Not to be confused with the John Maus who was in the Walker Brothers in the '60s this John Maus has been making warped baroque pop in the cozy confines of his bedroom in Minnesota for the last several years and is best known for his contributions to Ariel Pink and Animal Collective offshoot Panda Bear. Maus is one seriously prolific songwriter who until now has kept pretty much all of his own songs to himself. "Songs" is a collection of some of those dark pop offerings recorded at home over the last few years. Channeling the spirit of Ian Curtis and using vintage electronic equipment, Maus's songs evoke a hazy kind of daydreaming but with a much more morose slant. His deep voice got us thinking of folks like Calvin Johnson, Scott Walker and on the first track he's a dead ringer for Robert Smith. Dark weird pop done right!
We kinda went nuts for the recent Echospace record, The Coldest Season. So much so that we made it our record of the week. And judging by the response, most aQ customers dug it just as much as we did. Which makes sense really. A modern take on that old Chain Reaction sound we all love so much. Heroin House, or whatever you want to call it, muddy murky atmospheres wrapped around deep throbbing four on the floor pulses, smeared and blurred, the sound gloriously washed out and dreamlike. Super spaced out abstract dub, beats drifting in wide open expanses of FX and electronic glitch and shimmer. Dance music for those of us who loathe the dancefloor and instead lurk in the shadows. The rhythm is probably still gonna get you, but it's going to creep up on you slowly and wrap you in its inky black embrace, and pull you into the swirling fuzzy abyss.
Incense & Black Light is the new record from Rod Modell, one half of Echospace, and while everything we loved about the Echospace record is here in full effect, it's even noisier and buzzier and grittier, which can only mean we might even like it more�
The opening track is super dense and heavy, a swirling cloud of crumbling distortion, a bassline that almost sounds like some muted metal riff, but completely abstracted and disembodied, a rhythm buried beneath layers of grit and grime, the track peppered with jagged blasts of glitch and hiss, the whole thing looped into something, that despite all of it's harshness and density, is almost groovy.
The second track begins with some Pole like dub throb, drifting on a layer of gristly hiss, those big echoey crunches pulsing and fading into the mist, beneath it all a throbbing bassline and some muted percussion, sounding like a rougher more raw Echospace. After that the record drifts into much less noisy territory, dipping its toes into some Kompakt like minimalism, still dubby and dreamy, but a bit more skittery, and not nearly as dark and dense. After three songs of gauzy late night Kompakt style minimal techno, the record dips back into the darkness, a slowly shifting smear of pixilated digital crunch, long blurred waves of prickly buzz, all woven into a gorgeously gauzy sheet of sound, that seems to billow in some midnight breeze, laced with crackles and hiss, almost completely devoid of any rhythm. Almost.
The next two tracks crank the dub factor, dialing back the noise a bit, but keeping the effects distorted and the beats crunchy, a sort of Kraftwerk groove pulled apart into some alien dub, hovering over a sea of whirring hum and buried buzz, the melody clipped and bouncing from beat to beat before fading into the roiling ambient murk.
Finally, the last two tracks finish things off, the way they started, with some sort of damaged dub, via Tim Hecker or Christian Fennesz, the second to last a gorgeous dubby driftscape, the beats barely holding together, the sound of lapping waves another layer of hiss and buzz, the whole dub drifting into its constituent parts, so druggy and dreamy and blissed out, while the last is glimmering shimmering effulgence, sun dappled sparkles stretched into slow whirring slabs of soft fuzzy thrum, like someone took a single measure of the blissiest Orb song, and stretched it out to 5 minutes, the chords pulled apart exposing the notes within, the notes pulled apart, crumbling to pieces, just blurry shadows, all woven into some slow slippery sonic stream, gauzy, buzzy, warm and dreamlike.
If you loved that Echospace record, but wondered what it would have sounded like if it was mixed by Fennesz, or recorded by Tim Hecker, or spun in a DJ set by Philip Jeck (and who among us didn't?), then this just might be exactly what you're looking for.
With some bands, you want something new and different every record, strange new sounds, that confound as much as confuse, pushing boundaries, and stretching the limit of that band's 'sound'. But some groups, you don't want to ever change. You want every record to be a continuation of the one before it, you long for some way to make every song, and every record, seemingly play forever. Each release, more like a movement in a massive symphony stretched out over multiple records and multiple years.
The key though, is to somehow, within this sonic stasis, to continue to evolve, however subtly. Sure the sound remains unchanged, the tone and timbre is consistent. But within these boundaries, the songs do in fact change and shift, and offer up new ideas, new landscapes of sound, new hooks, new angles with which to hear, varied and wonderfully assorted pieces of a bigger whole.
Such is the case with dreamdoom duo Nadja, who much like their mainman Aidan Baker, release records at an alarming rate, often topping one a month, and while it's been challenging to review each and every one, we have, and we've enjoyed all of them. But listening to this latest Nadja, we began to view the band, and their record differently. There was no point in approaching this record as if it was their first, or as if it was something completely new, that we'd never heard before. Because we have. It's quite similar to past Nadja releases, the sound they've created is so much their own, the guitar impossibly full and blown out, organic, but wreathed in digital fuzz, and it's no studio trick, they played right here in aQ, and even at a less than deafening (but still plenty loud, thank you!) volume, they managed to conjure up the same heaving heaviness, the same gauzy atmospheres, the buried thump of the drum machine. In fact, as I was writing this, someone came up and asked if this was Nadja. C'mon! Most doom bands, drone bands, heck non-pop bands in general, you'd be hard pressed to immediately recognize. But Nadja have transcended all the descriptors often flung at them, doom, shoegaze, drone, metalgaze, they all apply, but none so much more than simply the name Nadja.
So why buy this one? Or the two forthcoming releases? Or the 30 or 40 past releases? Well, if you're like us, we can't get enough of the sound of Nadja. And like we mentioned above, we HAVE figured out a way to make this sound go on forever. Each record, takes the dense blissed out buzz, the lurching doomic trudge, the gloriously effulgent majesty of Nadja, and stretches it out just a little bit further. Each time adding something crucial that wasn't there before. On Skin Turns to Glass, the songs are evenmore meditative and repetitive, looped endlessly, the riffs churning mantra-like, a buzzing slow motion hynorock, separated by spaced out stretches of glimmering ambience, and deep cavernous drones. Every Nadja record we're tempted to declare it the best yet, but we'd bet you if we went back to one of the first releases, we'd immediately think that it was in fact the best one. Such is the magic of Nadja, the sound they've created, the soundworld, each piece is as important as any other, the sound wouldn't be complete, in fact can naver be truly complete, until there are no more records, no more songs, no more pieces to add to the ever expanding puzzle. Hopefully that will never happen.
Includes an unlisted bonus track, nearly thirty minutes of shimmering doomic minimalism, droning dark bliss, that explodes in the last minute or so, in a flurry of incendiary white noise, a drum damaged blown out psychguitar metallic meltdown, that ends quite abruptly, leaving us to wait patiently for the next movement, coming soon...
Seth Nehil and John Grzinich have been collaborating in various sound ventures off and on for well over a decade, back when the two met in Austin, Texas. Gyre marks the conclusion of a body of field recordings and agitated environments that the two began working on while travelling throughout Eastern Europe and later manipulated into installation soundtracks, arriving at three lengthy tracks. A constant fluidity of gray sounds wraps around the opening track of Gyre, which gives the impression of being deep underwater investigating the nether regions; yet the tactile sounds of various rubbings and cracked details contrast the subaqueous references with earthen found sounds of soil, stone, wood, and metal. The second piece acts as a call and response to the acoustics of some crumbling Soviet warehouse, with wooden tappings echoing from various parts of the space, presumably from the two participants. Gradually, a thick rumble of low end thrumb reverberates through additional layers of chattering birds which serves to counter the 'industrial' sound debris. The creaking from a high tension wire sets the stage for the final piece on Gyre, with ringing metallic vibrations amassing into a beautiful aura of hallowed droning. On par with the likes of Murmer, Loren Chasse, Tarab, Eric La Casa, and Small Cruel Party, Gyre is an excellent album.
While we wish we could boast about having a large section of Greek '70s psychedelia, this one and only full length by Nostradamos, recorded in 1972, will now be the very high standard by which we will judge any other Greek acid-folk-psych-pop we are lucky enough to get our ears on. And that's kind of unfair for any of those records because this is truly an amazing and unique record.
As intricate and eclectic as they were poppy and infectious, Nostradamos utilized the regular rock band instrumentation but added elements like violin, flute, horns and harp which gave their songs a rich and colorful luster. Hints of more traditional Greek folk are infused into their psychedelic pop, giving an incredible range to the album and even within the songs themselves, thus making for an incredibly exciting and pleasurable listening experience. We definitely hear a kinship between this and some of the more earthy Tropicalia happening at the same time in a totally different place on the globe. Nostradamos still sounds so alive and relevant today. So many moments on this record would be at home on something by an Elephant 6 band, and we could see lots of today's indie folk stars like Beirut, Coco Rosie, Rio En Medio and even Dungen totally digging on this, we sure are!
The Oh Sees have changed a lot since they were the OCS. Back then, Oh Sees frontman John Dwyer had his Coachwhips, a wild sweat soaked, garage stomp party, furious and frenzied, throbbing and in-the-red, so OCS was the outlet for Dwyer to explore the other sides of his multiple musical personality. The debut OCS record (released on tUMULt) was two discs, one of mostly solo acoustic guitar, a super intimate bedroom folk, all dusty and crackly, warm and super intimate, bits of damaged Casio, warbly old vinyl, damaged FX, lovingly crafted into some sort of heartfelt lo-fi sonic loveletter. The other disc was more noisy, super abstract, blown out blasts of free jazz weirdness, drones and rumbles, howling feedback, white noise, pink noise, and every color in between. OCS 2, 3 and 4 followed a similar pattern, a sort of lonely lo-fi homebrewed indie folk, off kilter and melancholy, wistful, damaged and dreamy.
But with the dissolution of the Coachwhips, came a name change for OCS, now The Ohsees, or sometimes The Oh Sees, a change in sound, and a transformation into a full band.
While not as freaked out and furious as the Coachwhips, the Oh Sees new record sounds more like the long lost CW's than any of Dwyer's records since. Garage-y jangle, shuffling drums, the vocals distorted, the songs simple and stripped down, but the big difference is that here Dwyer splits the vocals with bandmate Brigid Dawson, the result is truly endearing harmonies, with Dwyer often the wailing counterpoint to Dawson's sweet angelic croon. And songs that sometimes sound like alien versions of that classic Phil Spector girl group sound. But at its heart, the sound is still fuzzy and buzzy and skeletal, groovy and garage rocky, wouldn't be hard to imagine this disc on In The Red, or see these guys on tour with the Dirtbombs or the Country Teasers or the Husbands. (Bonus points for having a song about aQ pal and local artist extraordinaire Maria Forde!)
Weird too that it's out on Tomlab, it IS blissy and fuzzy and poppy, but not nearly as much as everything else on Tomlab, which is why it's only -through- Tomlab and is really on Dwyer's just launched Castle Face label�
Big booklet, with lyrics, and kick ass eye popping artwork on the front and back!
Another awesome archival release from the folks at Mississippi records. Not only is their catalog slowly being re-pressed, but there are a whole slew of new releases, the first being this collection from the enigmatic Washington Phillips.
Very little is know about Phillips, other than he was from Texas and only ever recorded sixteen songs. That's it. Sixteen songs. Twelve of which are here, all of them totally gorgeous and mysterious. Phillips vocals are intense and world weary, but it's the accompaniment that really stands out.
The cover shows an illustration of Phillips playing what looks like a toy piano, but the sound is stranger than a toy piano, much higher and more resonant, chiming and tinkling, like little bells, like Christmas carols, a sort of joyous effulgent sparkling shimmer. The liner notes suggest that it may or may not be a Dolceola, an extinct late nineteenth / early twentieth century instrument that looks like a hybrid of a toy piano and a zither. But as there is only one confirmed recording of the Dolceola, on a Leadbelly track from the forties, it's hard to prove just what Phillips' instrument could be. According to a 1961 interview with Frank Walker, who recorded Washington Phillips, the instrument Phillips used was homemade and was something "nobody on earth could use except him". Online sources speculate that it could be a fretless zither or a phonoharp. Whatever it is, it sounds somewhere between a hammered dulcimer, a spinet (baby harpsichord) and an ice cream truck (minus the sound system), all beneath a warm fuzzy patina of dusty crackle. The notes tumble and twinkle while Phillips weaves them seamlessly into a warm glowing backdrop for his testifying, creating a gorgeous and haunting angelic gospel blues, that is truly unique.
As always, pressed on thick vinyl, housed in a gorgeously screened jacket, includes an insert on thick textured paper, with very minimal liner notes (appropriately enough) on one side, and and on the other an ad for the Dolceola out of some old time catalog. Cool!
You know how we're always talkin' cult this, cult that, with regard to black metal? Well heck if your black metal band *isn't* considered cult you may as well hang it up. But in other genres, the term can still have some actual meaning. Power metal ferinstance. Lots of not-cult bands of that ilk crowding the scene. And then the occasional one that truly is "cult", has a cult, or deserves a cult (following)... we'll leave it to black metal bands to potentially BE cults in the religious sense.
In any event, all this is preliminarily in aid of saying, bow down, a new Powers Court album (only their third in 18 years of existence!) has finally materialized on our shared plane of existence!! We've reviewed and raved about their others, longtime AQ customers may remember. Basic info: Powers Court is a power metal trio from Illinois (yep, American metal!) whose cult quality is pretty much owed to the persona of the talented Danie Powers, guitarist/vocalist. Females are rare enough in metal bands, especially as leaders, making Ms. Powers immediately notable. She's notable too for her amazing, nearly 5-octave range. She'd be a unique and formidable vocalist alone, but she's also the main songwriter, shredder, and riffmaster (mistress?) of the band. Go, girl!
And while it's been quite a few years since the last Powers Court album back in 2001, Danie & Co. seem to have put that time to good use, crafting a meticulous and magnificent display of 21st century true metal mastery... We'll recommend this immediately to Hammers Of Misfortune fans for a couple reasons, first you probably like operatic female metal vocals, and secondly, this is a concept album, a narrative based on some dark Italian folktale about doomed lovers and occult happenings. This sinister story is set against a relentless, surging backdrop of proggy, pyrotechnic power metal. And we do mean power. Full of explosive, galloping double bass drumming, chunky buzzsaw guitar riffage, harmonic squeals, herky-jerk rhythmic complexities, and, soaring melodically o'er it all, that haunting, weird voice. Theatrical, commanding, sorta like a power metal version of Grace Slick or Pat Benatar, also comparable to Kind Diamond. She sings like a woman possessed, sometimes a crystal clear delicate songbird (as on finale "Vain Regrets") in the upper range, sometimes descending to a much throatier, lower register that's definitely medievally monkish, or even akin to a black metal rasp. Often doubled, multitracked for extra eerie effect, Powers warbles and holds notes in weird ways, her phrasing always adding as much preternatural personality to the proceedings as does her wide range.
Recommended! Definitely for Hammers fans, also for anyone into the dark, thrashy eccentricity of another American metal cult, Manilla Road.
When we first put this on, the aQ death metal experts were convinced this was some old DM classic reissued. We were hearing Deicide, Slayer, Darkthrone, but a bit more on the grind side, hints of Circle Of Dead Children and Phobia, but the more we listened, the more it sounded too dense and heavy, too furious and frantic, and even though it definitely borrowed from the classics BIG TIME, it sounded too modern. This is in fact the latest record from a band called Prosanctus Inferi who hail from Columbus, Ohio, and who recorded this festering chunk of buzzing black sickness just last year!
These guys definitely know their shit. Spewing a relentless stream of furious snarling blackened buzz, relentless and filthy, the production incredibly dense and suffocating, the guitars massive, no tinny insect like buzzing, the riffs here ROAR, the drums blast and pound, the sound is definitely rooted in black metal, but is definitely on the blackened side, and most of the songs veer into short stretches of tangled grind, shades of early Carcass, but whoever they're borrowing from, PI whip their various influences into a total head spinning black death workout, shifting gears every few seconds, riffs splintering apart, brutal blasts slowing down into doomy grooves, then exploding back into some static death metal pound. Another online review described this record as "virgin hammering goat blasting black death metal" and who are we to argue?
LIMITED TO 100 COPIES, already nearly sold out at the label. Swank two sided silkscreened sleeves, the back side just a half sleeve revealing the lp inside.
We've said it before, we'll say it again. If there was anyone capable of dragging us kicking and screaming over to the darkside, it would be Dom Fernow, aka Prurient. And by the dark side, we mean umm... well, loving noise music. We already do sort of dig noise, most of the music we love is in some way noisy, and we do love some 'noise' artists, but most specifically defined noise music, well that stuff can leave us cold. Wait a second, hold on. As we write this, we realize that pretty soon, the more reviews of 'noise' records we write, noise records that we LOVE, we're just gonna have to do away with these apologetic intros entirely, since it's becoming more and more apparent that maybe we do indeed just simply love noise.
And this record is indeed NOISE music. Heavy on the noise. Heavy noise. Gnarled, crumbling, buzzing, hissing clouds of white noise, of dense static, of blown out grinding chaotic sound. The root sound is in fact, pure noise, almost white noise, sounds you've heard on a million Merzbow records, but as with other Prurient discs, it's what you do with it, how you shape it, the subtle textures underneath and within. The shapes, the dynamics, the melodies (when you can find them), the musicality, while some groups will conjure up the noise, and leave it at that, Fernow uses noise the way a rock band uses the guitar, he plays it, he uses it to compose SONGS. It's hard to explain, and sometimes it's difficult to hear, but once your ears understand how to listen to Prurient's noise, it's like someone colorblind seeing colors for the first time, everything explodes, a prismatic burst of thick textured sound.
One interesting aspect of Prurient, is how big a role vocals play, some spoken, some howled, often distorted or processed, it expands the boundaries of noise, by not only introducing lyrics, but also by creating another layer of sound, something to play against the crumbling distortion and the white hot rrrroooar. Beyond that, Fernow also manages to introduce all sorts of strange soundscapes beneath the noise on the surface, sometimes it's warm whirring ambience, which makes those track sound like some supercharged Tim Hecker record, or Fennesz remixed by Merzbow. Other tracks chop up the noise into stuttering rhythms, the throbbing crunch creating almost-grooves, others are more dense and impenetrable, but even those tracks offer up fragments of melodies, bits of blurred drone, hints of some sort of song buried in the mire. This whole disc, while being fierce and fucked up, heavy and thick and noisy and brutal, manages also to be haunting and creepy and beautifully damaged. Fans of all that blissed out drone music we champion, who are looking for something a little more intense, who perhaps now realize that having to dig for beauty might just be more rewarding than having it handed to you, might do well to check this out. Another divine disc of brutal bliss and harsh beauty, and these days no one does it better than Prurient.
Killer packaging. Super fancy thick gatefold sleeve, two pockets, on one, the cd, and a booklet of photos, all of roiling water and crashing waterfalls, in the other pocket, a 5" vinyl single with two extra tracks!
Another disc we've been meaning to list for ages. The first release from Rashomon, the new project of Matt Thompson, former and founding member of UK prog combo Guapo. Rashomon incorporates much of what drove the music of Guapo, avant prog, psychedelic rock, soundtrack music, even metal into their sound.
But Thompson is approaching this new music from more of a filmic angle, the sounds much more cinematic, which should have been obvious from the name of the project, the record's title, and even the songs, each bearing the name of a classic film. Might be a bit pretentious in other hands, but this is the guy who founded Guapo, his prog cred is solid as a rock, as is his instrumental prowess, and it's obvious listening to these songs.
How the music here relates to the various films, is a bit tough for us to comment on since, we're embarrassed to say, we've seen only 2 of the 8 films referenced, but we're certainly excited to check the rest of them out now.
The opening track is a dark brooding convoluted space prog workout, channeling Goblin, as well as John Carpenter, into an intense creepscape, all minor key and darkly ominous, with long stretches of haunted house synth and wheezing harmoniums, the drums complex, skittering amidst a winding droneprog jam, heavy on the low-end and the tension building shimmer.
The second track is all smokey and jazzy, a minimal shuffle beneath some atonal scrabbly Derek Bailey like guitars, the track soon morphing into creepy sepia tone music box melodies.
Over the course of the rest of the record, as the tracks slip from film to film director to director, Bresson to Suzuki, Starewicz to Shindo, Branded To Kill, Lancelot Du Lac, Onibaba, The Mascot, the songs follow suit, shifting from mood to mood, sound to sound, soaring strings, ballroom jazz, bursts of acid fried synth blow outs, tribal almost African sounding drumming, gypsy folk violins, super intense spastic freaked out avant metal damage, deep shimmering drones, long stretches of creaking industrial ambience, haunting bagpipe like melodies, moody abstract drifts, gently strummed guitars clouds of cymbal shimmer, a constantly shifting world of sound, deep and layered, expansive and indeed, so cinematic.
Fans of Guapo will want this for sure, but anyone into far out soundtracks, experimental soundscapes or avant prog should definitely check this out as well.
LIMITED TO 500 COPIES!!
First vinyl release from At War With False Noise and it's a doozy.
The A side is a band called Seppuku, who not long ago sounded completely different and were called Testsuo! Ring any bells? No matter, what we've got here are two songs, the first a caustic slab of Eyehategod, caveman Sabbath style sludge doom, classic Sabbath riffs melted down into something much more raw and viscous, the vocals a feral howl, practice space drums that plod along bravely amidst the doomic din, all wrapped up in a warm swirling cloud of downtuned buzz and lurching drone. The second track is way more spare and space-y, some sort of tripped out abstract krautjam, the drums skittering along in wide open expanses of whir and rumble, riffs drifting in clouds of glittering FX, cookie monster vox waaaay off in the distance, a stumbling druggy meander that eventually careens into a chaotic free psych blow out. Sounds like a lo-fi noise rock version of Bardo Pond or Comets On Fire, but after WAY more pot and too much Hawkwind. Wait. There's no such thing as too much Hawkwind. Awesome.
The flipside is by Mutant Ape, and sounds a lot like you accidentally set the needle down directly on the label instead of on the wax. A horrifying white noise crush, electronics grind and squeal, feedback shrieks and all sorts of blown out sounds crumble and collapse only to be set afire and shoved through your melding speakers. This is indeed NOISE, and is truly for those partial to such things, or with ears of steel. And of course, it's a good aural palate cleanser, flip it over between spins of the Seppuku side, blow out all the doomy riffs, so you can begin again�
LIMITED TO 220 COPIES. Oversized gatefold sleeves, with laser printed full color paste on artwork, and a photocopied insert.
There's been much talk about grunge around aQ these days. A lot of it has to do with the fact that a bunch of us just love grunge, STILL, and thus talk about it all the time. But beyond that, Andee recently dedicated an entire radio show to his grunge favorites, and this summer is the Sub Pop 20th anniversary celebration, which rumor has it, might entail a Green River reunion! And now there's this, the first volume in a proposed series called Grungecore. And the second we heard about it, we knew we needed it!
Gabber jungle dancehall electronic freak Shitmat, covering Nirvana's "Negative Creep"!!! As if that weren't enough, the flipside is some other crazed electronic tweaker taking on Nirvana's "Senseless Apprentice" (aka "Scentless Apprentice"). And if even that weren't still enough, every single 7" comes in a sleeve, hand sewn from actual flannel shirts! Holy shit!!!
So the Shitmat side is a killer. It begins with all this throbbing black ambience, weird rhythmic skitter, which explodes into a fierce relentless blast of gabber madness. But it no way does it sound anything like Nirvana. UNTIL, the vocals kick in, and then it fits, it sound so right, it wouldn't be hard to imagine Kurt Kobain fronting some band on DHR back in the nineties, the rhythm of the original is kept intact, with the little pauses filled with flurries of jungle instead of that moaning guitar, the howling at the end of the chorus processed into some fucked up digital scream. Only reminds us how much we love Shitmat.
The flipside is someone called Ladyscraper, and their version of "Scentless Apprentice" sounds nothing like the original, less of a remix, more of an interpretation. Huge chunks of throbbing sizzling synth, massive grinding bass, the beats are more like speaker shredding bolts of digital crunch, the churn and skitter and occasionally explode into impossibly dense tangles of digital glitch. The vocals are super distorted, almost black metal, the whole thing stops and starts, super convoluted, it's basically impossible to tell it's a Nirvana song, but that doesn't mean it's not awesome.
Each 7" comes in its own flannel sleeve, hand sewn, from various parts of various different flannel shirts. Some are sleeves, and have buttons or cuffs, others have parts of collars, a few have a strange mudflap that flops outside the plastic sleeve. Each sleeve has a Grungecore sticker affixed to the front and a FUKDUP label Sub Pop parody sticker on the back, LIMITED TO 500 COPIES, the label on the 7" is hand stamped and hand numbered, and includes a photocopied insert with liner notes and rad high school drawings. WAY recommended.
Even if we didn't make this Record of the Week, we'd probably still be selling quite a few of 'em, as we're sure we've got a lot of knowledgeable record-collector-type customers for whom adding this to cart will be but the work of a second, the second after their eyes bug out upon seeing the artist and title listed above. But since this reissue is not only of an incredible rarity but also of an incredible record, we wanted to make sure everybody heard about it, besides those for whom it's already a "holy grail". Yep, Joakim Skogberg's original 1972 Jola Rota LP definitely falls into the highly obscure "holy grail" category, a lost treasure for lovers of weird, wonderful acid-folk and underground psychedelia. The sort of thing that develops a legend that it can't possibly live up to... but then DOES, blowing minds when it's finally reissued. The sort of thing that's whispered about among connoisseurs of psych, written of in a few select fanzines and blogs, heard only by a lucky few who got an Nth generation cassette dub or cd-r burn from a friend, who got it from a friend, and so on. The sort of thing, that even a few years after a brief exposure to its wonders, will make you stop and think every once in a while, dang when is someone finally gonna reissue that amazing obscure album??? Some other recently excavated examples would include Moolah's Woe Ye Demons Possessed, Bobb Trimble's Harvest Of Dreams, and Gary Higgins's Red Hash... and before that, once upon a time Comus's First Utterance too would have fallen into that category. Bruce Haack's Electric Lucifer as well, though originals of that were and are much MUCH easier to come by. Whereas *this* album was originally pressed in an edition of around just one thousand copies -- of which only a few hundred were ever sold back in the day, with the remainder of the pressing being, gasp, melted down to be recycled into other LPs!
So, here it is, artist Joakim Skogsberg's lone album Jola Rota finally, officially reissued for the very first time! Our hearts went pitter pat when we found out. We first heard this when our friend Loren Chasse (of Of/Thuja/Jewelled Antler/etc. fame) floated us a cd-r burn he had gotten from a pal overseas a couple years ago, as per the scenario outlined above. He figured we'd like it, and of course he was right. What's not to like? Swedish-forest-folk hippie ritual mixed with droned-out psych guitar. Truly strange, and captivating, vocal mumble. And, get this, it was actually mostly recorded out in a forest, on portable reel-to-reel gear!! Once out of the woods, the raw recordings were overdubbed (Skogsberg being responsible for all sounds on this album) in studio, but remain quite raw, the mystery and majesty of northern landscapes, dark shadowy places, placid lakes, tall trees and moss-covered rocks utterly alive in the music of the nature-loving Skogsberg.
Side One starts off with "Jola Fran Ingbo", which introduces Joakim's unusual "Jola" singing style derived from Swedish trad folk, also heavily influenced by Buddhist chant, accompanied by staccato bowings of ominous violin. Immediately this is waaaay darker than most other Swedish folk/psych we've heard! Seriously droney and austere. That's followed by the more freaked out, rockier "Offer Rota", which finds Skogsberg singing whilst pounding away on percussion and unfurling a thick layer of distorted guitar murk, with what sounds like a Jew's Harp warbling in the background. The next piece, "Fridens Lijor", on the other hand, is an unaccompanied vocal piece, close-miced and intimate, all about Skogsberg's fragile Jola babble...
Beginning side two, "Besvarjelse Rota" builds up a dubby, bassy electronic rhythmic whomp-whomp throb beneath its damaged psych guitar wail, that (in our warped imagination) foreshadows modern minimal techno a la Chain Reaction, "heroin house" beats.... could almost be Pole jamming with Algarnas Tradgard or something! Later, the lengthy "Jola Fran Stensate" harkens back to the solemnity of the album's first track, and then "Jola Fran Leksand" winds up this unique, amazing trip with something of a pagan campfire dance piece, for folky fiddle and rattling hand percussion.
Overall, though, Jola Rota's mood is solitary and ceremonial. Skogsberg not a guru leading his followers, but rather one man, inspired, singing devotional songs to nature, in personal communion with the ancient deities of Sweden and the universe... it IS universal, probably why it sounds simultaneously like krautrock and Tibetan worship and Native American prayer-songs. The universality of the drone, and the human voice in spiritual reverence regardless of language. At its droniest, many moments here recall Parson Sound or the aforementioned Moolah. Totally, magically mesmeric. Wow... EVERYONE who's heard this since we got it in has been entranced.
And we're extra happy that not only has this been reissued, but that the reissue was done by our pal Johan's Tokyo-based Tiliqua Records (along with EM Records, one of our absolute favorite reissue labels from that part of the world, or anywhere else). Which means, it's done up deluxe, packaged in a swank miniature gatefold LP-style sleeve, and it's been remastered from the original tapes with the help of Skogsberg himself. There's also new liner notes and previously unpublished photos of the long haired and bearded (of course) Skogsberg included. Nice! Sadly, this too is limited to a one-time pressing of only 1,000 copies... and unlike the original vinyl edition, we doubt the label will be left with any unsold copies to recycle!
FYI there will also be a super, super limited (and expensive) vinyl version of this coming on on Tiliqua in May, not sure if we'll be able to get any of those at all or if they'll be a label-direct preorder thing only...
Wow, now back in print on vinyl, all deluxe 180-gram style, for first time since it was originally released!!
It's easy to forget that when Elliott Smith first hit the scene things were a lot different than they are now. There weren't that many sensitive singer songwriters roaming the underground and there was still a pretty huge divide between the 'indie' and the mainstream. Of course that has all changed so much, but when Elliott first started to get wider attention thanks to Gus Van Sant's use of his songs in Good Will Hunting and the Oscar nomination that followed, it was really an exceptionally strange occurrence in the indie music scene. It kind of marked the moment where much of what had been a big well kept secret would soon become a part of popular culture. We can still remember watching Smith on live TV performing at the Oscar's in his white tuxedo looking so sweet, nervous and humble. It truly felt like one of US was finally getting their deserved moment in the spotlight. Of course he lost to Celine Dion, but there was really no one you would rather get to represent so many of the underdogs than Elliott Smith. It was like finally getting to see someone honest and uncorrupted in a mainstream Hollywood setting. His music was so pure and beautiful, with this uncanny ability to make the bitter sound so sweet.
Figure 8 was his follow up to XO and his second outing on Dreamworks. It found Smith continuing his exploration of a more orchestral sound as well as some of the more full on rock moments that came to bloom on XO. There was so much anticipation for this album, especially after the fantastic XO, and Smith found himself under much more media scrutiny and heightened label pressure to SELL MORE RECORDS.
Luckily, he came out of it with a record that in many ways was his breeziest and even at times hinted at a happier Elliott Smith. It was of course not without its heart wrenching songs and daydream moments. While so much attention is given to his amazing voice it's so clear on Figure 8 and all of his releases really what a gifted guitar player, overall musician and of course talented songwriter he was.
This is an album so full of warmth, like it was made just for you, the music flowing out of your speakers, filling your room or your headphones with glorious beautiful sound. Songs about lovers, friends, relationships and the human condition, that will ring with warm truth for decades to come.
Wow, now back in print on vinyl, all deluxe 180-gram style, for first time since it was originally released!!
It's easy to forget that when Elliott Smith first hit the scene things were a lot different than they are now. There weren't that many sensitive singer songwriters roaming the underground and there was still a pretty huge divide between the 'indie' and the mainstream. Of course that has all changed so much, but when Elliott first started to get wider attention thanks to Gus Van Sant's use of his songs in Good Will Hunting and the Oscar nomination that followed, it was really an exceptionally strange occurrence in the indie music scene. It kind of marked the moment where much of what had been a big well kept secret would soon become a part of popular culture. We can still remember watching Smith on live TV performing at the Oscar's in his white tuxedo looking so sweet, nervous and humble. It truly felt like one of US was finally getting their deserved moment in the spotlight. Of course he lost to Celine Dion, but there was really no one you would rather get to represent so many of the underdogs than Elliott Smith. It was like finally getting to see someone honest and uncorrupted in a mainstream Hollywood setting. His music was so pure and beautiful, with this uncanny ability to make the bitter sound so sweet.
XO was Smith's major label debut and he took full advantage of a bigger budget, and more time in he studio to explore and reach further, honing his amazing ability to construct and orchestrate grand yet never bloated pop songs. There was still lots of the more minimal moments, stark songsmithery and delicate fingerpicking, all hallmarks of his earlier work, but there was a new lush and and much fuller sound on XO. Without trying to sound too hyperbolic, XO is as close to a perfect pop record as you can get. We can't count the times that one of these songs was put on a mixtape we made, or was played over and over and over as it so closely corresponded to a relationship we were having or a moment in time we were going through.
He never hid the fact that he was hugely influenced by The Kinks and The Beatles and while countless others made careers out of trying to rip off both of those bands, Smith managed to tap into the internal world of those bands, their amazing melodies and moods, like no one else has, carrying the torch for smart, sincere, heartfelt and truly timeless pop music.
This is an album so full of warmth, like it was made just for you, the music flowing out of your speakers, filling your room or your headphones with glorious beautiful sound. Songs about lovers, friends, relationships and the human condition, that will ring with warm truth for decades to come.
Okay, Sore Throat are one of our favorite bands. EVER. But for ages their shit has been impossible to track down. Crusty, heavy, fast and furious, stupid, goofy, political, pissy, snarky, clever, wasted, and musically unbeatable. They were cramming hundreds of songs on to 7"s before Anal Cunt was even a bad idea. BUT, and this is the big but here, we tried to get a ton of these to list, and managed to only get 5. But we wanted to give at least a few folks on the list a chance to experience the fucked up grindcrust joy of the mighty Sore Throat. So be prepared to be disappointed. Only the crazy dudes up at 2am on Friday maniacally watching the aQ site for the update will probably be able to snag these, but you never know. Fear not though. There are some upcoming reissues, which we'll be able to get plenty of, enough for everybody. But for now, 5 of you are in luck, get ready, get set go...
Oh yeah, the record. A cd compilation of some super rare demos, 83 songs in all, furious crusty metallic anarcho grind. Comes with an extensive booklet, some inserts and a Sore Throat patch!
Tapes were always a fickle medium, with the mechanics of the tape liable to fail the more you played it. Similarly, dropouts were always a possibility if you mistakenly hit the record button when you meant to hit stop; and then there was the hiss which rounded off all of the higher frequencies and dulled rhythmic edges. Even if you got a professionally manufactured tape, the hiss was still there. Indeed, tape noise is a particular sound which has faded from the collective consciousness in almost all arenas, except maybe for right here at Aquarius. We've certainly championed more than a handful of brilliant tape-sourced albums, including the best being Reynols absurdistly self-evident Blank Tapes and the maudlin evocations of William Basinski's Disintegration Loops. We can also add to the list Howard Stelzer's brilliantly deadened compositions of densely compacted tape hiss found on Bond Inlets.
Two long tracks roughly equal to what would fit onto a 60 minute tape, Bond Inlets is grounded in a gray noise smearing over all of the low-end thud rumbles and distant field recordings where motion and energy is only the faintest shadow of its former self. Stelzer works in layering piles and piles of this source material and then rips these layers apart along slip-strike faults, leaving decaying echo and gravel throated drones in its wake. While definitely intense in its slow-burning compositional dynamics, it's hard to qualify Bond Inlets as a proper noise album, as this isn't the punishing electrocution of Merzbow, Masonna, or Prurient. Dare we call this a 'mature' noise album? Don't worry, your parents will still hate it.
We figured that before the brand new record Autumnal Melancholy drops from Tasmanian black metal misanthrope Striborg (just showed up today, reviewed on the next list!), we oughta finally list the last of the reissues. So here it is, Trepidation, another damaged and deliriously freaked out, fucked up and grim grim grim slab of rain forest black metal as only Striborg can do it.
Like all of the other Striborg records, this is absolutely essential for fans of outsider black metal, and actually anyone into super challenging, confusing, weird-as-fuck sounds needs to dig into some Striborg. It rarely gets more outsider than this.
Striborg is Sin Nanna, who lives in Tasmania, supposedly sans phone or internet, communing with nature, offering up his blackened soul to the spirit of the forest. In the form of impossible buzz drenched blasts of black metal. And we talk about BUZZ all the time, but Striborg takes it to a whole other level. The guitars and riffs rendered almost dronelike, suspended in a wall of shifting crumbling fuzz, in fact wall might be off the mark, the sound isn't so much a wall, nothing so massive and foreboding, instead it's like some sort of flowing black river, churning and choppy, but blurred into something almost static. The drums sound inhuman, and probably are, a monotonous relentless beat pounding away but again, pounding connotes heaviness, and the sound here isn't really heavy, it's atmospheric more than anything. Super lo-fi, a wash of keyboards draped over the blurry buzz, the vocals are the biggest disruption, howling and shrieking, a wicked maniacal cackle, but just as often they vocals fade away leaving just that droning buzz to almost lull you into a trance.
Primitive, and raw, stumbling and chaotic, a dizzyingly confusional strain of metal cloaked in blackness and doused in drone, the guitar tone like a vacuum cleaner, the drums like cardboard boxes and trashcan lids, the arrangements convoluted and complex when they're not locked into a seemingly never ending loop. Fucked up for sure, brilliant? Without a doubt.
There are plenty of other Striborg reviews on the aQuarius site, if you want to read more about the man, the band, the sound. Needless to say, the metalheads around here consider Striborg one of our all time favorites, possibly the most freaked out and fucked up, damaged, and completely and utterly baffling of the bunch. And Trepidation definitely ranks up there with Striborg's best. Fans obviously need it if they don't already have it, and if you're new to this black metal weirdness, and were looking for a good place to start, to bravely enter the dark damaged world of Striborg, Trepidation, even heeding the title, might just be the one...
Deluxe reissue (originally released in 2005), with all new artwork, tons of photos of snow and forests and trees, all printed in black and metallic silver.
In a dream, you've gotten yourself lost in an endless cavern... you've been curiously wandering in the darkness, down down into the earth, for a long long time. When you stop to rest, you realize that the silence that had surrounded you is different now. You think you can hear music... drifting from someplace deeper in the darkness. Drifting, droning, dark, dark, dark... that's this music, the reverberant, cavernous, quiet sounds of The Stumps. Sleepy and creepy at the same time. You move closer, and The Stumps get louder. Troglodytic thud and rumble begins to build. That's the beauty of this album, these tracks are part whale call mystery, part trashy crashy garage rock clangor. Ambient eeriness flows into plodding free rock chaos, with heavy distortion blanketing all. The twelve and a half minute untitled track number 5 (none have titles, as far as we can tell) is all about that drone-drift, whilst track 7, for instance, rouses itself to a spaced-out, slow-motion spasm of psychedelic guitar grind-gunk and percussive splatter-clatter.
The Stumps trio of drummer James Kirk (Sandoz Lab Technicians, Gate, With Throats As Fine As Needles), bassist Stephen Clover (Seht), and guitarist Antony Milton (Mrtyu, AM, Nether Dawn, etc.) is a New Zealand underground supergroup, by the way. No wonder they're so easily so shambolic, somnolent, and sinister sounding... Outside of their own cd-r littered island realm, we couldn't compare this to much else besides, maybe, Fushitsusha.
Welcome to the cavern, welcome to the dream.
The final installment in Daymare's comprehensive SUNNO))) reissue campaign, and probably the most eagerly anticipated, not just because 00 Void is one of their best, but because the extra bonus disc features the original record reimagined and recontextualized by dadaist sound sculptors Nurse With Wound.
00Void is in fact, SUNNO)))'s first proper album, the preceding Grimmrobe Demos, being just that, demos, but sonically, it picks up right where Grimmrobe left off, huge undulating slow motion riffscapes, epic, majestic, glacial, ominous and black hole heavy. Although it hardly seems necessary at this point, for those who have managed to somehow avoid SUNNO)))'s sonic influence, SUNNO))) began life as the world's first, best, only, (and last?) EARTH tribute band, emulating and bowing before the glacial "power ambient drone" metal of Earth, creating a little cult of the dronedoomdirge faithful, long before the hipster set caught on, but this record, as much as Grimmrobe before it made a case for SUNNO))) as their own entity, sure they owed every aspect of their sound to the band they were birthed to honor (still do really), but they managed to subtly imbue that same sound with their own influences and experience, creating something even more slow and low if that were even possible, setting yet another standard for heaviness.
So on 00Void, SUNNO))) indulge in pure unfettered doom, loosed from any sort of rhythmic constrictions, unmoored from traditional song structures, letting riffs and tones and pure vibrations emanate from their wall of speakers, like some monstrous black tuning fork, almost more a physical sensation than an aural one, but those movements of blackdrone infused with a musicality that blossoms slowly the deeper you allow yourself to sink. Suffocating, pummeling, crushing, oozing, but also soothing and beautiful. Maybe one of our favorite SUNNO))) records for sure. And if the pure grim heaviness of the three originals wasn't enough, 00Void also includes a cover (or, an interpretation, anyway) of a Melvins tune! Another band who were dabbling in slow motion heaviness long before it was cool...
This deluxe Japanese reissue is gorgeously packaged as always, swank matte finished textured paper gatefold, printed inner sleeves, insert with liner notes (all in Japanese), but most importantly of all, a whole extra disc, a complete reworking of 00Void by Nurse With Wound. Most folks probably never even made it this far in the review anyway, the mention of NWW remixing SUNNO))) in the first paragraph probably had most people scrambling for the add to cart button, but for folks who stuck it out, it's well worth rebuying 00Void again for the extra disc, as it's a fantastic disc of haunting drones and abstract soundscaping, constructed using the glacial doom of SUNNO))) as the building blocks, which is surprising considering how shimmery and serene much of this is.
The opening track is one long slow billow of sound, gentle clouds of muted metallic reverberations, deep resonant chiming tones, soft smeared bass notes, all blurred into a creeping drift, that is more Chalk or Coleclough than SUNNO))). The second track is evenmore abstract, isolating, or adding voices, peppering the dreamy drone with strange metallic clang, moaning horn like bleats, sprays of hiss and buzz, all over a warbly wandering bassline, the vocals driving the song at points, a nasally croon entangled in the tracks gauzy gurgle, the bass getting thicker and thicker, coated in grit and grime and hiss, the vocals effected and almost demonic, breaking glass, weird industrial clatter, and lots and lots of hisssssssss.
The final track, another gorgeously minimal drone, the sound of SUNNO))) smeared and blurred and muted into a hushed thrum, soft subtle layers shifting and blending, warm and rich and textured but simple and spare, near the end, voices and radio static surface, but still barely audible, another whispered layer beneath a sea of tranquil hushed whir. Pretty dang cool, even if it's fairly far removed from the sound of the original, but then again, that's sort of the mark of a good remix as far as we're concerned.
Be warned, we got a bunch but they'll probably go quick, so when we run out, be prepared to wait for us to get more from Japan.
See nearby for our review of this band's new album Gods Of The Earth, for which this limited edition 2-song picture disc vinyl 10" was a teaser. We've just got a handful. It's got album track "Fire Lances Of The Ancient Hyperzephyrians" on side A, with the non-album cut "Codex Corvidae" on side B.
The artwork features the band's logo superimposed over a skeletal horse rising from an erupting pool of glowing magma, a typical scene in ancient Hyperzephria.
If you're gonna call your metal band The Sword (not just Sword, of which there have been a few, but THE Sword) you've got a lot to live up to. So maybe it's not such a surprise that lots of folks in the scene have been hatin' on this band 'cause somehow they're not "true" enough. And/or they got just too darn popular. Ironic hipster metal they get called. We've probably said it ourselves. But of course what's ironic is how 'cause a band gets big, suddenly they're not cool anymore. Now, it does seem that Austin's The Sword live charmed lives, young undoubtedly hipster dudes bringing the heavy to a maybe not entirely metal audience, getting all kinds of hype with only one album (well, now two) to back it up. That there's OTHER bands out there equally worthy who don't get on MTV or Guitar Hero, we won't deny! Better bands, even. Heck, the world ain't fair. But that doesn't mean that The Sword aren't good fist in the air fun. C'mon, their High On Fire meets The Fucking Champs brand of HEAVY, guitar harmony laden, stoner/doom rumble, replete with swords & sorcery fantasy metal '80s influences, might not be the most original or imaginative thing ever but sounds pretty good to us, even if they're certainly no Slough Feg.
And this sophomore effort, Gods Of The Earth (oooh, full of themselves, are they?), is probably up a songwriting notch or two from their Age Of Winters debut two years ago, though following the same general template, so if you liked that one you'll like this too. There's a couple melodic acoustic guitar intros and interludes, but mostly massive amps to 11 guitar crush and drum pummel the rest of the time. The Sword's seriously stentorian riffage rules, conjuring images of conquering armies sweeping savagely across ancient bloody battlefields. Kings and wizards, rogues and rangers populate their lyrics, and they even do a song about an axe. It's all very D&D, straight faced no joking (which should be a point in their favor). If The Sword's songs were airbrush artwork they'd go great on the side of your van.
'Tis true, sometimes their rather relentless (or shall we say epic?) chugga-chuggery and lackadaisical singing/shouting (Sleep style, as is much else of their sound) can eventually sound a bit been there done that. But not when you're fully engorged with headbanging lust, which you as a redblooded metalhead ought to be! That is, as long as you're not being a scene policeman too worried about what's metal and what's poseur to have a good time. What do you want to be, high school hall monitor or sword-swinging barbarian berserker?? The Sword offer you the choice of either role we suppose.
PS we don't have the vinyl of this yet, but we DO have a few copies of their recent picture disc 10" with album track "Fire Lances Of The Ancient Hyperzephyrians" backed with the non-album cut "Codex Corvidae"!
Every once in a while, someone will release a record, and we can't help but feel like it was made specifically for us. And for you. Some records just perfectly speak to the aQ aesthetic, as undefinable as that seems to be. This is another one of those cases. Someone thought it would be a perfect combination to match up UK one man ambient drone outfit Tenhornedbeast, with UK slow motion doomlords Marzuraan. And it is perfect. And a fantastic idea, but just because something is a great idea, doesn't always mean someone thinks of it. And we're not saying we had been thinking someone should get these two bands together specifically, we're just glad they did, and we sort of wish we HAD thought of it. But that's neither here nor there. The important thing is that it happened, and now we can all luxuriate in the deep dark heaviness both of these bands explore. And while the bands are indeed different, their aesthetics are not all that far removed. The both exist in some blackened nether region, haunting sonic realms, where heaviness can be expressed in both utter darkness and extreme force, sometimes both, and once in awhile neither.
Tenhornedbeast offer up a nearly 30 minute long sonic ritual, beginning as a bit of swirling black minimalism, but slowly building to a truly intense wall of doomdrone, the sound thick and textured, a churning cauldron of low end buzz and downtuned disembodied riffs, all brought to a boil and poured out in a viscous black torrent, left to flow like some subterranean river. But these deep drones are laced with melodies, and keening high end shards, allowed to shine forth occasionally, but often swallowed up before they can fill those caves with their unnatural light. The track continually changes shape, sound and timbre, various shades of grey and black, lightening and darkening as the landscape changes, a haunting journey through some lost world, where sound replaces sight, allowing us to navigate ever deeper.
Marzuraan counter with what must be one of their prettiest tracks ever. It's still sludgey and doomy, but the notes ring out, the melodies almost soar, the sound fuzzy and glimmering, almost like these guys have caught the shoegaze bug as well. Washed out and blissy, super melodic and melancholy, but the coolest part is that the track seems to warble and waver, almost like someone is manually adjusting the tape speed, so the notes sound drunken and drugged, the track lurches and weaves drunkenly, only adding to the haunting and off kilter beauty. Part way through, the riffs get a little more riffy, and then the vocals come in, a moaning distant croon, and we're most definitely in serious Jesu territory, but that weird speed shifting hitch, keeps it from sounding too pretty, or two blissy. But if these guys keep heading in this direction, they could definitely give Jesu, and Nadja and other metallic shoegazers a run for their money.
The packaging is super swank, a three panel gatefold, each of the front panels diecut with each band's symbol, printed inside and out, housed in a thick plastic sleeve with a sticker affixed to the front.
After some truly spectacular British only singles, These New Puritans landed their debut album on Domino. In the process of recording Beat Pyramid (including some rehashing of those earlier singles), the art-punk quartet polished up their sound with the production chops of Gareth Jones, who had worked with Wire, Nick Cave and Einsturzende Neubauten back in the day and more recently with the Liars. These New Puritans have adopted the classic post-punk sound with jittery sparkplug guitar riffs and nervously taut rhythms, which could come from the best works from Gang Of Four, the Fall, or Joy Division. Unlike many of their contemporaries which also wear those same influences on their sleeve (i.e. Interpol, Bloc Party, The Editors, etc.), These New Puritans keep it dark without ever getting maudlin. Vocalist Jack Barnett has a dispassionate delivery more in keeping with Mark E. Smith's slurred bark. If only his subject matter were a bit more caustic like Smith's, though. Much of what Barnett has to say is rather quotidian verses about numerology or paranoiac surveillance or whatnot. Fortunately, the band is good enough to overcome his shortcomings at this stage in the game as a lyricist. Altogether, Beat Pyramid makes for a pretty damn good record.
The return of Transylvanian black metal horde Tymah, who besides delivering a blackened howl equal parts Mayhem, Ulver and Darkthrone, also have the distinction of being one of the only black metal bands fronted by a woman.
Their last two records were furious blasts of buzzing Norwegian style blackness, and this one is no different. Many of the songs begin or end with slow, woozy, midtempo stretches of Burzumic buzz, but the bulk of the record is blasting old school blackness. Troo and grim. The drums a relentless blastbeat, beneath lightning fast riffs, and frontwoman Dim's hellish howl. The riffing isn't just fast and frantic, it's also epic and majestic, weaving triumphant melodies, and unleashing some killer hooks. Rare is the riff that sticks in your head like a pop song, but a handful of these songs have been lodged in our black skulls since we first got this in. Even one of the mailorder folks was just humming along to "In Devenit Satana" as these words were being written.
The sound is thick and intense, the guitars writhing and whirring and whipped up into an absolute blackthrash frenzy, the production full and HEAVY, none of that tinny lo-fi brittle buzz, this is the sort of blackness that crushes and pulverizes. Managing to sound true to the old masters, but to infuse their sound with energy and originality, much of it due to the axe mastery and throat shredding wail of the lady Dim. Folks are so impressed by that woman who sings for Arch Enemy, and rightfully so. She is pretty bad ass, but all she does is sing. Imagine her squaring off against Dim, bespiked and corpsepainted, axe in hand, atop a mountain of black amps, behind a wall of black fury, forest by her side. No contest.
Yet another fantastic grim black missive from quite possible our favorite band from Transylvania.
The folks who run Soul Jazz Records must have made the best mixtapes. Heck, what are we talking about, they STILL make the best mixtapes. Their whole label is essentially based on their mixtape skills. Every release, an incredible collection of tracks, from super obscure rarities, to instantly recognizable favorites, managing over the course of a disc or two, to encapsulate and represent perfectly a sound or a scene. It's like a college course on music history condensed into a handful of songs. Whether it's Brazilian post punk, classic reggae, New York noise, Afro-Cuban music, Big Apple Rappin', modern dubstep, Tropicalia, Chicago Soul, Soul Jazz can present a super concise history of whatever sound it is. In fact, we're beginning to think, they could pick ANYTHING and we'd be willing to check it out. Easy listening, boy bands, Reggaeton, top 40, singers who used to be Mousketeers on the Mickey Mouse Club. If anyone could turn that shit into something compelling and listenable, Soul Jazz could.
Thankfully, this latest comp focuses on something much closer to our music obsessed hearts. A history of MC culture in the UK, including all the various roots and offshoots, dancehall, hip hop, jungle, garage, grime, dubstep. Anyone who dug past Soul Jazz releases like the two Box Of Dub discs, Rumble In The Jungle, any of the various dancehall comps, it almost goes without saying that this too will be some essential listening. While we recognize lots of the artists, we hadn't heard a single track here, but we've already begun compiling a list of records to track down just based on the brief samplings offered up here.
The discs aren't really chronological, or divided by genre, instead, they are deftly arranged to demonstrate the inherent similarities, to allow the listener to hear dancehall butted up against some dubstep, some UK hip hop cozied up to some jungle, the various track so different, but often incorporating similar elements and obviously drawn from the same musical history.
Some favorites: Doctor & Davinche's "Gotta Man", a loping stuttery grime jam, with a weird shuffling rhythm, a killer string stab loop, and of course some amazing tongue twisting flows. The Indian flecked hip hop groove of "So U Want Morre?" from Ty & Roots Manuva, peppered with some muted tablas, little flurries of string shimmer, a looped Eastern vocal refrain. The classic ska-infused dancehall of Tenor Fly's "Bump And Grind", soulful horns, a fluttering falsetto hook, and TF's agile gruff and raspy toasting. Riko's "Ice Rink Riddim", a convoluted grime stutter, with pizzicato guitar notes, beats made out of smeared FX and trash can lids, makes us wonder why this guy isn't as hyped as Dizzee Rascal or Wiley. "Deep" by Jakes & TC, some sort of two step garage, with some awesome fuzzed out Justice style synths, super growly vocals, and a super bouncy beat.
There are a couple weaker tracks near the end of disc two, but by then, it hardly matters, the rest of the collection is just so awesome. Funky, fucked up, groovy, big beats, killer hooks, amazing rapping and toasting, and like we already mentioned, just like the best mix tapes, An England Story leaves you wanting to hear more from pretty much every artist here!
Like all Soul Jazz releases, impeccably packaged, jewel case housed in a full color slip cover, a HUGE booklet, with liner notes, photos, interviews and more!
Like the freak circus entertainments of a bygone era, so too does this new B-Music compilation mine the fringe of far-flung female folk from the recent past and immediate present. Starting where the Folk Is A Four Letter Word comps left off, Bearded Ladies features many of the same B-music 'vixens' such as Wendy and Bonnie, Turid, Susan Christie, Selda, Heather Jones and Brigitte Fontaine joined by their more contemporary equivalents, Speck Mountain, Misty Dixon (Jane Weaver), Lights, Lispector, Emma Tricca, and Magpahi amongst others. Not as "Old Tymey" as the cover would suggest, Bearded Ladies excavates the rare individual artistry from pigeon-holed genre conventions as the contemporary artists are just as unfettered and original as the older artists, and not merely new retreads of folk motifs made popular in the last few years by Joanna Newsom and Cat Power. Another winner for B-Music. Ladyfolk lives!
Just from the title alone, we knew that this latest installment in the always-amazing Sublime Frequencies series of unusual and under-documented "world music" recordings was gonna be the bomb! Indeed it is. The 'exotic' and infectious verve of vintage Bollywood film soundtrack music, performed with electric steel guitar as lead instrument for extra awesomeness, is hard to beat! The steel guitar, bringing with it the groovy twang of Western Swing and Hawaiian fret-sliding flavor, as well as a measure of classical Indian music, easily effects an emotive echo of the human voice that ordinarily fronts Bollywood themes. Compiler Stuart Ellis' informative liner notes describe these instrumental pop versions of Hindi film hits as the "elevator music of India" and if that's the case, we'd definitely rather be stuck in an elevator in Mumbai than anywhere else. There's 21 rare tracks by a half dozen masterful Bollywood steel string slingers: Van Shipley, Kazi Aniruddha, S. Hazarasingh, Sunil Ganguly, Charanjit Singh, and Guatam Dasgupta, recorded between 1962 and 1986.
A completely captivating collection, already one of our favorites among the many great Sublime Frequencies releases. And probably it should be no surprise that, for example, Van Shipley's "Jan Pahechan Ho" from the 1966 film Gunaam immediately gives us Sun City Girls flashbacks...
With the Bay Area Funk comps that Luv N Haight put out in the last few years we were reminded of what a lot of spirited funk and soul was busting out of the Bay Area during those golden years. Golden State Funk digs even deeper as it mines the dancefloor burners and gritty shakers that were recorded inside Leo Kulka's Golden State Recorders studio here in San Francisco in the late '60s and early '70s.
Many of the twenty tracks on this all hits and no-misses collection were never released before. It's making us want to try to get our hands on anything and everything by the likes of Jeanette Jones, 87th Off Broadway, The San Francisco TKOS, Ramona King, and loads more. These are songs that could hold their weight right next to more well known hits by big names like Ike & Tina, Sly & The Family Stone and Curtis Mayfield. So cool that a recording studio operated by a Czech native which started in LA recording folks like Frank Sinatra and Little Richard really came into its own when it moved to San Francisco in 1965 on Harrison Street and found magic in the soul and funk scene that was about to explode here in the Bay Area. Packed with really interesting and informative liner notes. This is not just an amazing historical document but a record filled with super tasty grooves and deep hitting funk!
Another amazing and mysterious and confusional release from Tesco, who almost single handedly are keeping modern industrial and post industrial music alive and kicking. They've brought us Der Blutharsch, Death In June, Anenzephalia, and now JUCHE. A compilation of modern industrial artists, weighing in on North Korea (!). What is Juche? Well Wikipedia describes it like this:
"The Juche Idea is the official state ideology and state-sponsored religion of North Korea and the political system based on it. The doctrine is a component part of Kimilsungism, the North Korean term for Kim Il-sung's family regime. The core principle of the Juche ideology since the 1970s has been that "man is the master of everything and decides everything". Juche literally means "main body" or "subject"; it has also been translated in North Korean sources as "independent stand" and the "spirit of self-reliance"."
Removed from the context of actual, totalitarian politics, Juche sounds kinda cool. Intense, brutal, simple. And certainly like some sort of industrial music manifesto. So it makes sense that these bands would have something to say about it. What exactly is up to you to decipher. From the music and the extensive art and text in the accompanying booklet. But for now we'll concern ourselves with the music�
We were mostly excited by a brand new unreleased track from aQ faves Anenzephalia, whose past records were rife with the sort of intense, bleak, grim, blackened dronescapes we can never get enough of. The track here is still grim and dark, but more rhythmic, a crackling lo-fi glitchscape, a skeletal rhythm crafted from squelches and pops spread out over the drift below, a garbled alien melody, equal parts sine-wave and damaged sonar ping, eventually joined by a wavery insect like blackbuzz, and some distorted disembodied vocals, a looped snippet from a speech of some sort, the whole track subtly harrowing, and weirdly hypnotic.
The Turbund Sturmwerk track is super creepy as well, a whispery shimmer of ambience, a strange looped vocal whir in the background, sweeping swell of distant distortion, soft smears of hiss, all beneath an urgent voice, an emotional speech of some sort, the song shifting gears part way through and morphing into a swirling dirge, of crumbling downtuned chords, throbbing low end buzz and extremely panned bursts of fuzz and hiss. The Grey Wolves offer up another chunk of grinding ambient creep, a rough, gritty textured wash of processed synths and strange looped distortion, melodies rendered in shards of feedback and fractured effects, a voice buried in the mix, urgent and ominous, peppered with bits of Bush, and some tangled blurred rhythms.
Operation Cleansweep weigh in with a sinister stretch of drawn out tones, layered caustic rumbles, whirring machinelike drones, mysterious percussive thumps and creaks, all smeared into a dense throbbing buzz. The strangest track is probably Militia's, beginning with some spoken word, that slips into singing, in the background a slow building looped chunk of glimmering ambience. Soon an hypnotic looped synth melody swoops in, pulled from some lost Phillip Glass piece, accompanied by junkyard drums, all very mesmerizing and repetitive, a bit like gamelan, or some Steve Reich piece. A haunting slab of alien industrial world music.
The rest of the tracks are just as weird and cool, dark and drone-y, Con-Dom, Genocide Organ, Ex-Order. In fact, much of this comp seems to fall more in line with experimental drone music, than traditional 'industrial' music, some of it reminding us of mellower more blissed out Prurient, with processed vocals, all manner of rumbling, pulsing low end, plenty of buzz and blurred murk, all of it dark and mysterious and fucking awesome.
Packaged in an oversized A5 red textured cardstock booklet, the text and symbols on the cover letter pressed in embossed metallic gold, inside a full color booklet, with lyrics, images, photos, each band with their own page. And as it says on the back cover "Limited Edition of 15,000,000 copies", so better get yours now�
This barely even needs a review at this point, which at AQ customarily means a long and very extensive review will follow, but we're serious this time. We can barely keep anything on Mississippi Records in stock. This small Portland store turned reissue label has been releasing an amazing bunch of old timey gospel and blues comps, African comps, as well as some killer jazz. I Don't Feel At Home In This World Anymore, Life Is A Problem, Lipa Kodi Ya City Council. All sold out in the blink of an eye. Mississippi have been gradually repressing those, as well as readying a whole 'nother batch of musical goodness. Elsewhere on this list you'll find the Washington Phillips lp, and then there's this here beauty of a comp, Last Kind Words, an amazing collection of old timey blues, gospel, rhythm and blues, a ton of rarities, not the usual blues suspects at all: Edward Clayborn, Isiah Nettles, The Anglin Brothers, Kid Prince Moore, Lulu Jackson, Louis McDaniels & Gid Smith, Sister O.M. Terrell, Robert Wilkins and a bunch more.
A couple of our favorite tracks are the title track by Geechie Wiley, her voice so lovely and raw, a gorgeous mournful melody, and a hook that is so catchy, all it takes is one play in the store, and we're all humming it all day, and "Catfish Blues" by Robert Petway, some raw stomping stripped down blues, with some amazing guitar playing, but it's the voice that does it, a raspy soulful croon, that sounds like it was crafted using whiskey, cigarettes and sandpaper, occasionally soaring to an almost falsetto, but just as smoothly slipping into super low growl.
As if the music weren't enough, and believe us IT IS, Last Kind Words also features original artwork, by aQ pal and bad ass artist Chris Johanson. Also includes a printed cardstock insert with the track info and very little else. As always SO RECOMMENDED. And as always, be prepared for us to sell out of these right quick. We'll do our best to restock as quickly as possible, assuming the label doesn't sell out too...
Y'all went crazy for Sound Way's Nigeria Special compilation a few lists back, and we expect Nigeria Disco Funk Special -- the second installment in a 3-part series -- to be just as enticing a proposition. Whereas the first Nigeria Special was a sprawling collection of sounds and styles intended to show the sheer diversity of Nigeria's musical output in the early '70s, this volume is far more musically concise, consisting of mostly instrumental cuts that are heavily indebted to the American funk and disco being imported into Nigeria at the time.
This collection of deep funk, Afro-boogie and serious disco will transport you (and your booty) to the sweat-soaked discos of Lagos, where native sounds shimmy up next to imported grooves bringing the dancefloor to a fever pitch of go-go bells, funky drums, wah wah guitar, popping bass and blasting horns. This is tight, dirty funk being filtered through afrobeat and highlife.... the results are absolutely AMAZING!
Like all things from Sound Way, Nigeria Disco Funk Special comes with gorgeous packaging, extensive liner notes, archival photos and repros of original album artwork. Take your pick between a super slick digipak for the cd version and a gorgeous gatefold sleeve for the 2LP. This is heavy shit. Don't miss out!
We haven't had a new solo guitar compilation in awhile. Last couple of years it seems we were inundated with them, marking the new and old waves of what is often called "American Primitive", a dubious term like "Freak folk" that no one likes to use anymore, but a more accurate or useful term to describe this genre has failed to materialize. While past comps focused on the founding touchstones of John Fahey, Robbie Basho, and Leo Kottke, and their modern offspring, Jack Rose, Sir Richard Bishop, and James Blackshaw, there have been plenty of overlooked stop-gaps in between these generations that have failed to garner the same kind of adoration or reverence. Often unfairly relegated to the "New Age" trashbin of recording culture, solo guitarists such as Alex Degrassi, William Ackerman and Michael Hedges focused on a more melodic (and often more technically showy) pastoralism, which represented to some the death-knell of innovation for the genre from its raw and altruistic beginnings. The latest compilation in the Numero Group's Wayfaring Strangers series sets to alter that perception by focusing on 14 private press recordings of solo guitar between 1968 and 1980 that chronicle the fertile and adventurous spectrum between Fahey and Ackerman. While a couple of the names are familiar (Richard Crandell, William Eaton) most of the players we haven't heard of including: Dana Westover, Ted Lucas, Scott White, George Cromarty, Daniel Hecht, Jim Ohlschmidt, Stephen Cohen, Mark Lang, Tom Smith, Dan Lambert, Brad Chequer and Dwayne Cannon. A 40 page booklet chronicles each of the artists with reproductions of all the album covers and biographical information in a beautifully illustrated package. Another milestone in a great series from this always-awesome label!
We've been meaning to list this record for ages, the second release from mysterious German horde Verdunkeln, a huge favorite around these parts. And while these guys are often compared to mid period Burzum, they are so much more than that.
Just take the first song, with its weird gothy into, processed Joy Division bassline, over plodding simple drum line, chanted monk like vocals, as far as we're concerned, the track could have continued on like that, a weird minimal stripped down goth doom jam, vibes of early 4AD, old militaristic industrial, but instead, the chorus offers up a thick slab of crunchy superdistorted guitar, and howled, effected shrieks, before slither back into the same gothy crawl, until it finished off with a furious freak out, all pounding drums, blown out guitars, wild leads and huge chunks of throbbing bass.
And that sort of defines their sound. It's almost like some eighties goth band, like Christian Death, the Abecedarians, or Kommunity FX, were transported to some grim black forest, where they continued to play basically the same music, but with the surroundings seeping into every note, the starlit sky, the dense canopy of trees overhead, the whipping wind, the snow capped mountains, turning them into something basically undefinable. Sure it's black metal. Sort of. And yeah, it's some kind of weird dark gothwave, but the way those two elements are incorporated transform Verdunkeln into something so bizarre, and so unique, that it's hard to really describe.
Each song begins as a lurching midtempo bass heavy crawl, the bass heavily reverbed and effected, the vocals haunting and deep, when the guitars do come in, they are massive, chugging away at one moment, soaring majestically the next.
Our favorite song might be the second track, "Im Zwiespalt", beginning with that haunting reverbed twang, the sound of rainfall, cracks of thunder, the guitars finally come in, and the song lurches into motion, some sort of lumbering downtuned blackdoom behemoth, that plods along until a sudden break, when a delay drenched guitar offers up a strummed minor key melody, and the song explodes into a weird majestic cinematic blow out, the chords and notes soaring, until that delayed guitar break comes back in briefly, and the song resumes it's dense plod, but this time the riffing following the clean guitar, a weird post rocky, mournful vibe. Bleak and harrowing, and super epic and emotional. Midway through the track, the tempo picks up and the band begins to rock seriously for the first time, replete with tangled leads, haunting melodies, still strangely melancholy and emotional, before fading out into a drifting drone-y shimmer, peppered with huge bursts of crumbling downtuned chug, beneath a washed out smear of lonely synths, only to finish with a strange mathy outro.
And even though for right now, that might be our favorite song, this is one of those discs, that whatever song you happen to be listening to is your favorite. Next song, "oh wait, THIS one is the best song". Next song. "Actually, THIS one is way better. And so it goes. The whole record is just this impossible black metal goth, downtuned post rock doom, majestic cinematic post metal, avant metallic rock, who the fuck knows, and really who cares. There are definitely some Burzumic elements, some distinctly black metal tropes, but Verdunkeln are one of the very few, incredibly rare BM bands around who absolutely and completely sound like nothing you've ever heard.
Latest chunk of blackened whatthefuck from these Swedish weirdos, who most long time readers of the aQ list will already be familiar with. Their modus operandi is a twisted take on the sort of midtempo Burzumic buzz, flecked with bits of folks, strange carnivalesque filigree, and INSANE vocals, from croony clean singing, to throat shredding maniacal shrieking, to growled monster gurgle, all wrapped round some seriously bent black metal, loping and plodding, melancholy and mournful, miserable and doomy.
Woods Of Infinity are not super fucked up in the way a lot of the black metal we love is, retarded, damaged, stumbling, etc. They are however WEIRD AS FUCK, the music for sure, but especially the vocals, and apparently the lyrics, which according to one online source involves a serious love of young girls among other perversions, a truly twisted, surreal, abstract, their weirdness deftly woven into their folky blackened dirges.
This is definitely the best sounding WoI record, very loud and heavy and clear, with lots of acoustic guitars, strange keyboards, out of tune pianos, really bizarre samples, and some of the strangest songs we've heard from these guys yet.
"Lakttagen" begins with some gauzy ambient piano, the guitars come in all filthy and crumbling and gritty, the vocals a raspy cackle, that gets more and more hysterical as the track progresses, the piano plinking out a sad melody, over a buzzy wash of guitar grit. "Avgrund" is a gorgeous epic mournful doomic dirge, but the vocals are some sort of twisted dramatic top 40 croon, all soulful and emotional, almost cringeworthy, but somehow it works. How about "Stilla", another killer doomy din, with strangely orchestral flourishes, choir like background vocals, but then the main vocals join in, a sort of drunken howling, like Lemmy on a bender, caterwauling in Swedish over the dark doleful melancholia underneath.
Then there's "Forsta Augusti", maybe the weirdest of all, a strange sort of shuffling metal calypso, with still more tortured vocal mewlings, over a groovy exotic melody, and a cha cha cha sort of beat. And it just keeps getting weirder and weirder, if that were even possible, more strange fucked up vocal stylings, long stretches of creepy ambience, blasts of almost buzzing black metal, long haunting samples, epic majestic stein hoisting metal sea shanties, shimmering dark folk, and more that we could possibly list in a single review. Remember these are the guys who covered Barry Manilow on another record, so most of this madness should come as no surprise.
Definitely way too weird for the average black metaller. But metal fans into the freaky and the bizarre, the confusing and completely fucked will dig this big time, and quite possibly non metal folks might too, as long as they possess a distinct penchant for weird shit, and have no aversion to some buzzing blackness in their strange sounds...
