Right from the majestic, martial instrumental intro of "Through The Horned Gate" that begins this album, it's clear that the return of 3 Inches Of Blood is also the return of true, speedy, spikes n' leather metal in an updated '80s vein, hypercharged with aggressive modern metalcore technology. It's all about relentless shrieking, Maidenesque guitar frenzies, and song titles like "Night Marauders" and "Demon's Blade". Total galloping speed metal mayhem, and then some. It's like Judas Priest's Painkiller as performed by Converge!
Of course, 3 Inches Of Blood aren't the only band these days looking back to the glory days of the '80s for (ironic?) metal inspiration. But this Vancouver sextet is one of the best, most wholehearted, and surprisingly successful sales-wise (among North American bands anyway -- and this is way cooler than Dragonforce) and also have their own unique approach to this sound, which can be ascribed both to their hardcore heritage and to the presence of two vocalists (that's all they do!) in the band, doubling up on the mics, one a long-haired, raspy-but-melodic high-end falsetto specialist, the other short-haired one dealing in growlier throat abuse. And they kinda need two singers/screamers to compete with all the dual guitar fireworks going off around them.
Fire Up The Blades is a fine follow up to their breakthrough second album Advance and Vanquish, and is also already a definite headbanging AQ fave. We're into what seems to be an extra dose of, uh, rock n' roll riffage here -- there's some cowbell happenin' too. But it's still all pretty much rockin' at 150mph, pedal to the metal. This is one fierce, energetic album! For fans of everything from Accept to Children Of Bodom to Laaz Rockit to Darkest Hour to Lizzie Borden to Mastodon to Metal Church... gotta highlight this, as the FUN, fist-in-the-air quotient compared to some of the grim black metal we're always recommending is extremely high.
Woah. This prolific band of Japanese hippies (fresh off a by-all-accounts kick-ass US tour with Mammatus as openers) is back, again, with a new album on Ace Fu. It's one of those one-track, one-hour jobbies, rather overwhelming for those of us trying to write up a quick review! We can tell you that the whole thing is based around an ancient and popular Buddhist mantra, from whence this gets its title. We'll direct you to that font of all knowledge, Wikepedia, for more information (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nam_Myoho_Renge_Kyo). Apparently this mantra has appeared also in a Ludacris song, on an episode of the Monkees, and in Revenge Of The Nerds II! Of course AMT don't just chant it this mantra. They turn it into an epic, outerspace/innerspace, psychedelic rock opera. Whooshing FX, a chorus of voices, droning electronics, guitar overload, ethnic acoustic instrumentation, plodding drums, heavy jams, it's all here. Basically they've fully Amon Duulized their rendition of Nam Myo Ho Ren Ge Kyo, as is their usual wont. We don't know if most practicing Buddhists will find this to their liking, but we're loving it! Another awesome automatic "yes, please" for AMT fans.
It's an ***Acid Mothers Temple alert*** and also a ***Ruins alert*** with this one. Japanese underground music devotees, look alive! The clumsily-named Acid Mothers Temple SWR unit is a power trio consisting of drummer Tatsuya Yoshida (Ruins, etc.), guitarist Makoto Kawabata (AMT, etc.), and bassist Atsushi Tsuyama (AMT, etc.). They've released one album under this moniker previously (and several together under other names -- this is the same lineup as Seikazoku). And as before, this time around they've created a crazed, semi-improvised rock tribute to three of their favorite things: Stones, Women, and Records (SWR)!! The cheesecake cover photo sorta says it all. Who else would pose a woman in a bikini on a rock holding a record?
Anyway, there's 18 confusional tracks here ranging from spastic jazz noodlings to country-pop parodies to plenty of out-n-out freek-rock, all of it played with hella chops and tongues, we think, planted firmly in cheek (which doesn't stop them from accomplishing all sorts of insane vocals). They jump from one musical idea to the next without warning, somehow managing to cram outbursts of heaviness, interludes of genuine beauty, Black Sabbath quotes, and even kazoos all onto this same perverse prog platter! The song titles are incomprehensible in-jokes ("Very Very Very Jazz - deer cries with 'KAGYEEYO' in the breeding season", "Fairy music of foolish sushi bar - country singer NARENA BAYSTAR", "Ahla Hassanbeck Lamborghini rock"...????) and these guys are as silly as they are psychedelic, but AMTSWR don't mess around at messing around, even the most humorless avant-listener (of a psych bent) should walk away impressed at this music. Think Acid Mothers Temple meets old Omoide Hatoba and Boredoms... Yeah. "Forever stones, Forever women, Forever records"!
We've been dying to list some Akitsa for ages, one of our favorite purveyors of ultra filthy, simple stripped down buzz drenched black metal. But their records have been impossible to come by for ages, other than for way too much on eBay. Recently however, NYC's Hospital Records came to the rescue, and reissued two of our favorites, Sang Nordique and this one, Goetie.
On the opening track, the sound is much like their Canadian brethren Malveillance, frosty and cold, fierce and fast, old school black metal. The riffs are blown out and buzz like swarms of tiny spiked insects, the drums, a seemingly relentless pound, the vocals a wild hysterical shriek. The D-beat influence is not so prevalent as in Malveillance, but the structure is quite similar, a single riff, pounded into submission, over and over and over, a blackbuzzmantra of the highest order. But Akitsa only spend a small amount of their time buzzing at breakneck speed. Much of the rest of the time they slow things way down, the high end buzz becoming murkier and more malevolent, complete with strange guitar harmonies, and croaked demonic vocals, resulting in what almost sounds like a black metal Brainbombs. And as with most of our favorite BM outfits, Akitsa are not at all afraid of melody, offering up some strangely lovely interludes where minor key melodies drift over loping drums and guitars jangle more than crunch, lots of melodic prettiness and droning shimmer.�
On the track "Les Ruines De La Modernite", things slow down to an absolute crawl, a sludgy lurching plod, but somehow, the chord progression and the melodies end up sounding super pretty. It's almost like some slowcore track given a black metal makeover. Like Codeine covering Immortal. And most of the slow tracks sound like that, like pretty and poppy painted pitch black.�
The intro and outro are also quite lovely, the intro a swaying repeated minor key guitar figure over a sea of static buzz, while above it all a voice croons hypnotically, while the outro is delicate and dreamy, like some soft focus eighties British pop music, simple chimes and a looped melody, all hovering over what sounds like something burning, a low level crackle and rumble. And everything in between is perfect, whether it's wild thrashing, slow plodding, mid tempo waltzes, whatever, every moment is infused with some super unlikely pop sensibilities and an arsenal of blackbuzz riffs to die for.
We've been gushing over French black metal outfit Ameseours for a while now. Their amazing blend of buzzing blackness and indie jangle. Like nothing we'd heard really, but was exactly what we always wanted, nay needed to hear, just didn't know it. As we mentioned in our review of their record, various members of that group also do time in the much more black metal Peste Noire, whose most recent record FolkFuck Folie we also reviewed recently, and in both reviews we lamented the fact that we were never able to get the ep by yet another related band, the even less metal, more blissy Alcest. And while that 2 song disc does in fact seem to be out of print, this here is the brand new full length, and besides being amazing, and one of the prettiest records of the year, it's absolutely and entirely not the least bit metal. AT ALL.�
Which is in no way a bad thing, it's just perplexing that black metal folks have been touting this as one of the best metal records of the year, even ever. Much like Ameseours, Alcest is all about indie jangle, and blissed out shoegazey pop, but where Ameseours, mixes that sound with a more traditional buzz and blast, resulting in some strange blackened hybrid, a sort of indie jangle black metal, Alcest, jettison the metal entirely, leaving nothing but gorgeous, dramatic, epic, blissful pop perfection. And this is simply that, perfect pop. The guitars are still distorted and slightly heavy, and there is some double kick drum action, but that stuff is so wrapped up in dense smears of glistening chordal thrum and breathy emotional vocals, simple acoustic guitar picking and buzzing fuzzed out grooves, that it just sort of gets absorbed into Alcest's divine dreamy drift.�
We talked about Justin Broadrick channeling the spirit of early nineties shoegaze pop in Jesu, but Alcest sound like they were transported directly from that era, yanked from a field of similarly minded sonic explorers like My Bloody Valentine, Slowdive, Ride, Swervedriver, Chapterhouse, and the like. It almost seems pointless to mention anything about the band's black metal pedigree, since if you were going on sound alone, you would be hard pressed to not imagine this was some legendary college rock record from 1992, each track glorious and glistening, the guitars�soaring, epic and majestic, all�major key, a walls of sound, rich and thick and lustrous, the�bass mirroring the guitar, simple subtle harmonies, everything tangled into lilting bliss pop epics, while over the top drift�soft fuzzy vocals, both male and female, that almost even more than the music recall that specific musical era.
Absolutely the finest slab of blissed out, post My Bloody Valentine dreampop indie jangle drift we've heard in forever. Just listen to the sound samples and we think you'll be just as smitten as we are...�
A couple of years ago these Icelandic faeries with gossamer Sigur Ros ties charmed us immensely with their first release, the Animamina cdep. Since then they've added another 'i' to their name, and now they've added another release to their young body of work. We're happy to report that their debut full length is just as lovely, if not more so, than their 2005 ep. To which we feel must be affixed the following warning:
Do not use while operating heavy machinery, driving a vehicle nor participating in any other activity that requires alertness.
Seriously, Kurr will lull you into a warm, inescapable, snuggly drowsiness. You might not even make it past the second song before you find yourself nodding off to their pure, gentle, chiming dreamscapes. Now, that's not a bad thing whatsoever if experienced in the appropriate, safe circumstances, right?
On the cover, the four ladies are shown hand knitting what looks to be an enormous muted hued woolen scarf. A fitting image for their cozy album Kurr!
The first thing that struck us about this debut release from Amocoma, a mysterious black metal horde from right here in San Francisco, was the cover art, a child-like pen and ink drawing of a pile of heads, but instead of being bloody or gory or horrific, they're sort of more cartoonish, like a whole slew of stick figures were decapitated, their heads tossed in a huge pile, beneath the scrawled band logo, wreathed in clouds of smeared ink. We were definitely intrigued. And�if anything, once inside, we were even moreso...
Amocoma traffic in an ultra lo-fi, muddy murky blackness. It's definitely black metal, there is plenty of buzz and blast and howled vocals, but at the same time it's sort of stumbling and noise rocky, it's probably a little of both, but it's all rendered nearly indistinct by the incredibly FX drenched lo-fi production.�
Beginning with dreamy swirls of soft focus harmonics and distant rumbles, it doesn't take long for the band to lurch into action, a simple hypnotic riff, looped over and�over, almost sounding more like a bass than a guitar, and not so heavy as it is trancelike. The drums are mechanical and repetitive, the vocals are howled and swathed in reverb, spread out over the proceedings like a black cloud, so much so that at times they just sound like another layer of buzz. And the more you listen, the more pretty it sounds, sure it's raw and harsh, but the melody is so hypnotic, and the swirling clouds of distortion and reverb give everything a sort of soft focus shimmer.�
We're definitely reminded of WOLD, in the sense that these little fragmented pop songs, are rendered black and buzzy by the application of super saturated distortion, tape hiss and amp buzz, reverb and delay, so even at its heaviest, it's washed out and abstract, and downright dreamy. The drone element is through the roof, and it's impossible not to hear Tim Hecker or Machinefabriek or any one of those masters of smeary dreamlike sound. At some points things get super psychedelic, like halfway through "Small Dark Sea That Was A Body" where the guitar drops out, leaving just the drums, to sort of pulse and putter in a wide open expanse of soft swirl, while drifting above are all manner of glistening guitar harmonics, spacey FX sparkles, and warm warbly melodic hum.�
Damaged and dreamy, freaked out and fucked, one of our new favorite slabs of black beauty for sure...�
Soon after Munich's hippie commune krautrockers Amon Duul formed in the late '60s, some of the more musically inclined formed Amon Duul II whose early releases include the masterpieces Yeti (1970), Tanz der Lemminge (1971), etc. Wolf City is just their fifth album, recorded in 1972, and it's fucking fantastic and I can't believe I never heard it before. It's a little bit less experimental than earlier projects, a little more song oriented, but that may be a good thing if prog-flavored German psychedelia is a new cuppa tea for ya. (My co-worker Byram, in fact, found Wolf City a little too Yes-y for his taste -- so listen to the soundclips before buying.) There are seven tracks here, and each one shifts mood slightly -- from the epic masterpiece opener to a single gentle instrumental to spacerock jams, all the arrangements totally unpredictable and interesting. There's heavy prog-style guitar, pleasantly jangly (what sounds like 12-string?) guitar, screeching violin, deep declamatory bass, sweetly macabre piano and organ, plus all manner of weird chuckles, grunts and choir-like ahhhhs. So good! Wolf City is as epic, hummably memorable, kickass, and heavy as Pink Floyd & Genesis, more chaotic and messy than Can, more accessible and full-sounding than Cluster. If you've never heard Amon Duul II before, this is a fine place to start, as are any of the abovementioned albums. Strongly recommended! Windy's new favorite album. In a tie with Goblin's equally prog-gy Il Viaggio del Bagarazzo Mark for hands down Best Reissue in my 2002 year end tops list.
To commemorate the 25th anniversary of this inimitable New York avant garde artist's landmark album, the fine folks at the Nonesuch label have remastered and reissued it... and it sounds as mysterious and beautiful as it did the first time around! The unforgettable eight minute long single "O Superman" made a surprise showing at number 2 on the U.K. pop charts back in 1981, and the album from which it came left its own indelible mark on many of us here.
The music and spoken word pieces that comprise the album were actually drawn from Anderson's expansive eight hour long performance art stage production United States Live (which was performed over the course of two evenings). Drawing on disparate elements and themes, commentaries and critiques about life in America, Anderson's Big Science is at once bold, imaginative and artful. Dryly humorous and chillingly bleak. Starkly minimal and deeply moving. Playful and cerebral. Thoughtful and thought provoking. Challenging and engaging.
Keep in mind, the short audio samples here really don't do the whole work justice. This album should be experienced in one complete distraction-free listening session. One of Cup's all time favorite albums, she recommends you stop what you are doing right now. Big Science beckons.
Oh yes, and we should mention that this special edition includes the haunting "O Superman" music video and a (unnecessary in our opinion) bonus track "Walk The Dog".
Despite the title of Art Brut's second full length, this doesn't seem a bit complicated at all. And although their singer Eddie Argos still sounds like he could very well be Mark E Smith's smartaleck kid brother, the trademark sneering cynical tone is softened by lighter, more juvenile topics -- "Sorry if my accent's flawed I learnt my German from a 7" record." and "People in love lie around and get fat. I didn't want us to end up like that." Ho ho! No shortage of jaded, sardonic witticisms, but unlike the pointed vitriol of Mr. Smith, Art Brut isn't tackling any big issues or aiming to lower the socio-political boom on anyone any time soon. No rallying cries here, their lyrics are more self deprecating and defeatist -- "Life is what you make it, and I made mine a mess." But while the vocals might be exuding an apathetic shrug, they get roped into the good times, uplifted and fueled by the band's crunchy guitars and snappy drumming. Super tongue-in-cheeky London pop.
If David Axelrod produced an Alice Coltrane record, the results might sound something like Dorothy Ashby's 1968 breakout recording, Afro-Harpin'. Of course that's not giving credit where credit is surely due. Dorothy Ashby was on the scene way before Alice Coltrane and she was the first artist to front a jazz combo with the harp in the early fifties inspiring Alice Coltrane to take it up after moving on from the vibraphone. And though David Axelrod is better known nowadays, Richard Evans isn't some nobody producer, having created, along with fellow producer Charles Stepney, the richly textured soulful sound of Chicago's Cadet Records. A sound that relied more heavily on strings, flutes, and vibes rather than horns, and that along with some tribal percussion and hypnotic beats underscored some of the most diverse and underrated soul recordings of the late sixties (Rotary Connection, Ramsey Lewis, Fugi, Marlena Shaw and Soulful Strings). Eccentric Soul indeed!
From the opening off-kilter Theremin and drum breaks on "Soul Vibrations", you know we're in for a truly different kind of soul-jazz record. By the time the flutes and harp kick in, we're well under Ashby and Evans spell. A cool summery cocktail of majestic funkiness that will satisfy every groovy nerve in your body. Comprised mostly of original compositions with the exception of a couple of then-contemporary standards like "The Look of Love" and Theme From Valley Of The Dolls", there are some tracks that settle into a nice soft lounge vibe without ever getting cheesy. In fact the Hammond organ solo on "The Look of Love" finishes the album quite nicely. Having recorded three amazing break-filled and heavily sampled records for the Cadet label, we hope we will be hearing more of Miss Ashby's harp grooves again real soon. Recommended!
We had never heard of At Jennie Richie, which is a little surprising considering the folks who have done time in this constantly shifting collective: Matt Waldron (irr. (app.) ext. / Nurse With Wound), Alan Bishop, Mason Jones, folks from Noggin, The Cherry Point, Vertonen and even Hans Grusel and his Krankenkabinet. And with guests like that, you sort of get a rough idea of what to expect from this surrealist DADA 'rock' combo.
A sidelong soundscape of strange ambience, a pulsing throbbing framework of looped percussion, atop deep resonant swells, buzzing insect-like synths, whispery FX and all manner of microscopic sound fluctuations. The main element, a strange synthesized loop that lulls the listener into a trance, as various bits of sound begin to emerge from all sides, slowly wrapping the listener's ears in strange layers of warble and buzz, of skitter and hushed chaos. Very reminiscent of Coil at times, as well as Nurse With Wound. Fans of both should flip over this.
Limited to 300 copies, one sided vinyl, with a beautiful silkscreened image on the flipside, full color artwork affixed to thick plain black covers, printed inserts, really nice... and most likely gone in no time....
Here's the eponymous debut from Portland's Au, whose multi-pronouncable name and jubilant freak-folk expressionism is authored by one Luke Wyland with a rotating crew of sodden musicians in tow. Like any self-respecting avant-freak-folk minstrel, Wyland incorporates everything and the kitchen sink into his recordings (guitars, mandolins, accordions, bongos, xylophones, and whatever was lying around for percussion), but his tunes enjoy a unique sensibility marked by his classical piano training with some hefty leanings towards Terry Riley. These bucolic songs balance between an Appalachian earnestness and Animal Collective's wide-eyed ramshackledness, all in part thanks to Wyland's pointilist clouds of charmed minimalism. With a voice that croons, cackles, and wails as the reincarnation of Brian Eno's 70s pop guise channeled into a post-Devenda Banhart persona, Wyland situates himself as the ringleader to Au's ecstatic escapades which wildly shift from rustic, pastoral atmospheres of cyclical piano flutter and saloon-swooning ditties into a frolicking bluster of cacophonic percussion, guitars, and Wyland's polydactyl piano. Rumor has it that Au's shambolic twang has caught the ear of One Little Indian, who had expressed considerable interest in signing the group. While things are probably look up for Au's future, things already look pretty damn good judging from this release.
Yet another blissful excursion into the wild Finnish Forests with one of our favorite troupes of intrepid sonic explorers Avarus. This limited lp only release finds these Finns exploring similar sonic terrain as past releases, but even though it may be a well trod part of the forest, Avarus know how to ferret out all the secret little hiding spots and all the beautiful sounds as yet undiscovered.
Drifting abstract melodies unfurl from detuned guitars, woodwinds flit and flutter like birds darting through the treetops, plenty of percussive clang and clatter underpin the action, while far off in the distance, the forest frolicking is threatened by thick black swells of grinding low end, and stormlike rumbles. The A side offers up a full on hippy kraut jam near the end, noisy and propulsive and about as rocking as these guys ever get, with pounding drums, looped riffs all amidst clouds of whirling swirling sound.
The B side is much more restrained, more mysterious and abstract, with long stretches of near silence, plenty of microscopic sonic happenings, an extended sprawl, as if the musicians, exhausted from side one's closing jam, are all stretched out in the shade of the forest, lazily plucking strings, and rubbing metals, kicking drums with their feet as they stretch out on the sun dappled forest floor, making music that is as relaxed as they are, strange, slow burning, haunting and dreamlike...
LIMITED TO 300 COPIES!! Each one hand numbered, packaged in super eye popping dayglo full color sleeves!
Just how far into the shadows can you go? Avantgarde US black metal band Azrael attempt to answer that question by unleashing this double disc, comprising Acts III ("Self") and IV ("Goat") of their on-going journey into the void of unlight. As we've noted before, these guys are willing to wander outside of the typical black metal template, sounding much more like a moody post-rock band at times... grimly melodic, droned-out, rhythmic and spare. Elsewhere, they cough up the black metal bonafides, rasping vokills and frosty riffage and all. But still they sound something like a necro Neurosis. As longtime fans of the original nordic black metal post-rockers, Ved Buens Ende, we love this. Azrael, at home in the shadows, appreciate that darkness is often quiet, and that the seasick tension produced by repetition and dynamics can be as creepily effective as the most overtly brutal guitars and screams. Awesome!
Let's just go on the record and say, that British comedy is far superior to American comedy. Especially in the realm of the ultra-uncomfortable. Love Curb Your Enthusiasm? Just wait until you check out Peep Show. Can't get enough of the Office? Well the British original is way funnier, and WAY more brutal. And you haven't even begun to feel massive gloriously hilarious discomfort until you've seen Alan Partridge (review of the series DVD elsewhere on the AQ site).
But way back when, the Brits were already showing us a thing or too, with the utterly amazing, very DIY, and funny as fuck Young Ones, finding its way to American TV in the '80s... the tale of a hippy, a mod, a punk, and a creepy money obsessed shyster, all living in a run down house together, with a talking hamster, an insane landlord, and bands like the Damned or Madness showing up every week to rock out in the living room. After the Young Ones dissolved, the punk and the hippy and the mod went on to the long running meta-sketch comedy show The Comic Strip. Super smart and sharp, but not afraid of being really really dumb once in a while (but in a really smart way).
Hence we have Bad News. The worst heavy metal band you've never heard. Taking the whole Spinal Tap thing in a much more dismal, depressing, volatile and gut busting direction. Culled from two episodes of The Comic Strip, the disc captures all of their 'hits' as well as track after track after track of the band bickering and even physically abusing each other.
As if you couldn't tell already, this is one of the funniest records ever. EVER! And unlike lots of 'joke' musical projects, the songs are completely kick ass. In fact the song "Drink Till I Die" sounds like some lost Motorhead B-side. Hell, A-side even.
They do a painfully bad version of "Bohemian Rhapsody", a Christmas single, and a handful of amazing originals, like their theme song "Bad News" and the super kick ass "Warriors Of Ghengis Khan". But the songs, as good and as funny as they are, are merely musical interludes for the fighting that comes between. And the cool thing, is it's not just clips from the show, it's band meetings, aborted recording sessions (including an amazing bit where they spend forever trying to make 'scary woodland sounds', resulting in one of them moo-ing like a cow, and yet another fight ensues since 'cows are not scary or evil'), confrontations over who re-recorded whose parts, lots of screaming and yelling and tons of profanity. It's intense and brutal and so goddamn funny. It's so relentless you can barely take it after an hour. Any one who is into Longmont Potion Castle or the Great Phone Calls record or Jon Wayne (the band) or Spinal Tap will love Bad News. Plus, if you can, rent the video, which is just as funny as the cd. You get to see Bad News actually perform at a British Metal festival, and get pelted with bottles and eventually beaten to a pulp, as well as all your favorite metal stars (Ozzy, Scorpions, Def Leppard, Lemmy) talking about how much Bad News suck.
Soooooooo goddamn funny and amazing and essential.
We weren't all that familiar with Matteah Baim really, other than the fact that she was one half of the Metallic Falcons, with Cocorosie's Sierra Cassidy. Death Of The Sun is actually not that sonically distant from the Metallic Falcons, however where that group was a sort of prog metallic folk, a patchwork of moody free folk, druggy rock, and lush choral arrangements, Baim's solo record is self described 'new age grunge', and thus much more subdued, intimate and personal. Her voice husky and raspy, sexy and sort of torch-singery, drifting over sparse and dark soundscapes, muted and murky, swirling and gently throbbing, the main melodies pecked out on a reverbed piano, simple but quite stirring. It's hard not to hear Cat Power in the vocals, but the arrangements are not that polished at all, instead, they're hushed and lo-fi, lush in their own homespun way. Imagine a countrified Grouper with Chan Marshall on vocals and you might be getting close. Abstract and dark, minor key and so so lovely.
Plus have a gander at the guests: Devendra Banhart, Jana Hunter, Rob Lowe (Lichens) and a bunch more...
Barn Owl are Evan Caminiti and Jon Porras, a new duo following in the experimental folk tradition of Sir Richard Bishop, Tom Carter and Steffen Basho-Junghans, and more recently Wooden Wand & The Vanishing Voice and Headdress. Their music roams freely with no concrete destination in sight. The ten loosely constructed instrumental compositions that comprise their debut album are crafted from acoustic and electric guitars, bass guitar, banjo, harmonica, synthesizer, organ, and drums. A few slow strums across guitar strings give way to a cycles of short picked melodic phrases. Almost imperceptibly vaporous drones and murmured vocals creep in. A perfect new addition to the Digitalis label (which has featured releases by Tom Carter, Christina Carter, Seht, James Blackshaw, and Steven R. Smith).
Looking at some of the song titles here, you'd think these bands were French, but they're actually from the American South: Savannah, Georgia to be precise, where both Baroness and Unpersons are stalwarts of the metal/hardcore scene.
Actually most AQ customers of the metallic persuasion should be familiar with recent Relapse-signees Baroness, masters of sludge metal mathy post rock prog shred, like some sort of unholy mix of Pelican, Mastodon and the Fucking Champs. Always happy doing an ep-length release, they get in two songs here -- six and twelve minutes apiece, respectively -- while Unpersons contribute four songs, 15 minutes total for their half of this split. The twisty brutality of Baroness is matched by the heavy-duty stop-start and hardcore, almost Oxbowish vox of Unpersons. Baroness as usual destroy us with their effortlessly complex mix of modern chunkiness and very classic, heavy metal guitars. Good stuff for fans of either band or sorta arty, ultra heavy metalcore in general, and it's got us really looking forward to Baroness's Relapse debut (also their first ever full-length!), entitled The Red Album, due out on September 4th.
Some collaborations find a way to strike a balance between two strong aesthetics, and others resolve themselves with one aesthetic absorbing the other. Maurizio Bianchi has been a force to be reckoned with in recent years, thanks to his return to powerful, cold electronics featured on an avalanche of recent releases; yet, it's a little difficult to discern where he is on The House Of Mourning. Ostensibly, this is his collaboration with the German industrial project Telepherique; and from the sounds of the album, it's Telepherique who clearly are in the driver's seat. The looping MIDI-synth electronics, the life-support system rhythms, and the heavy use of sampled Arabic media lend themselves towards the realms of Cabaret Voltaire and Muslimgauze; and it's hardly the all consuming swarm of Bianchi drone that we've come to expect. That said, Telepherique's industrialist klank and threatening atmospheres are well articulated and quite pleasing in their own right. Limited to 500 copies, and supposedly out of print by now.
Psalmodiam is yet another in the ceaseless output from Italian industrialist Maurizio Bianchi; and this time, he's collaborating with the mysterious project M.D.T for a limited edition CD-R that expands upon Psalm 63. Bianchi is a devout Jehovah's Witness and has attempted to bring his spiritual beliefs into the bleak realm of his suffocating electronics to limited success. That poor track record of bad ambient records with sugary new age sensibilities is turned around on Psalmodiam, which seeks to expand upon the poetry of Psalm 63. That particular Psalm finds David singing to the glory of God all the while asking that those who seek to harm David be "given over to the sword and become food for jackals." It seems that this latter poetry of divine vindication is where Bianchi and M.D.T. begin. The central structure of this album is a series of very cold passages for cavernous drones, upon which tiny electrical glitches sparkle and crinkle alongside churning, mechanical pulses. At times, these expansive sounds resemble the finer moments of Lustmord or at times have some of the smeared fluidity of Troum's dual guitar attacks. This fine entry from Mr. Bianchi is limited to 199 copies and comes with hand painted covers.
Birds of Avalon, the name makes us think of some sort of jazz fusion band, or maybe a RenFaire folk outfit, don't it? Nope, neither is the case. So, whatta we got here? Well friends, put pure and simple, we've got some real deal, real catchy CLASSIC rock done really really well, featuring the married (!) guitar duo of Cheetie Kumar and Paul Siler, both formerly of AC/DCish R&B rockers the Cherry Valence from Raleigh, North Carolina. This new band of theirs is equally retro and even more proggily awesome than their old one. It's '70s style, yeah, in the vein of Led Zep, Cheap Trick, Thin Lizzy and Southern stuff like the Allman Brothers. Should therefore also appeal to fans of current acts like Drunk Horse and Queens Of The Stone Age -- and, with the twin guitar harmonies that shine strong throughout this 11-tracker, moments could even be mistaken for the dual guitar heroics of Slough Feg. Though, you wouldn't call 'em metal. Meanwhile, the singer dude's vocals are expressive and melodic, he's possessed of soaring higher register pipes that will remind you at times of Robert Plant -- or even a non-ironic, less over-the-top version of that guy from The Darkness.
Thus armed, their songs range from full on riff rockin' heaviness to spacey, keyboard adorned psych -- always with those glorious guitar harmonies, and a more than competent pop component. A track like "Superpower" is typical of their energetic, guitar-driven '70ish verve, while we also dig on the mellower, moodier numbers like "Turn Gold" and "Instant Coma" that remind us of a heavy lidded Sabbath, a la "Planet Caravan".
More pop-minded fans of The Fucking Champs (pals of these guys by the way, as the Champs, and Drunk Horse too, always used to play shows with the Cherry Valence) who love it when the usually-instrumental Champs do one of their all-too rare vocal numbers, ought to really dig Birds Of Avalon. Oh, and they bring it live -- we've seen 'em and if they come through on tour, wherever you are, check 'em out. Our prediction: this debut will someday be considered a classic of retro-classic rock!
Sir Richard Bishop's latest offering of altruistic guitar ragas is thankfully not limited this time around and is mesmerizingly pastoral despite the violence eluded to in the pun-y title. Three long tracks begin with flamenco-tinged Neo-Appalachia before turning down darker, drony and dirgy paths and finally emerging into the third and longest track that combines Indian mysticism with old-world European romantic beauty. What else do we need to say? this is simply outstanding!
Whereas past BtC releases have reminded us of Oval, in their manipulated glitchery and warm underwater shimmer, this latest, a split with Aosuke, is quite different, while managing to incorporate many of the same elements we loved so much about past releases.
A nearly sidelong track that begins with a wavering Goblin-y synth, that buzzes warmly and endlessly, an epic stretch of near static drone, drenched in overtones and subtly flickering variations in texture, and surrounded on all sides by distant barely audible sci fi melodies and field recordings. Eventually this synthdrone is joined by another tone, this one more grinding and distorted, that slowly builds and builds along side the first, the intensity growing and growing as well as the volume, and the various surrounding sonic events seem much more frenzied, until everything levels off in some sort of Niblock style drone, the various layers beating against one another, notes and tones shifting subtly, the sound seemingly alive, flecked with shards of melody and bits of buzz and swirling effects. It's a glorious sound that enraptures and entrances, eventually, fading out and releasing the listener from their glorious trance.
The side finishes off with a brief coda of humid late night soundscaping, the sound of the moors, or the plains, some mysterious dark emptiness, droning and ominous, with creepy reverbed vocals and all sorts of night sounds tangled up in the track's undulating shimmer.
The flip side features a group called Aosuke, who we weren't all that familiar with, but whose sounds are as dark and gorgeous and Black To Comm's. But where BtC focus on sound and drone, Aosuke focus on melody as much as texture, with guitar being the focal point, a blissy soft focus guitar ambience, crystalline notes drifting through clouds of space-y effects and strange processed and blurred vocals, it sounds almost like how you might imagine a Durutti Column record on Morr Music might sound. Organic melodies, natural sounds, all tangled up in strange electronic soundscapes, very meditative, a little krautrocky at times, and so so pretty.
Massive and gorgeous glacial drone exploration from these two Australian one man bands, combined to form, well... a two man band.�Black Widow is Rob MacManus from AQ faves the Grey Daturas, and he teams up with�Ben Andrews aka�Blarke Bayer who spends most of his time in�Aussie grinders Agents of Abhorrence. But if you just think Grey Daturas plus AoA, you definitely won't have imagined this. Some glorious bastardized blend of Taj Mahal Travellers organic drift and Lustmordian black ambience.
Three long tracks, the first a slow burning sprawl, guitars grinding out long whorls of low end buzz, slowwly undulating, a sort of more subdued SUNNO))) sort of sound, streaked with bits of smeared feedback, and random bits of muted percussion, a gorgeously expansive bit of minimal whir that has everyone in the store totally entranced every time it plays. The second sounds like the guys exploring the inside of a piano, buzzing strings and struck tones, with those distinctly guts-of-a-keyboard overtones, shimmering clouds of tonal drift that occasionally coalesce into fleeting melodies, while elsewhere, the actual keys of the keyboard are struck to add a slightly out of tune counter point, making� the whole thing trippy and slightly off kilter.
The final track is downright pretty, and almost Dirty Three style minor key dirge, strummed reverbed guitars shifting and drifting in an expanse of distant rumbles and bits of fuzz and tape hiss. Moody, minor key, melancholy and simply gorgeous.�
A while back we reviewed the reissue of this British band's wonderfully twee and surreal first album, "We Are Ever So Clean", from the paisley days of 1967. But on this, that album's 1969 follow-up, they left the Sgt. Pepperisms behind for an even freakier, and heavier, direction. It's kinda like how The Pretty Things went from "S.F. Sorrow" to "Parachute", but weirder. The Mothers Of Invention might have been an influence, certainly the lead-off track "Peace Loving Man" is crazy enough. Heavy too, with gruff vocals and loud guitar riffs. Yep, compared to the ornate, orchestrated psych-pop of "We Are Ever So Clean" this whole album is waaaay more (acid) Rock, but still full of melodic hooks and 60s zaniness. Pretty cool. Unfortunately this was to be their last album, but their guitarist did go on to join Family (we mention for those into the rock family tree thing).
London, 1967: ground zero for the explosion of fab British pop psych rock bands, including many known today only to collectors -- among them, this bunch of mop tops, Blossom Toes. Here's a Japanese cd reissue of the first of their two albums. Their brand of psychedelic pop music was ornate, orchestrated, lush, and very British -- they songs called "Mrs. Murphy's Budgerigar" and "I'll Be Late For Tea" -- think Beatles, Zombies, Kinks, very early Bowie, with dashes of surreal Pythonesque zaniness ("The Remarkable Saga Of The Frozen Dog", "The Intrepid Balloonist's Handbook, Volume One", etc.). Indeed, they even played Captain Beefheart covers live! Produced by Swinging Sixties London scenester Giorgio Gomelski (their manager, who also managed the Yardbirds among other claims to fame). Note: "Packaged with the original artwork and lyrics (as opposed to the ugly-ass Heritage Entertainment version previously available)" sez Revolver.
With a name like Blue Sabbath Black Cheer, we were sort of expecting some kind of ironic retro heavy RAWK action. Thankfully, nothing could be further from the truth. The band describes their music as "black acid bog death, blackened noise volume assault". Woah. They had us at 'bog'. They list their influences as Crash Worship, G.I.S.M., the New Blockaders and strangest of all, Black Legions' black ambient terrorists Moevet and Mougotre. We were definitely intrigued...
And if anything, the record ended up being as good as any of the above would have led us to believe. A side long trawl though some bleak black underworld of sound, a roiling pit of blackness and despair, thick layers of black drone, processed tapes, field recordings, disembodied voices processed into still more drones, distant streaks of feedback, gurgled grunted 'vocals', rumbling, grinding stretches of abstract sound, fragments of melody drifting in a churning black sonic sea, creepy and dark and desolate and downtuned and very very evil. Besides the above mentioned bands, we also hear bits of Lustmord, Stalaggh, Wolf Eyes, Za Frumi (mostly for the Orc like vocals), Abruptum, Anenzephalia, MZ412.... which obviously means this is seriously recommended.
Limited to 300 copies, one sided vinyl, with a killer silkscreened image on the flip, hand screened covers, printed inserts, really nice... and most likely gone in no time....
One of three new 3" cd-r releases on the Grey Daturas' Diagnosis ... Don't! label, each super limited, and housed in cool hand made packaging.
Bone Sheriff is another sort of supergroup style match up (sort a like the Stumps, made up of members of Gate, Mrtyu, Sandoz Lab Technicians, Seht, Nether Dawn, With Throats As Fine As Needles) that should have AQ customers frothing at the mouth. One part Simon Taylor of Aussie dirge sludge combo Whitehorse and Rob Mayson of the Grey Daturas and Maggoted, teaming up to make some serious noise, armed with a seriously unlikely arsenal of soundmaking implements: cymbals, glass, contact mics, bass and keytar. The disc's centerpiece is a 13 minute + wall of densely layered guitardrone, crumbling and rumbling, bits of distorted melody spread out over an expansive stretch of rough raw chordal hum. Heavy as fuck, but kinda pretty at the same time. This glorious drone is surrounded on all sides by a handful of super short tracks, tiny jagged fragments of freaked out sound, from grinding Wolf Eyes like glitchy splatter, to Merzbow-ian splintering noise, to squealing sinewaves to barely audible extreme high/low Ikeda style minimalism.
AS ALWAYS, ULTRA SUPER LIMITED!! We only got about 30, and probably won't be able to get more...
Packaged in thick textured paper black mini 3" sleeves, with a printed (band name, label info, liner notes) Japanese style obi. Nice.
You might remember a couple months ago we freaked out over a gritty and gorgeous release out of Mali from Pekos and Yoro Diallo. It was the first release on the new Drag City imprint Yaala Yaala, a label specializing in raw music and field recordings from West Africa. After reveling in their first release for a while we thought it was time to move on to their second outing which we're happy to report is just as mystifying, compelling and pleasing as the first. Bougouni is a small city in Mali and it's there and in nearby Bamako where these sounds were recorded, during hot days and balmy nights. The music was recorded everywhere from house parties, at checker games, under the shade of mango trees, etc. Like the best of the Nonesuch Explorer series and the eccentric tendencies of the beloved Sublime Frequencies label, Yaalaa Yaala has managed to capture the sounds of other cultures in a way much more agreeable to our sensibilities and respectful to the music and musicians themselves then the often manipulated, polished and Western-washed versions that ends up at cafes, on slick compilations and in "world music" sections of most record stores. Often when we've traveled to faraway places we wish that instead of a camera we had a really good tape recorder with us as it's often the raw and unadorned sounds of a place and people that truly captures the spirit of that location more then any photograph ever could.
Thankfully, the sounds on Bougouni Yaalali resulted from just that sort of foresight, someone who did think ahead and managed to record all of these amazing sounds during various travels through Mali, allowing us to really get close to understanding the spirit of a place that most of us have never been to (though would kill to visit!!). With simple yet compelling percussion (some of it wonderfully distorted!) and a slew of various instruments, the extremely minimal liner notes allow us to play the guessing game of trying to identify the sources of particular sounds (is that a thumb piano we hear on lots of these tracks?). And even though we can't understand the lyrics the hypnotic and powerful delivery ring true with a passion and emotional conviction that transcends language. Yaala Yaala is two for two so far, we can't wait to hear more!
Completely mindblowing live 4 disc set from Anthony Braxton recorded in 2005. We got these direct from the label, only got 5 or 6 and once they are gone we won't be able to get more. they're a bit pricey, but the packaging is super nice, and it is 4 discs after all, of Braxton performing solo, running the sonic gamut from gorgeous and soulful to demented and ultra challenging.�
It's hard to know what to say really about Anthony Braxton and his music. Sure he's a genius, and yeah he's probably completely insane, he's collaborated with Wolf Eyes which is something very few jazz legends would probably do, but his music, no matter how confounding, or how delicate and lovely, is pretty much always totally and utterly mindblowing. But by now, most of you know all that. And if not, for chrissakes pick this set up and immerse yourself in 4 hours of dizzying brilliance.
Solo Live At Gasthof Heidelberg Loppem 2005 is a�massive 8 panel, 4 tray-ed digipak, with all the song titles rendered complex magic markered squiggles and little black arrows and numbers, each classified numerically as well. It's always been unclear the taxonomy Braxton uses to classify and catalogue his pieces, but it almost doesn't matter, it only adds to the magic and mystery, and it's all about the music anyway, and the music here is divine. Very low on the difficulty meter, most of the tracks here are lovely and lyrical, long drawn out notes, the sound lush and lustrous, the melodies alternatingly emotional and playful, dark and melancholy. This is absolutely essential for Braxton obsessives, but would also make a pretty nice introduction for folks who have yet to explore the Braxton and his expansive catalog. Way recommended either way.
On the opening tune of their debut album The Brunettes defied our expectations that they were gonna sound something along the lines of cute-as-a-button sweetheart couples pop a la Mates Of State. Somewhere between the musical gangs The Polyphonic Spree and The Go Team, this new duo's song "Brunettes Against Bubblegum Youth" is sitting pretty. That said, after the song's swirling bright chorus singing ends, the rest of the album settles into a more compact boy'n' girl presentation with tasteful orchestral pop flourishes here and there. It's definitely on the dreamboat Beatles-y side of the pop meter. Lyrically they sing about the frilly, the frivolous, and the strangely mundane. On the fourth song "Her Hairagami Set" and the fifth "Credit Card Mail Order", they sing about, you guessed it, hair accessories and credit card mail orders. Yeah, we know, we get it, they're metaphors, but still... Embedding social commentary in pop song lyrics can be a sticky business, easily coming off heavy handed, bluntly obvious, or simply awkward. Although they get props for the effort, The Brunettes haven't quite got that side of things down...
Not to be confused with the recently listed Grave Temple cd we reviewed, The Burial Chamber Trio is basically exactly the same as Grave Temple, just swap out one SUNNO))) for another. So it's still Oren Ambarchi and Attila Csihar, but this time it's Southern (Over)Lord Greg Anderson instead Of Stephen O'Malley, and where as the Grave Temple was a cd, this is VINYL ONLY. And while in some ways there are sonic similarities, the sound of the Burial Chamber Trio is much more aligned with the sounds of the mothership (aka SUNNO)))) than Grave Temple.
Two sidelong tracks, vocals, guitars, bass, and electronics, with Anderson trading in his axe for a bass guitar, Side A begins with swirling clouds of FX, electronics, weird processed vocals, before Ambarchi's guitars roll in, sounding not at all unlike SUNNO))), huge and buzzing, left to drone and rumble and pulse, a blackened mysterious slow motion riff, dripping and crumbling over the black abyss. Speaking of black, this wouldn't have sounded at all out of place on Black One, strangled vocals, the churning riffage, the black ambience, near the end of the side, everything erupts into a furious melee of processed guitarnoise, swooping electronics, damaged voices, everything hissing and whirring and rumbling and shrieking before fading out completely.
The B side is much more tranquil, almost no vocals, even more SUNNO)))-like, the same basic ingredients as the first side, but more spread out and blissed out, the guitar a slow motion wall of sound, cutting a huge swath through a sea of buzz and drone, an endlessly hypnotic ur-drone, that ends up sounding more spacey and psychedelic but still plenty heavy...
LIMITED TO 2000 COPIES. Vinyl only. Amazing black gloss on black matte artwork by Seldon Hunt.
We've been digging the music of Tim Catlin a whole bunch lately, and managed to get this old favorite back in stock. We reviewed it originally a couple years back but for those of you who missed it or only just discovered the music of Tim Catlin, here's what we had to say about it the first time around:
Tim Catlin has made maybe the greatest experimental guitar albums you're least likely to hear. One of which is Slow Twitch, released on the under-represented Australian label Dr. Jim's. If you've bought a Christian Fennesz, Oren Ambarchi, Birchville Cat Motel, or Sunroof album you owe it to yourself to pick up Tim Catlin's Slow Twitch. It's really that good. Slow Twitch is not another Max/MSP demonstration of deconstructed guitar samples, nor is it a improvised wall of sound from blistered amplifiers struggling to keep up with high voltage attacks; rather Catlin constructs very low-tech systems of fans, e-bows, and other mechanical devices that keep the guitar strings moving. These experiments are then immaculately recorded with little to no post-production, probably just a couple of edits, snips, and crossfades. In the end, Catlin's automatically propelled guitars resemble the resonant frequencies that Jean-Francois Laporte coaxed out of a bunch of air compressors (or perhaps a Zamboni) on his stellar Mantra disc. Rasping striations of metal vibrating against metal form complex drone harmonics that double and triple throughout the spectrum, with placid low end rumblings sympathetically resonating with angelic shimmerings. Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful.
Finalnd's mighty masters of metallic hypno drone rock return, with yes, another limited LP only release, and their obsession (one of many obsessions they have) with Southern Rock has finally reached critical mass. Not so much musically, although there are subtle hints here and there, as visually and conceptually. This set, recorded live on Brian Turner's radio show on WFMU when Circle were in the states last time is a monster. Two side long tracks, combining the metallic leanings of their later records, with the murky propulsiveness of their earlier records, as well as their droney improvised abstract side (most noticable on the LP only Mountain). It's kind of remarkable how all of Circle's disparate musical personalities fit so well together. But before we get to the music, let's talk about the sleeve. And the Southern Rock. The cover features a knotty pine background, riddled with bullet holes, two crossed pistols above the band name. Very Sergio Leone... The reverse side features a band photo seemingly branded into the wood, with Circle donning cowboy hats and sombreros, whooping it up like that last freeze frame in an episode of Bonanza (maybe it was CHiPs, but Bonanza makes more sense here). Then there's Brian Turner's eyewitness account of the musical showdown that occurred when Circle showed up at WFMU to record their set. Woe was the pasty British garage band that felt Circle's wrath. Broken glass and tobacco spit figure prominently. And let's not forget the Confederate flag on the LP label.
Thankfully (or maybe not, some might be thinking) this Southern Rock doesn't filter all the way down to the music. Instead we've got more of that Circular genius we just can't get enough of.
Side one begins as an abstract soundscape of spacey affected riffs, sort of blurry and drifty, above strange mumbled mutterings and what sounds like alien scat singing. The vibe is strangely dubby and Middle Eastern sounding. Eventually a warm wash of woozy distorted guitars builds into a monstrous swell of sound, warm and thick and sort of heavy, while buried beneath is a burbling cauldron of electronic squiggles and gurgling vocal sputters. Out of nowhere, like a beam of sunlight with a small flock of faeiries flitting about, comes a strange dreamy drift of almost rennaisance faire sounding festive folk, which dissipates quickly into a swirl of speaking-in-tongues vocals and insect like electronics before drifting off.
Side two is a bit darker, with faux throat singing over ominous psych sludge riffing like classic Circle but slowed way down. Groovy and dark, peppered with subtle tribal percussion. Weirdly enough, that weird dreamy stretch of faerie flecked folk sunniness that surfaced briefly on side A, shows up again here in a slightly different form, and disappears just as quickly, returning to a VERY Circular propulsive groove. Drums skitter instead of pound, while a guitar drifts and stutters, sounding a bit like the guitar line from the Smiths' "How Soon Is Now" but way more druggy and psychedelic!
So we'll all have to keep waiting for the inevitable, that record they keep threatening us with, when Circle finally become a bizarre krautrock psychrock dronemetal version of the Marshall Tucker Band, but for now, just crack open that Jack Daniels, throw those boots up on the desk (careful with those spurs!), pull the brim of your ten gallon down over your eyes, put a little pinch between your teeth and gums, turn it up and drift off...
Ah, Circle. We love 'em. You love 'em (or, if this is the first you've heard of them, then please do an artist=circle search on our website for plenty o' info). And we've all come to expect the unexpected from these freaky Finns, yet also always expect the "Circle" sound: rhythmic, krautrocky, "circular". And they always deliver. Yet we'd have to say, with this new record Panic they've also managed to come up with the Circle album that we doubt -anyone- would quite have predicted, nosiree.
Spoiler warning! Since we know that the legions of Circle fans reading this pretty much don't need us to tell 'em that they want this or any new Circle cd and will be all over this like stink on a pig regardless, we should mention that this review contains something in way of a "spoiler" about the album's contents and if you're already planning on buying this you might want to read no further. Not that the surprise is, y'know, like The Crying Game or anything. So read on if you want.
Looking at this, you might be wondering, what do the apocalyptic, crusty-punk looking black-and-white graphics mean? And why'd they call it Panic? And what's with the sticker on the front, proclaiming Circle to be "Finland speed-kraut pioneers" and telling us that they consist of ex-members of Sorto Ja Riiso, Saaste, Nyrkinen Kehitys, Spiders, and Suomen Ruutivarasto? Are those even real bands? Ultimately, you're wondering, what's this gonna sound like??
So, let's put it on... it starts off with "Black Tape", reminiscent of their recent lovely Miljard set: minimal piano plinking amidst spacey organic washes of synth, sort of Circle in an ambient Aphex Twin / Terry Riley mood. As that track flows into the next, and the next, the tone becomes more urgent, ominous, and busier... And then, without warning (well, unless you've read this) track number four ("Neverending Dinner") blasts from the speakers, a loud n' raging PUNK rock shock to the system, 38 seconds long. Seriously retro '80s styled hardcore punk, boots and spikes and all that, with vocals angrily shouting subversive political diatribes, the music uber-distorted and as catchy as a veneral disease. Wow. That's what we mean by a surprise! Thus begins this mayhemic middle portion of the album, six tracks, averaging not much more than a minute in length each, is Circle's teenage punk rock rebellion reborn and moshing hard. But since it's Circle's version of punk, so you can still hear the sci-fi prog rock keyboards layered in there, twittering and swooshing amidst the purely punk noise. Weird weird weird. Then, like a summer thunderstorm, all that's over with... and we're back to the vast, instrumental reaches of deep, dark space, the disc coming to a conclusion with its two longest tracks, the 12 minute "Tunnel" and the 14 minute "And Far Away", both even dronier and spacier than the synthscapes that began the album. Wow again.
If you think about it, those two extremes -- spacey prog and quasi-metallic rockin' -- are both integral parts of the hard-to-define Circle sound. So it's as if on Panic, they've taken the "usual" Circle thing and pulled it apart, like taffy. The opposite ends of the album are stretched out into a bleak and beautiful drone-zone, while the heaviest densest craziest stuff settles into the middle.
Some might criticize Circle for what might appear to an indulgence in high-concept joking around... post-modern appropriation... punk playacting... taking the piss... whatever. But what we think is that they're all the more amazing for it, for deciding to do a "punk" record yet keeping it Circle. After all, if you're gonna make as many albums as these guys have AND always have to make sure you stay true to the very distinctive sound they're established (the "circular", repetitive thing), you've gotta be creative, which they are. So their solution here is to sandwich their warped '80s punk pastiche between something completely different -- cosmic electronics like '70s Schulze or maybe a John Carpenter soundtrack. The jarring juxtaposition is brilliant and maybe even meaningful, somehow tying in with the nuclear nightmares depicted on the album graphics. And there are many clever details in the graphics dep't by the way, from the collaged riot pics to the fonts used to the barbed wire borders and the Ektro flag-logo... tight. In fact, we might wonder which came first, the graphic notions or the music...!?
By the way, while we've got your attention, may as well let you know to look forward to another new Circle album coming out on No Quarter in September. Haven't heard it yet, but Jussi from Circle tells us it sounds like "60's black metal"... whatever that means! No doubt more surprises in store.
We love the No Neck Blues Band. And we're always eager to hear everything any of those guys do. Most of them have their fingers in so many pies it's hard to believe NNCK get anything done at all. Coach Fingers' One For The Road, released on No Neck's Sound@1 label, is the latest from this unlikely underground combo featuring 3 members of the No Neck collective.
And while the first few seconds might convince you you're about to bee treated to more of the usual abstract No Neck free stumble, don't let the backwards guitars and FX drenched swirls of sound fool you, soon you'll find yourself in bell bottoms, wearing a head band and a paisley shirt, smoking pot, standing in the middle of a field somewhere in the seventies, soaking up Coach Fingers' boozy, countrified rock. That's right. Country rock. Think the Allman Brothers, the Band, Grateful Dead, Skynyrd, ZZ Top, a groovy, jammed out, slightly psychedelic boogie rock, and you know what, it's pretty bad ass. Sloppy and loose, stoned and laid back, guitar leads everywhere, lots of strum and shuffle, lots of crunchy guitars and bluesrock riffage even some horns, but c'mon, this is No Neck related, so between the glorious bouts of hippy jam rock twang, are plenty of strange ambience, lots of backwards guitars, stretched out bits of propulsive rhythmic grooves and all manner of sonic weirdness.
But be well, aware, this is NOT weird, if the above bands send a shudder down your spine, this is not for you, but if you're up for some twangy foot stomping groove rock, channelling all the best bits of seventies rock into one tight ass slab of RAWK, then check it out.
TOUR ONLY RELEASE, we managed to get a handful, not sure how limited, but they're hand numbered, and ours seem to bee in the 40's so guessing these won't be around for long. Packaged in nice chipboard sleeves, hand screened in metallic gold ink.
The Concretes have been blissing out indie pop fans for well over a decade but their steadily growing spiked big time over the past year. The Swedish dreamboats were drawn further into the limelight by former Concretes singer Victoria Bergsman's appearance on the omnipresent Peter Bjorn And John single "Young Folks". Yes, you heard correctly. Former! The PBJ guest vocalist who charmed everyone and brought attention to the Concretes has jumped ship in favor of a solo career. But fret not, despite the album's title, this is by no means a 'man overboard!' emergency. Although you're not going to be hearing Ms. Bergsman's sweet and distinctly quirky voice on any of these dozen songs, you will be hearing the just as sweet and distinctly quirky voice of Lisa Milberg. Her performance makes for not such a drastic transition after all. Slightly off kilter and bittersweet. Yes, if you like Peter Bjorn And John's Writer's Block, what are you waiting for? The soft serve dream whip sounds of Hey Trouble are like a more girlie counterpart.
File under: man rock.
Lookin' like he just stepped off the cover of GQ magazine, Chris Cornell leaves Audioslave behind and goes it alone once again for his second solo album. Over seven years after his last loner mission Euphoria Morning, the voice of Soundgarden, Temple Of The Dog and Audioslave remains as burly and gut-bustin' as ever, but the music surrounding it plays things ultra safe. It's super slick modern rock radio fodder and major motion picture soundtrack ready. Speaking of which, his theme song for the James Bond movie reappears here along with a cover of Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean" of all things. Is it a joke? Was it a dare? Who knows. It's just plain weird.
I don't know about you, but for the record nerds we know, every vacation is merely an excuse to check out record stores and discover weird bands and see cool shows. Sure we'll deny it, but we won't ever be allowed to forget the time Andee spent at least half of his first trip to Japan, dragging his fiancee Heather around to little hole in the wall record stores, or when Allan made record shopping a priority in Turkey...
Well, when Andee was in NYC recently, there was, surprisingly enough, a bit of record shopping, and there were two fantastic musical discoveries, the first, was a band called Holy Fuck, whose record we will get soon and feature on the list, the other, was a band called Health, whose full length we also have, but we figured this split 7" would be a good introduction.
Not exactly sure how to describe Health, they're sort of one of those awesome WTF noise rock combos, who weave wildly from sound to sound, while somehow retaining a distinct musical personality. Health, to us at least, sound like part hooky pop, new wave weirdness, Sonic Youth style indie rock soundscaping, and chaotic free noise. Not always in equal measures. The first track here is all chaotic tribal drumming and freaked out noise, angular guitars, and breathy SY style vocals, imagine some hybrid of Sonic Youth, 23 Skidoo and This Heat. Hypnotic and off kilter and so good. The other Health track is some weird eighties electro jam, with weird affected vocals, vintage synths, warm reverbed percussion and even handclaps. But somehow the two tracks sound perfect together...
The flipside is the awesomely named Crystal Castles, who are not only named after one of the coolest video games ever, they also sort of sound like a punk rock version of the Crystal Castles music. The core of their sound is full on 8 bit Nintendo core, all bleeps and bloops and buzzes, but over the top is sprawled some fierce Riot Grrl growl, plenty of distortion and crunch, with howled banshee female vocals, swathed in that weird Cher vocal effect. Weird. And then strangely, the other track removes everything BUT the video game jamz, leaving a tune that sounds like it could be music straight from some secret level in Mario Bros....
Nice thick sleeve, with creepy cover art, and pressed on super thick white vinyl.
Dalek has always represented the flipside to glossy commercial mainstream hip-hop. In fact we remember first hearing them on their Gern Blandsten debut, a label best know in the 90's for releasing hardcore, and spazzy indie rock. It makes sense that Dalek have spent their career on labels that don't usually venture into that sort of sound (Ipecac, Tigerbeat 6, Hydra Head), as their brand of dark and brooding hip-hop has a lot in common with the world of underground rock and beyond. Their eerie and moody vibe borrows as much from psych and kraut as it does the grittier side of hip-hop. In fact they even collaborated with Faust a few years back for a record that's now sadly out of print. This is a great collection compiling a bunch of rarities, remixes and a few previously unreleased tracks. And unless you have hunted down all their 12"s in the past this will probably be the first time you've heard any of this stuff. One of those killer collections that really captures all the elements of what a group is all about. From moody instrumentals to the dark and intense lyrical flow, this serves as either the perfect introduction or a wonderful reminder of what a great and essential voice in the world of hip-hop Dalek represent.
Best song title ever?: "The AMM Of Punk Rock". And what's funny is, if there was ever a band that could rightfully claim that title as their own, it NZ's Dead C. Much like how Nirvana spawned a million shitty wannabe's, the Dead C basically did the same for the noise rock underground. Anyone with a piece of shit guitar and a beat up four-track got to thinking they could be a band, not realizing that the match up of Bruce Russell, Michael Morley and Robbie Yeats was a magical once in a lifetime sort of lucky draw.�
It's been four years since the last Dead C record, The Damned, a killer slab of classic Dead C -ROCK- that we dug like crazy. From full on rock to moody ambience, it was a serious return to form. So what did this noise rock power decide to do as a follow up (besides wait four long years)? Well, as being contrary seems second nature to them, they decided to be difficult. To make a hard to listen to, abstract record filled with amazing sounds assembled in amazing and perplexing shapes and letting us figure out how to enjoy them. And enjoying them is exactly what we're doing. If drastic stylistic shifts and difficult listening are things that send you packing then odds are you gave up on these guys long ago.�
Starting off with the above mentioned�"The AMM Of Punk Rock", the Dead C reclaim the noise rock throne from Wolf Eyes�or whoever happens to be parked there this week. These guys are legends for a reason, they can take seemingly unmusical sounds, caustic, abrasive, minimal and harsh, and weave them into something beautiful. This is no exception. Wheezing chords, tape hiss, amp buzz, strange disjointed melodies, huge billowing rubbery low end ooze, plenty of electronic glitch and squiggle, bits of buzz and beep, until about halfway through when a riff enters the fray,�a gorgeously SUNNO)))-y wash of distorted guitar rumble over simple spare percussion, like classic Dead C slowed waaaaaaay down. Not sure if it's the sound of punk rock AMM, but it sure as hell could be.
Elsewhere, the band dip into dissonant mumbly noise rock, complete with crooned vocals, clattery junk yard percussion, VU style riffing, a shuffling beat and a hidden hook that once unearthed will stick in your head like crazy, long drawn out buzzscapes of sputtering distortion, weird processed drums, digital skitter, and thick rumbling whir, super spaced out reverbed kraut jams, not all that unlike some lost German Oak jam, simple plodding percussion, metallic crunch, squalls of angular guitar, sheets of feedback, some downright groovy riffing and some seriously propulsive drumming, and for the final 20 minute track, a creepy lo-fi junkyard noise rock Appalachia, with raga like steel string guitar and wavery chordal warble, some blown out synth weirdness, and strange alien melodies, all wrapped in tons of reverb and delay, like it was recorded in a huge underground cavern, giving the whole track an awesomely subterranean vibe, casting the 'C as some clan of bearded beasties, with blind eyes, pale skin, and hair down to the ground, who have spent the last thousand years holed up in their cave, with nothing but some old amps and janky synths, busted up drums and a single crappy microphone...
And that's kind of what the whole record sounds like really, that Dead C classic deconstructed primitivism, begrudgingly dragged into the future (hence the record title? Ironic? Not?), the murky stumbling sonic chaos we know and love augmented with strange modern flourishes and unexpected modern production fuckery, which actually quite becomes them...
Deadwood the group, existed long before the HBO series of the same name, but it some ways, they have a lot in common, mostly in the bleak, hopeless, windblown vibe that permeates them both. Featuring a member of Swedish black metal horde and long time AQ faves Blodulv, Deadwood offer up extended tracks of ultra creepy low end explorations, that run the gamut from abrasive power electronics, to slithering drone drenched black ambience. Fans of stuff like MZ412 and other purveyors of bleak abstract sounds will definitely dig this.
From thick squalls of white noise hiss, like rain on a metal barn roof, to super blown out Merzbowian hiss, almost black metal in its buzz and intensity, to crumbling landscapes of tape hiss and low end rumble, slowed down vocals, and mumbled scrape and shimmer, to strange murky tribalism, to skipping soundscapes of demonic vocals and ultra distorted slowed down beats, to decayed orchestral snippets chopped and looped into impossibly mesmerizing rhythms, a dark and damaged world of sound, though while at its heaviest could be the harshest, hissiest BM you've ever heard, spends most of its time crawling and lurching through slow motion fields of rumbling sound. Awesome.
As many of our favorite records have demonstrated, music is where you find it, anywhere, and more often than not, the most amazing sounds are waiting to be found where one might not always look. In the past we've had straight up field recordings of drag races, a life support machine, barking sled dogs, rutting deer, cowbells in the alps... We've also had the microscopic captured vibrations of Tsunoda, the voices from beyond of the Ghost Orchid, the singing telephone wires of Alan Lamb, and we could go on and on.�
Some adventurous listeners/recordists have set their sights on the sounds BETWEEN the sounds. The continuous applause of�A Compressed History of Everything Ever Recorded, Vol. 2: Ubiquitous Eternal Live, and of course multiple 'moments of silence' strung together by Jonty Semper, and now we have Christopher DeLaurenti's Favorite Intermissions, which is just what the title indicates. At various classical performances, during the intermissions, when most folks went to the lobby to smoke, or grab a snack, visit the rest room, DeLaurenti stayed put, or wandered through the partially empty auditorium, capturing all the wonderful sounds that exist when the musicians are not playing and the crowds are not hushed and listening attentively.�
There is of course the general hubbub, foot steps, the low murmur of conversation, papers being folded, the ruffling of garments, laughter, coughing, snippets of conversation, all blended together into a surprisingly pleasant hum, a minimal multilayered drone, which on its own would be quite an excellent listen. But the other element, that is maybe the most fascinating, is capturing the musicians -- who are normally quite disciplined, playing the score perfectly, following the conductor, striving for utter perfection -- with their hair down as it were, relaxed and sort of just messing about. Lots of improvising, which they are not afforded the opportunity to do EVER, and some subtly impromptu jams, percussion and horns, weaving elaborate little sonic tableaus, fragments of the pieces they just performed, or are about to perform, removed from their context and allowed to breathe. It's loose and spirited, ramshackle, but also amazing to listen to.�
The combination of the room noise and the random bits of orchestral music are totally fascinating and sound absolutely perfect together. It's hard not to hear these excerpts as composed avant garde pieces: Symphony Number 4 for laid back oboe player, screwing around percussionist, crinkled candy wrapper, shuffling footsteps, random conversation and occasional laughter....
Sometimes the sound is quite minimal and quiet, just a few players playing scales, a handful of scattered voices, other times it's intense and cacophonous, with nearly the whole orchestra jamming wildly on some theme or another, exuding more of a wild free Sun Ra vibe than what you might normally expect from typically reserved classical performers.�
A surprisingly complex super intimate portrait of every day sounds, interactions between people transformed into performance, the noise of modern life mixed with the the mostly ignored sonic events surrounding some of the most beautiful music on earth, revealing that once again, music truly is where you find it, even if you find it while all dressed up, sitting in a plush velvet seat, with the lights up, listening to musicians tune up and the folks behind you talking about their plans for dinner.
Grizzly Bear fans, here's a reissue that might pique your interest! Department Of Eagles was the name of Dan Rossen's pre-Grizzly Bear duo, and this was their debut (originally released by Isota Records back in 2003). He along with Fred Nicolaus crafted The Cold Nose, a sprawling album that on occasion brings to mind the expansive musical patchwork of bands like Beta Band and Badly Drawn Boy. The songs languidly come into view, alternately locking into sun-dappled folksy melodies, nutty pop jigs and jazzy grooves for a stretch only to have an array of hazy samples and electronic squiggles tug it all apart. Nice! Includes four bonus tracks and new artwork!
NOW ON VINYL!!
Good ol' Dinosaur Jr.! Looks like Dinosaur Jr.! Sounds like Dinosaur Jr.! Yes, regardless of its title the band's first studio album in ten years -- and first with one Mr. Lou Barlow who left the band back in '89 -- doesn't venture far from their trademark sound of old. In fact, we might even attest to it being on par with any one of their most beloved records. Lofty praise, innit? File under: perfect-driving-in-car-record!
Perhaps taking a cue from a classic Mr. Show sketch, despite the infamous animosity amongst band members in the past, Lou, J and Murph use that tension to sing! Indeed they don't necessarily set their differences aside, but instead put that palpable friction to good use, coming together once more to rock as only they can! Bent and broken guitar chords butt into J's unmistakable sodden whimper vocals. Loud, cacophonous rough-housing meet some of the sweetest romantic sentiments often within the same song. Awwwww! Few other bands can alternately snuggle and sock you in the gut... and have you enjoy it. Just check out the lone song that was co-written by Mascis and Barlow (Mascis wrote the other ten). Damn good. Don't know if the guys like each other any more than they used to, but we sure have a soft spot for 'em. Heck, they even brought back their signature colors -- fuchsia and lime!
After so many disappointing reunion records recently (like, say, The Stooges) it's quite something that this one isn't just not-disappointing, but SO GREAT. Wow.
WTF?! Dinosaur Jr Live In The Middle East? Well, sort of... not in the geographical region, mind you! No, the Middle East in question here is a music venue in Boston, MA, and it is only one of the many locations at which the footage on this dvd was actually shot. It documents Dinosaur Jr's triumphant December 2005 reunion tour on which the original lineup dusted off all the old faves and tore into them with all the electricity, volume vim and vigor that we were hoping for. Lots of behind the scenes footage and bonus interviews with fellow veteran rockers Steve Albini, Kim Gordon, Thurston Moore, Kevin Shields, Mike Watt, Sonic Boom and uhhh, Matt Dillon.
Cult Cult Cult. Doom Doom Doom. It's thee fourth album of HEAVY and EPIC war metal anthems from this (metaphorical) sword and axe wielding bunch, and maybe their best yet. Italy's pagan doomsters Doomsword (that's doom-sword not dooms-word, just to be clear) are a true metal outfit, with clean, manly vocals. The Viking tales of Bathory are the closest they come in comparison to the black metal realm...but they're NOT a bit like the fruity and fantastical power metal of countrymen Rhapsody either. No, this is for fans of underground olden metal acts like Solstice, Wotan, Candlemass, and former labelmates Slough Feg. Doom done heavy metal style, not sludgy-droney or stoner-Sabbathy, but epic.
Sure, with songs like "Days Of High Adventure", "Steel Of My Axe", and "Thundercult" you might expect some kind of D&D metal here. Well sorta, but as we've said before there's a serious slant to Doomsword's stuff, even if you'd be prone to thinking 'em silly. And their hymns to myth and might will stick with you, thanks to their morose melodies and sheer metallic chug. Mostly midtempo, sluggishly so, but with some storming numbers too. There's acoustic intros, catchy choruses, and (most importantly) many massive RIFFS. Stuff to awaken ancestral memories! Listeners will be unconsciously be girding their loins and preparing for battle. The unironic metal of Doomsword is "keeping it real" about stuff that went down over 1000 years ago, and doing so with much passion, intensity and skill. Classy and damn good. Cult Cult Cult. Doom Doom Doom.
We've mentioned this before, probably in a bunch of reviews, as much as we love us out black metal buzz, and strange animal sounds, deep dark drones and whatever other sonic weirdness that is tickling our ear drums, it's hard not to always come back to pop music. And certain records in particular. And there are all sorts of processes we go through to pick AQ highlights ands records of the week. But sometimes, you just have to go with the record you listened to the most. Even if it's not the weirdest, or the coolest (and it's usually not), and for me (Andee) that record is without a doubt, the new one from The Editors, a disc I found myself listening to 4 or 5 times a day (maybe much to the chagrin of coworkers) but screw it, An End Has A Start is pretty much perfect as far as I'm concerned, poppy, hooky, moody, rocking, catchy, dramatic, just so so good.�
Though often accused of being an Interpol ripoff band (and sure their sounds, especially the vocals, are dangerously similar) the Editors always seemed to have some important things that Interpol didn't. And don't get us wrong, we love Interpol, even the new one, but the Editors, somehow always seem less concerned with the cool factor, the tight suits, and the sort of emotionless sheen, instead, they revel in their emotions, they may be as dapper on the surface as their Interpol brethren, but inside, their hearts are broken, they have butterflies in their stomachs, they're willing to open up and be vulnerable, to loosen up that tie and to crawl, to weep, to wail, and that's sort of the magic of these songs.�
Their sound has gotten even more polished since the last record (positioning them closer to Coldplay probably than Interpol), but the songs have followed suit, getting even more razor sharp, the hooks impossible to resist, the melodies big and melancholy, the riffs kick ass, and the vocals, epic and throaty and super dramatic, emotional and sort of emo actually. None of that laid back cool that Interpol traffics in, this is heart on the sleeve stuff.�
And it's not just the songs, the lyrics are amazing as well, clever and sharp, emotionally resonant, and it helps that they're delivered in that irresistible croon.�
Shit, just listen to the opener, "Smokers Outside The Hospital Doors", easily the best song Interpol never wrote (or could write), simple and loping, with an amazing epic soaring bridge, and a chorus that manages to be super moving in its simplicity, the sort of progression, music and lyrics together, that totally gives you a lump in the throat, and then the super crazy hook of the second half of the chorus....�
The the second song, the title track, might be even better, more new wave, with a propulsive groove and practically perfect lyrics, jangling guitars and throbbing bass, and a chorus that KILLS...
Every track on An End Has A Start is a gem, dark and brooding, buzzy and propulsive, catchy as all get out.�"The Weight of The World" is another song Interpol should have written, but in the hands of the Editors it become a super soaring minor key lament, and then there's the�"Escape The Nest" with one of the most bad ass guitar riffs ever, a weird processed angular grind surrounded on all sides by muted gloom, making it seem even more epic and intense.�
After listening to this for the hundredth time or so, it became obvious that it would just get harder and harder to explain why it was so great. One of those records that just makes you want to review it with a single sentence: "Just buy it! It's amazing. Been listening to it nonstop. My record of the year without a doubt!!!" And while for a few people that might actually be enough, for the rest of you, read the above, listen to the sound samples, and decide for yourself, but yeah, pop record of the year without a doubt.�
