when, for just a brief moment, a guitar muscles its way through the murk, a single grinding chord smeared across the mournful drifting soundscape beneath, before disappearing completely, leaving the glistening notes and the crackling melodies to slowly fade away. Gorgeous.
Packaged in a cool mini cardstock sleeve, with a printed sticker affixed to the plastic.
LIMITED TO 75 COPIES!! We got about half, but those won't last long...
This 1975 follow-up to their internationally successful Autobahn LP pays tribute to the mechanical catalyst that helped create that success, the radio and the power of broadcast communications. While more obtuse and less successful than its predecessor, the songs on Radio-Activity utilize more concrete forms than ever before with sounds of static, Geiger counters, oscillators and Cage-ian moments of silence to recreate the sense of radio transmission. This also marks the first time Kraftwerk recorded vocals in English and made use of robotic voices that would come to the forefront in subsequent releases.
Taking Cues from the Russian Constructivist movement for its cover, 1978's The Man Machine was the most removed album to that date from Kraftwerk's krautrock origins. Taking on the form of automatons, the music is cold, and mechanical pop about robots, models, and urbanization that opened up the floodgates for new wave and electro. It is also one of the best and most realized albums in their evolving career.
Arguably, Kraftwerk's best recording, Trans-Europe Express from 1977 marries the Kosmiche minimalism of Ralf and Florian with the technological sublime sound of Autobahn while at the same time foreshadowing the robotic dance pop of The Man-Machine and Computer World. We also see for the first time, the image of the band as a uniform commodity dealing with post-modern themes of surface, reflection, repetition and reproduction that would thoroughly dominate their later output.
