First proper full length in almost two years from Isis' Mike Gallagher, and his project MGR, aka Mustard Gas and Roses. Much like his debut Nova Lux, and the two more recent releases, a split and a collaboration, Gallagher continues to explore a darkened universe of slowly sprawling, slow building post rock ambience, blending skeletal guitars, deep string like swells, distant drones, and all manner of whirs and shimmers into gorgeous expanses of minor key melancholia. It 's probably not surprising to discover that MGR actually sounds a bit like Isis with all the metal removed, which is in no way a bad thing.
As a band Isis are as deft at weaving gorgeous loping postrockscapes as they are kicking out the metallic jams, so it's nice to hear similar sounding parts allowed to blossom in a wide open expanse, the distortion and heaviness are kept to a minimum, used sparingly as opposed to an integral part of the sound.
There is a definite dark vibe, haunting and ominous, which might be the only thing keeping this from being pure instrumental cinematic postrock that would be right at home on Temporary Residence instead of on Neurot or Conspiracy.
But that darkness is also what makes the sound of MGR so vibrant. Like it COULD explode at any moment. And it almost does here and there, a thick wash of distorted chordal buzz, a sheet of keening high end feedback, some dense swaths of reverb and rumbly distortion, a killer chunk of stuttering clipped metallic chords, but again, these are just elements of a much bigger sonic picture, an expansive, epic, sprawling soundscape, minimal and minor key, mellow, but not without menace, a huge powerful music that manages to sound personal and intimate at the same time. See the review of the new Jimmy Cake elsewhere on this list, MGR's Wavering is like its evil twin, lurking in the shadows, brooding, droning, drifting, and shimmering ominously.
It's been a while since we've had to employ multiple 'o's in a review. A bit of a death of doom it seems. Or at least the sort of doom that requires all those extra 'o's. A loyal customer of ours even whipped up this [http://www.aquariusrecords.org/doomchart.html] "doom chart" based on our usage of multiple 'o'd doom in reviews!
And if memory serves, Moss was one of the bands that routinely got described as doooom, or doooooooooom, and sometimes even doooooooooooooooooooooooom. So we were all ready to put finger to key and just let the 'o's roll out, one after the other after the other, until we felt we had conveyed the crushing doom of Moss. That is until we pressed play, and were treated to "Ritus", a five and a half minute soundscape of whirring synths and washed out ambience, of cymbal sizzle and proggy keyboard drones, of whispered voices and buzzing shimmer. Hmmm. The liner notes say it's inspired by Doris Norton, an electronic musician who's also a member of AQ faves Jacula!! An interesting start from one of the sludgiest, crustiest bands around. Doooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooom. Ahh. That's better. The second track returns us to that dank dark sloooooooooow place Moss call home. Twenty three minutes of downtuned crush, the tempo only slightly faster than the growth of actual moss. But even all gnarled and sludge-y, something has definitely changed. It's not nearly as filthy, and harsh, it's actually weirdly pretty. Almost like it's some more melodic metal record being spun manually with one finger at 3 or 4 rpm. The distortion is still dense, the long drawn out chords seeming to crumble, the drums spaced way out, but somehow still more buys than you're average ultradoom drummer, the vocals are still harsh and howling, but somehow, they too seem to be a bit more smooth, further down in the mix, like another layer of sound, the howls allowed to unfurl into another layer of buzz. It's strange, but we definitely dig. And we're not saying this is NOTHING like old Moss, or folks into Bunkur and Esoteric and the like won't love it, you will, the differences are subtle, and the sound is just a little bit, well, prettier, if you can imagine something bleak and black and harsh and hateful being pretty. Which we can!
The next track, a nine minute dirge, is a bit more raw and rough, most of that prettiness we were blathering on about above is GONE. Shrieking feedback, the drums even slower and more spare, the guitars even more distorted and the vocals throat shreddingly harsh, the tempo slightly accelerated, bordering on Eyehategod territory.
But it's all bout the closer, "Gate III: Devils From The Outer Dark". Clocking in at 35 minutes + and beginning with a churning sea of downtuned rumble and buzz, before the drums finally kick in, and f course by kick in we mean pound sporadically. This track is WAY more than a dirge. It makes the track before it sound like thrash metal. This is slooooooow and so so so so dooooooooooooooooooomy. The guitars thick and corrosive, the chords allowed to ring way out and fade away before the next one drops in to take its place, but weirdly enough, this one too sounds sort of pretty, not like the opening track, but still very dreamlike and mesmerizing. Long streaks of feedback spread out over wide open expanses of minimal thud and warm warped slow motion buzz, when the vocals drop out, it becomes something entirely different, finishing off with several minutes of thick low end drone, the guitars rumbling and wrapped into a thick nearly static pulse, something truly hypnotic and almost spacey, but without sacrificing a single one of those extra 'o's.
Definitely a progression, a band can only pound and plod for so long, but so subtle that the casual listener might not even notice. "Oh yeah, heavy, slow, dooooooom", but as with most music, deep listening reveals a whole lot more going on beneath the surface, and once your ears lock on to that stuff, even the sounds on the surface begin to sound different.
WAY RECOMMENDED for the doom-ed amongst you. And just cuz we knew you were waiting for it, Sub Templum could very well be doooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooom disc of the year!!
Naturalist aktionism? Sure, let's call it that. We can't really say that the Hermann Nitsch and Gunter Brus bloodletting as grand allegory is applicable to this collaboration between Portland based sound artists Seth Nehil and Matt Marble; but a rigorous body of work is definitely at hand. These two are the editors of the sound art journal FO A RM, and have both generated impressive bodies of conceptually minded compositions through field recordings, found objects, the almighty drone, and hand-built instruments. Here, Nehil and Marble wax poetic about the overlay of tactile sounds to emphasize the ruptures, holes, and negative spaces which may have been present on each layer of sound. So, instead of a gaping piece of unbroken ambience, Ecllipses is a tense and discordant album of rollicking textures which bristle and scrape against each other. Nehil and Marble revel in tumbles and scrabbles of what could be a revolving metal drum filled with various pine cones, twigs, and pebbles. Elsewhere, they focus upon churning bowed steel-strings, which offer buzzing clouds of softly rendered acoustic noise; and then soft pluckings of what sound like softened dulcimers drift into prolonged echo, hinting at avant-folk drones of Jewelled Antler (especially the Ov recordings) and Kemialliset Ystavat. Barring a minimal amount of signal processing and ring modulation, the album flourishes in the sodden palette of natural objects: wood, grass, leaves, soil, and rock.
Thee Hounds of Foggy Notion may be a live cd / dvd set of this venerable SF outfit, but it also serves as a "best of" of sorts as well. Pulled mostly from the last four records, the point the band changed their name from OCS to its many incarnations of "Ohsees", "The Oh sees", or "Thee Ohsees", and the record titles went from numbers to quasi-absurdist phrases. Those who may shy away from live albums over fidelity issues should not fret here, as Dwyer and his cohorts are seasoned and energetic live players and hi-fidelity has never been a major concern on their studio records anyway; so there's really not a discernible distinction between live and studio sound quality. In fact, this may be just as good as a starting point into the band as any one of their studio records, which just keep getting better and better. Got to love a band that can move so effortlessly from southern garage to one of the best Shirley Collins interpretations ("Highland Wife's Lament") we've heard in awhile. Plus the dvd showcases the band's wild and wooly performances.
Ok, we admit that we have never been the biggest fans of this group, having only reviewed one previous full length and an ep out of the almost dozen or so they have released over the past ten years. And even when we gave praise to the releases we reviewed, not everyone here was so convinced. Their was always something a little too precious, mannered and often inconsistent about their past recordings that left many of us unsatisfied. Overrated, we thought. So we are all quite wonderfully surprised that their latest has become a unanimous store favorite. Big time! A far cry from the lush lavender orchestrations of The Wedding, the last Oneida record we dug, Preteen Weaponry is the first part of a planned trilogy that showcases the bands new beefed up sound. One full of thick rumbling krauty trance pulse, acidy sheets of distortion, and big dynamic cavey pummel. Thanks to the addition of Phil Manley (Trans Am, The Fucking Champs), the band's sound has more "in the red" heft and focus, earning heaps of praise for their recent stint of mindblowing live shows. Comprised of three long parts, Preteen Weaponry is less vocal-driven than previous outings. In fact, there's barely any vocals on here at all or melodic song structures even. Instead we're introduced to the album by a loud buzzing wall of subtlety shifting noise before the drums make the song propel forward in a lurching rhythm while bass keyboards and guitar start begin layering interweaving progressions reminding us of This Heat, Cave or a more fucked up Mogwai. The rhythms become more tribal and Boredoms-like for the second piece with layered and swelling sheets of feedback that build intensely into the albums only vocal passage before unwinding into the final part. Beginning with an almost cosmic peacefulness before hurtling full throttle into the sonic stratasphere, exploding and unfurling synth stabs and loud ear-shattering drones leave us aurally exhausted by the end. Definitely the heaviest and trippiest album we've ever heard from this group, and one that makes us extremely excited for the next two rounds. If you dig any of the bands mentioned above than you need to have this record. We're doubters no more!
Armed with drums and (ultra distorted) bass only, this heavy, hellbound girl-boy two-piece from Brooklyn crashes and bashes though ten trashed tracks of roughhewn rumble, making quite a crazed art-metal-noise racket. The drummer (girl, Speck Brown) also sings, in the most vicious nasty shriek she can muster, which is indeed brutal, to match her drumming. Meanwhile the bassist (boy, Brendan Majewski) keeps his head down and rips out the distorted riffage - which can get kinda catchy, on such negative creep cuts as "Love Is For The Birds". Elsewhere they lay waste to such troubling topics as "Penis Farm", "Swan Blood", and "Jane Fonda".
Titling their album Aborted By Birth may be intended to draw comparisons to death metallers Cannibal Corpse, if only to stress their metallic bona fides, since otherwise they probably get a lot of Lightning Bolt references, due to the bass-drums duo setup. Naturally, godheadSilo, Jucifer, and Israel's Barbara would be other good comparisons.
By the way, if you go on YouTube and look 'em up, you'll find some pretty cool, arty homemade videos for each of this album's songs!
Released on evil white vinyl only, limited to 666 numbered copies (isn't that convenient?). We have but a handful.
Ok, here they are, the first and best three albums (reissued on cd) by "possibly Allan and Andee's all time favorite prog band" Osanna, as we boldly declared in our review of another Italian prog rock fave, Il Balleto Di Bronzo. Yep, we've got the Osanna discs now, so you can judge for yourself. Even limiting our discussion to the realm of Italian prog, it would be difficult to claim that Osanna are objectively better than the also amazing likes of Il Balleto, Le Orme, Area, New Trolls, Franco Battiato, Goblin, I Teoremi, RDM, Museo Rosenbach, etc. But, Osanna do somehow combine the key elements of what we like about those bands and prog in general into these three crazy, colorful records, and thus deserve our hype. Ripping flute and sax solos, heavy psych guitar, powerful vocal choruses, hard rockin' prog drumming, weird musical changes and juxtapositions, electronic synth experimentation... Catchy, fun, fucked up prog from five nutty Italians, who want to rock out as much as be arty and display their adept musicanship.
The wonders of Italian prog have been revealed to us in a gradual process of discovery -- finding a used cd with a cool cover, or reading somwhere about another strange band, or getting a recommendation from a friend or customer. Neither of us grew up in Italy, or had a geeky older brother to hand down his PFM and Goblin LPs. In the case of Osanna, Andee's the one who came across 'em first, while travelling in Japan, actually. Rather randomly, the guy from the Boredoms-meets-St. Vitus doom/trance band Solar Anus (soon to have a mindblowing tUMULt label release) gave Andee a tape of Osanna to take home, promising him he'd like it. Well, Solar Anus dude knew whereof he spoke! Soon we were on-line, trying to track down the LPs, or cd reissues. Not long thereafter, Andee and Allan both possessed the complete works of Osanna on cd. But it took more than a few months for us to find a wholesale supplier so we could stock 'em at Aquarius and share our Osanna-excitement with you, our prog-lovin' customers... Actually we hope that self-proclaimed "prog" dedication is not necessary for enjoyment of Osanna, as we think that these discs are good and weird and silly enough for AQ-customers into whatever sort of musical extremity (experimental, krautrock, psych, metal, classic rock) to dig.
1972's Osanna album, their second, was a soundtrack to a film called "Milano Calibro 9". Working in collaboration with arranger Luis Bacalov, who is also known for his work with the New Trolls' symphonic efforts, this album incorporates strings, piano, and classical motifs. And, as befits a film soundtrack, many moods are touched upon... We don't know what the movie was all about, but it must have featured a fair amount of action, and trippy scenes. Osanna come up with super bombastic themes, high-energy instrumental freak-outs, suspenseful bits of jazziness, pretty vocal interludes, bleepy-bloopy synth fx, heavy electronic organ riff-drone, and the most heavy metal flute soloing you've ever heard. Totally kick ass. Osanna, you rock. Goblin was never this heavy.
Here's another, not quite so new release from the UK's fab DC Recordings, that we imported in the same batch with the new Padded Cell we highlighted last list. This one's from last year, but actually it's one of the main reasons we finally did a direct order with DC, 'cause we'd been dying to list it ever since we first heard it at the end of '07. Well, better late than never, eh?
Out Of Phase easily made the upper echelon of Allan's top 20 of 2007 list, being a druggy, dubby mix of rhythmically krauty space rock, angular Nowave funkiness, and, yes, oscillating electronics. It entrances with limber, rubbery grooves, awash with buzzing, echoey FX, occasionally adorned with echoey English-accented vocals also. The fantastic track "Violation" is almost some sort of post-punk Hawkwind worship, and elsewhere the motorik pulsations of Neu! get the nod (and get you nodding). The whole album's heavy with hypnotic bass, and nervous with propulsive percussion. The Oscillation also have a definite knack for pop bliss too (best exemplified by their dreamy cover version of Julian Cope's "Head Hang Low").
Sometimes trance-inducingly atmospheric, evoking radiation-like transmissions from the cosmos ("Distant Transmission", natch), at other times building up into a funky, fuzzy throb that's equally trance-inducing, The Oscillations' electro-psychedelia could easily slide into a DJ mix alongside stuff by Salvatore or the Boredoms, whilst sounding like neither... Imagine a Tussle/White Hills hybrid, perhaps!
Super recommended.
Time for the noirishly groovy, '70s prog and funk infected, jazzily inflected debut full length from the UK's sinister, stylish Padded Cell. What time is that? About 2am maybe. Night must fall, indeed it must.
Those of you that picked up that excellent Milky Disco comp on Lo last year oughtta remember the track "Konkorde Lafayette", which also appears here in edited form. Padded Cell's contribution was a highlight of that comp, which also featured Studio, Sorcerer, Quiet Village and fellow DC artists The Emperor Machine, among others.
Almost entirely instrumental (there's only a couple of vocal cuts), generally dark and creepy and sometimes bleepy, Night Must Fall slow-burns through slinky, cinematic Goblinesque grooves that bring in some no-wave sax blat, and plenty of vintage analog synth zapp and bass brapp. Padded Cell certainly nods to Italo disco... and also the "disco not disco" NYC '80s downtown punk-funk scene - in fact Dennis Young of Liquid Liquid is this album's propulsive guest drummer! Imagine a spooky and suspenseful John Carpenter soundtrack gone dubby disco... Very cool, so cool in fact we had to import these directly from the label in England.
PS. we also got this on vinyl but unfortunately they all came with fairly badly bent corners...we'll try to get replacements but if you can't wait and want the wax, let us know...
This is the first-ever reissue of the sole, rare-as-hell mid '70s LP by The Peace, an Afro-rock band that may or may-not have been made up of service members from the Zambian Air Force (and definitely included members of another obscure African rock band, The Witch), and holy crap it's a winner!�Unlike the Nigerian bands of the same era that retained a more distinctly African sound (for more on that, check out Sound Way's phenomenal Nigeria Rock Special comp), Black Power is a full-on Western-styled psych-fuzz groover that rocks in a soulful, funky way from start to finish.�It's American-sounding to the point that the only thing that truly gives this record away as being from Africa is the distinctly ESL-sounding vocal delivery. Pretty awesome. We can best describe it like this: imagine that weird band that sort of sounded like a ragtag version of the Allman Brothers that played at the county Apple Blossom Festival every year when you were a kid, somehow managing to get sent to Africa's Copperbelt region, absorbing the local culture, and then playing through smashed up amps at some mining town honky tonk. Loose and funky, kinda fuzzed and Hendrixy. With some lovely mellow, melodic moments, and harder rock riffing too.
We're constantly having our minds blown here at aQ by the steady stream of gems coming from African crate diggers, and this find is no exception!� �
PLEASE NOTE - We'd be remiss were we to leave out the following note from the label: "The sound for this album is not perfect at all. It's understandable that it's probably impossible to get a good condition copy of the original vinyl to remaster, as this is so so rare even to find in trashed condition. So it has remastered with a decent result in the most part of the album... but there are two songs that have some prominent noise."
Even if this wasn't a recording by the legendary Pink Fairies, anything with that title (Finland! Freakout!! 1971!!!) you know we'd have to love, right?
It wasn't too too long ago that you couldn't find hardly any Pink Fairies stuff on cd at all. This freaky band of early '70s proto-punks, hairy hippie underground rock n' rollers often (fairly accurately) described as England's version of the MC5, were more the stuff of legend, and if you wanted to hear 'em "do it", you had to look pretty hard for the goods. Then a few years back, their three classic albums (Neverneverland, What A Bunch Of Sweeties, and Kings Of Oblivion) finally got nice new reissues. You've got those, right? Hope so, 'cause goddammit it seems like they've gone out of print again!! Obviously the powers that be in the record industry, The Man if you please, don't really appreciate the Pink Fairies like they should. In a perfect world, they'd be household names - not 'cause they're the best band ever, they're not, but 'cause few bands embody the anarchic spirit of rock n' roll and its most deviant extremes (punk, psych, metal) as much they do.
So anyway, if you don't have those albums, start with one of 'em, any of them - if you can find 'em. But if you're already a fan, or we just made you impatiently curious, then this newly released archival disc is well worth checking out. It's an hour-long, previously unreleased festival set, professionally live-recorded for broadcast by Finnish national radio (from the Ruisrock festival in Turku, Finland, sometime in 1971, where the Fairies played alongside such international acts as Fairport Convention, The Kinks, the Jeff Beck Group, and Canned Heat and well as Finnish bands like Wigwam, Tasavallan Presidentti, and Charlies). They kick out the jams big time here, starting off with a loud n' heavy, totally blown out cover of the Beatles' "Tomorrow Never Knows", and also including such classic Fairies fare as "The Snake", "Walk Don't Run", and their 20+ minute festival standard "Uncle Harry's Last Freakout" (to the Fairies what "Black To Comm" was to the MC5, who by the way played the same festival a year later in 1972). Rumbling with distortion, wasted psych guitar leads a-wailing, raspy vox only occasionally emerging from the din, everything underpinned by the urgent caveman pounding of the rhythm section, this is the Pink Fairies as a power trio with a capital P.
And it's fully legit, from the master tapes, pretty decent sounding for an unearthed live thing from way back when, the cd booklet packed with photos and liner notes, including some by drummer Russell Hunter. Nice! Fairies fans, queue up.
Man, what else lurks in the archives, you've gotta wonder?
For the last 14 years, New Zealander Stefan Neville has been issuing a steady stream of cassettes, lathe-cuts, cd-rs, 7"s and other assorted slabs of mysterious small-run skronk under the Pumice moniker. Somehow through it all Neville has managed to find a comfortable spot nestled in between two very distinct strains of NZ music-making. At their heart, the songs he writes are pop songs obviously indebted to the legacy of Flying Nun, The Tall Dwarves and The Clean; that said, his willful disregard for fidelity, his love of tape hiss, wow and flutter, garbled vocals and blasts of harsh drone are a tip o' the hat to kiwi noiseniks like Birchville Cat Motel, Dead C, and Antony Milton. It's a compelling combination, as it allows his records to be both densely textural and supremely melodic - for every piece of blown out headphone candy, there's a memorable vocal or frighteningly catchy guitar riff. It's this incredible tug-of-war between (as we put it in our review) "doleful drone" and "sheer pop umph" that made us flip out over the last Pumice full-length, Pebbles, and we're happy to report that Neville's latest, Quo, finds him refining the Pumice formula in all the best possible ways to create a record full of impish charms, slack anthems, rambling bedrooms hiss, and speaker fried drone assaults!
Quo opens with "Pumice Quo," a song that hints at what is to come on the rest of the album: fuzzed-out, atonal guitars klang and skree like some sort of netherworldly faux-sitar over a ragged, swinging stomp that effortlessly mutates back and forth with a breezy, expansive, half-time swagger. Rhythmically and structurally it's all angular and math-y but it never sounds cold or analytical - it's like some incredible mix of Doc At The Radar Station and Celebrate The New Dark Age where you can't tell if it's Beefheart covering Polvo or vice versa, but everything sounds perfectly fucked up and damaged but so inexplicably catchy at the same time. Likewise, "World with Worms," a creeping, rumbling, blown-out, billowing sea shanty that mixes Neville's signature, mannered (almost goth, really) vocals with a teetering melody pounded out on some sort of half-broken chord organ or accordion.
The first half of the record continues to cast a few different lines - "Fort" sounds like some sort of classic mid-'90s B-side pop anthem you'd expect from GBV or Boyracer buried under 10 feet of shrieking keyboard noise; "Thermos in the Studio" is a winsome bedroom pop instrumental that would sound right at home buried amongst the ruins of Pavement's Westing (By Musket and Sextant) with lyrical slide guitar melodies that are simple, gorgeous and over in an instant; "Pebbles" is 2 minutes of rambling, shuffling, ramshackle pop. However, everything starts to come together with the second half of the record, as "Whole Hoof" looks back to the Polvo/Beefheart battle royale of the album opener but this time ads layers of distorted howling vocals. It starts out like Simply Saucer plowing through some freaked out rockabilly jam but mutates into something completely creepy and sinister at the end.
The album's second half is incredibly strong and manages to focus the scattershot elements of the first half without sacrificing any of those songs' chimpy playfulness. There's a darker element that emerges, but it never overwhelms the whole proceedings. "Sick Bay Duvet" starts out like a lost Fahey side being played back on a broken down gramophone, all rumbling, twanging, echoing, and slightly out of tune. When drums, melodica and a low, throbbing drone finally kick in at the end, it changes into something completely different - a kind of dour, anti-anthem that leads perfectly next track, "Dogwater," whose warbling, garbled take on Blackheart Procession's western goth vibe manages to come as both tongue-in-cheek and gracefully mannered. Things get stronger still with the last three songs: "Heavy Punter" is a solemn funeral shuffle built around a fractured Beefheart/Polvo riff filled out by ghostly keyboards that woosh and drone in and out of the background and fantastic, layered, pseudo-goth vocal stylings; "Battersby" is almost like Pumice's stab at punk rock with Casio tweeters battling against four on the floor drums and stumbling, disaffected vocals that wouldn't sound out of place on a Fall record (the whole thing comes across like some weird mashup of a NZ cd-r salvo and something off of a Messthetics comp - bizarrely catchy and certainly one of our favorites!); and album ender "Beak Remedy" is 7 minutes of blissed out, see-saw chord organ drone, ghostly tape loops, fluttering, stuttering ambient flickers of feedback, hum and hiss with percussive clomps that sneak in toward the end until the whole thing trickles out with choppy puffs of feedback and static.
All this adds up to a brilliant mix of pop songwriting and freaked out fuzzmongering that has been perking the ears of both customers and staff since it first arrived. We're confident that Quo is going to show up on many of our year end best-of lists, and we think you'll feel the same way about this blissed-out, smashed to pieces, melodic, thoughtful, mannered, playful and thoroughly recommended record!
Ratto Ja Lehtisalo are a weird band. Made up of half of aQ faves Circle, their sound is less krautrock, and more like some weird hybrid of eighties new wave faves, Oingo Boingo, The Fixx, Sparks, Talking Heads, but then Circle are pretty weird themselves, flitting from murky propulsive hypnorock, to bombastic metal to atmospheric drone to eighties style New Wave Of British Heavy Metal and back again. And the side projects, too many to name here, but needless to say, they are all pretty far out.
This here is the latest from Ratto Ja Lehtisalo, and find the band, doing what they do best, confounding and confusing, and even more confounding and confusing is that they are teamed up with the mighty late great doomlords Reverend Bizarre!! Sure they're both from Finland, and yeah, RB's Albert Witchfinder got recent aQ Record Of The Week recipients Quest For Blood signed to Jussi from Circle's Ektro label, but sonically, the couldn't be more different, and yet, weirdly enough, they sound kind of cool back to back.
Anyway, Ratto Ja Lehtisalo start things off with some demented court jester music, sounding very twisted and Renn Faire, before slipping into some moody almost Circle-ish drama, a weird almost-krautrock, but way lighter and jazzier, with chanted vocals that sometimes sound like Queen, sometimes like Circle, the first thing that came to mind was Cluster mixed with Shadowfax, which sounds bad, we know, but is more, just sort of, strange, it's like the music to some insane production of seventies mime troupe Mummenschanz, the band lock into a very Circle-like jam, but soft and fuzzy and jazzy, but just like the Circle mothership, easy enough to get lost in and carried away by.
The flipside comes from Finnish doomsters Reverend Bizarre, who like Tupac, just seem to keep releasing records post mortem, but heck we're not complaining ONE BIT.
A new track composed over an improvised drum track, and it's obvious cuz the drums steal the show. Huge roiling guitars, throbbing doomy bass, and those vocals, deep and resonant and soaring. This is, my friends TRUE DOOM! The track lurches and sways, grooves and swings, sometimes slipping into seriously dense tangles of angular riffing and freaked out drumming, near the end the band launch into a blissed out psychedelic space rock drift that devolves into a bizarre coda all bellowed vocals and wild drums, and yep, a DRUM SOLO!! Before slipping back into the riff and dooming their way to the very end. As always. awesome.
A weird and wonderful, and did we say WEIRD, split of far out Finnish freakiness. Super limited. Pressed on thick swirled opaque white vinyl, with killer cover art by Albert Witchfinder.
It's been a while, but it's time to haul out all those extra doom 'o's we've been saving for an occasion just like this. The return of ultra doomlords Rigor Sardonicous, they of the monstrous glacial downtuned crawl, the 'evil' cymbal (more on that in a second), the growled demonic vox, the lugubrious slow motion trudge, all that stuff we love, and all the stuff that can usually only be described by a whole handful of extra 'o's in doooooooooom.
But the opening track threw us for a bit of a loop. All weirdly folky, with chanted vocals, and fluttering flutes, some haunting almost Renn Faire court music, which quickly gives way to clean mournful minor key clean guitar, could this be the same Rigor Sardonicous? All doubts are wiped away moments later when the whole sound shifts down about a hundred octaves, the crumbling super distorted guitar spreads out like a black fog, the drums pounding, the cymbals still way up in the mix (beginning to think it's their trademark), and then the vocals. WOAH. Impossibly gurgly rumbles, like a frog croaking from the bottom of a tarpit, perfectly complimenting the band's murky plod. Weirdly the band does speed it up, but everything is so muddy and blurred that it almost makes no difference. You can hear what sounds like a little girl way off in the distance, as if she's locked in the dungeon of some great black beast. This is some awesomely creepy, heavy, and fucked up dooooooooooomy shit for sure.
If it's even possible, this is the most extreme Rigor record yet. The guitars more dense, heavier, even more downtuned, the vocals absolutely inhuman, it does almost sound like some super slow dooooom record, slowed down even more. And when the band do 'rock', they still out-doom most of their slow motion contemporaries.
Nothing else to say really. Been digging the most recent Moss, the Corrupted reissue? Still loving those Monarch records, the recent Trees disc? Fancy yourself a doomlord? Well strap on your armor, your headlamp, some industrial strength ear protection, and crawl headfirst into this black tarpit of sound, Rigor Sardonicous take even the heaviest and slowest sounds somewhere even slower and lower and so much doooooooooooooooooooooooomier�
Before summer starts to fade away we wanted to make sure to list this colorful, breezy, and tastefully eclectic pop album from New Zealand's The Ruby Suns. Packed with songs that are perfect for those long drives on a summer night, they tap into that carefree classy spirit that bands like The Aislers Set used to capture so perfectly. There's also plenty of Beach Boys harmonic glory and hints of soft psychedelia that on many songs finds the 'Suns sounding like the super sweet and cuddly version of Panda Bear.
NOW ON VINYL!
Another manic blast of freaked out 8-bit jams from this curiously monickered purveyor of blown out video game gabber. The sound of Scotch Egg is a bit hard to describe, the closest we can get is, maybe imagine being in an arcade, playing your favorite eighties video game, when inexplicably, lightning strikes the arcade, and the electricity surges through the wiring and right into the video game you're playing, suddenly, the machine freaks out, shooting sparks, the characters on the screen transform into weird shapes and start doing unspeakable things, and the sounds, oh the sounds, that music you grew up with, the soothing lullaby of primitive computer melodies, gone totally haywire, exploding into squalls of utter 8-bit chaos, the rhythms fast and furious tangled and chaotic, flurries of tones, melodies become gnarled and dizzying.
You know that part in Galaga where the mother ship comes down and captures one of your men so you can shoot id down later and have a dual shooter? The sound it makes when it sends out its green and blue tractor beam? Now imagine that sound stretched into a whole song, with the dude from Hella going apeshit on the drums in the background. That perfectly describes one of the songs here. Some of the other tracks sound like the Boredoms if they were transported back to the eighties and tapped to do music for Dig Dug and Mr. Do. Or maybe imagine Venetian Snares, zapped Tron style and beamed into a video game, and these are his desperate musical cries for help. Sound wacked? Well, it is, WAY wacked.
The sounds are all over the map, many you'll recognize as being purloined from some of your favorite video games, but here, they're just tiny parts of a ear pummeling barrage of sound, from Melt Banana style video game grind, to weirdly intense 8-bit drones, all the 'death' music from video games stretched out into actual songs, There are some real drums here and there, some guitar, some fucked up vocals, some tracks even sound like damaged video game free jazz, while others sound like creepy computer math rock, but for the most part it's just frenzied electronic gabber video game lo-fi 8-bit freak out dancefloor destroying mayhem and we LOVE it. Be sure and stick around for the final track, a weird looped groove assembled from what sounds like a tape recorded video game, all lo fi and muddy, but here looped and assembled into some druggy repetitive almost krautrocky drone jam.
Brand new disc of free drone weirdness from long time aQ fave Seht, aka Stephen Clover, whose discs never disappoint, whether he's crafting long form minimal dronemusic, or kicking up a clattery freerock buzz, Dead Bees is a little of both, two looooong tracks, the first a super minimal dronejam of deep soft shimmers and warm warbly whirs, that begins soft but gradually gains momentum, and along with that momentum, layers of gradually thickening whir, what begins as a barely there whisper quickly transforms into a heaving slab of rumbling static heaviness, eventually introducing some unlikely melody to the mix, the sound suddenly almost orchestral, a layer of horn like drone draped over the undulating lowend backdrop, the grit and buzz and fuzz slowly sloughing off eventually leaving a smooth stretch of soft soft shimmer.
The second track, another long one, is much more active, beginning with some random clatter, and slowly transforming into a weird pulsing circusy abstract pulse, with strange haunting melodies, almost like Chain Reaction via a New Zealand 4-track, soon the playful pulse is enveloped in a cloud of hiss, creating a haunting gauzy throbbing drift that is both mesmerizing and mysteriously unclassifiable. And once again, the hiss dissipates, leaving a warm whirling warble that slowly settles into a dark, dreamlike drift.
It seems like maybe we're becoming a little predictable sometimes, letting the name of a band, or some insane cover art get us all gaga over a record before we even hear the music. But while it's only a theory, it seems like in most cases, the music is just as good as the artwork. Or the band name. For years, we've applied that theory to our record shopping and have rarely been disappointed.
So here we are again. You obviously know where this is heading since we ARE reviewing this record, AND highlighting it, but a while back, it was just a name, Fantastikol Hole. How could we not be curious, if not utterly smitten. A band called Fantastikol Hole? C'mon. SO we tracked down every shred of recorded music from these guys and got just a little bit obsessed. But this is the first one we could track down enough of to list. Four bands, all amazing, all totally different, all French we think, a record so heavy and weird it took TEN labels to release it. And after all that talk of Fantastikol Hole, they only have three tracks here, but it's enough to get you as obsessed as we are.
So what exactly are Fantastikol Hole all about? Super aggro, mathy, convoulted experimental heavy rock weirdness. Stop start stuttery arrangements, huge slabs of Neurosis-y sludge, bits of shimmer and drone-y ambience, wild tangled squiggly leads, angular atonal riffage, howled distorted vocals, long stretches of crumbling doomy buzz, and that's just the first song of three. The second is even more manic, a sort of proggy grind, with tons of space, and weird stops, jagged riffing, swirling dizzying bursts of buzzing fury, programmed drums, explosions of impossibly convoluted synth swathed hypergrind, shortwave radio interference. The third track is only two minutes, but they spend it plodding along doomily, a huge downtuned riff, wrapped around a simple percussive thud, the vocals processed and super distorted, so genius. Complex and confusional and mathy and heavy as fuck. We need to carry more Fantastikol Hole. We will remedy that as soon as humanly possible.
But what about the other fantastikol bands here? Well, there's Shall Not Kill, who offer up three tracks of their own brand of heaviness, a groovy stoned, heavy as fuck plodding midtempo post punk sludgy doom, rife with harmonized lead guitars, yowled vocals, super psychedelic squalls of twisted tangled leads, busts of furious octopoidal drumming, some super fast Maiden style jams, some blissed out droney dirges, but always returning to some sort of cracked classic doom sound.
Up next is Tekken, who are fast and fucked up and furious, a white hot metallic hardcore, bordering on grind, with weird samples, blasts of incendiary buzz, pounding chaotic drumming and snarling punk as fuck howled vocals. The last track finds their grinding punk chopped up and flipped backwards, slathered in static, turning it into some weird fuzzed out, stuttering soundscape of skipping punk rock cds and shortwave interference.
And finally, comes the band Moon, whose three long tracks fall somewhere between ultra minimal dronemusic, and the slow motion sludge riffery of Old Earth or SUNNO))), nearly ambient the slow low rumbles eventually build into a lugubrious downtuned crawl, the buzz occasionally receding, and revealing a glimmering glistening shimmer beneath the rumble.
A pretty weird combination, but a tough one to beat. We've found ourselves digging for more stuff from all four of these bands, although our heart still belongs to Fantastikol Hole.
WAY recommended.
Ahhh, Shit And Shine, even the name give us the warm fuzzies. That's because multiple drummer-ed lawn mower bass tribal drug jams often do. And no one does it better, or quite like the UK's Shit And Shine. With a constantly shifting lineup that often swells to double digits, including as many drummers as they can pack into a room. And a wall of amplifiers that makes SUNNO))) seem like they're playing through practice amps, several bass players, often just a phalanx of shitty Casio keyboards, howling vocals, all tangled up into a heaving mass of post-Butthole Surfers drug psych heaviness.
Much like the cd reissue of Cherry (last week's Record Of The Week), Kuss Mich, Meine Liebe is not entirely brand new, the two longest tracks we've had before on a super limited, crazy expensive lp, but here on cd for the very first time. Along with one other loooooooong jam, and a handful of shorter, but no less appealing chunks of what-the-fuck tribal psych-out heaviness.
Let's cover the tracks we've heard before. "Biggest Cock In Christendom" is an in-the-red tribal workout, like a more metallic and way more distorted and druggy No Neck Blues Band. Or a WAY heavier Chain Reaction disc. Thick pulses of low end drift beneath streaks of super distorted amp damage, all very krautrock sounding, but filtered through a bank of effects pedals, all broken or with dying batteries. Definitely blissed out and mesmerizing, but so ominous and creepy. This is the shit musical dreams are made of. 15 minutes of this stuff is not nearly enough. Set it to repeat, drink a bottle of Nyquil and let yourself get sucked under. The other track from the 12", "Toilet Door Tits", is an endless rhythmic jam, with ultra blown out drums, sounding a bit like some Butthole Surfers / Laddio Bolocko hybrid, albeit WAY more distorted and damaged. The sound is completely fried, the whole track sounding like it's crumbling through your speakers, strangled vocals drift amidst the tribal pummel, as do weird alien sounding squiggly leads that squirm and slither from speaker to speaker giving the whole track a super disorienting effect.
The other long track on Kuss Mich is the epic and drowsily sprawling "Preventions Arise", 10 minutes of muted almost industrial sounding rhythms, way more moody and washed out than the other tracks, an endless muddy murky rhythmic jam, pulsing and throbbing, a propulsive groove beneath a very noir spoken word. Strange but a good balance to the sheer brutality of the other tracks.
Scattered all around these three massive jams are jagged little chunks of shiny shit, blasts of noise and crunch and buzz and pound, from brief flurries of machine like grind, furious blast beats, and stuttering off kilter rhythms, to total Buttholes worship, pounding tribal rhythm, buzzing fuzz guitar, hypnotic and intense, to tripped out abstract skitter, all warbly distorted bass, and processed vox, to huge blown out chug and churn, heavy and epic and massively distorted and blown out.
Once again, more proof that these guys (and gals) are the current reigning kings and queens of crushing chaotic drugged out drone drenched drum corps psych-doom heaviness.
Killer packaging, very simple and cryptic, shit brown paper and metallic gold ink shine!
It seems like a lot of the black metal we've been digging lately has been of the 'tortured anguished vocals' variety. Sterbend from last list is probably the most obvious. But Marblebog too. Also Hekel elsewhere on this list. But go back a ways and you can find plenty of black hordes who not only buzz grimly, but howl and wail as if their souls were trying to escape from their bodies, Bethlehem, SF cult legends Weakling, and of course Silencer. This record isn't really new, and actually we have been trying to track down copies of this forever. Silencer are spoken of with hushed reverence, and for good reason. Death - Pierce Me is dark and damaged, grim and suicidal miserablist doom-drenched black metal of the highest order. Talk to any of the current crop of the black metal elite, Wrest from Leviathan, Malefic from Xasthur, and they will fawn unabashedly over Silencer. Thankfully, Autopsy Kitchen have stepped up and rescued this all time black classic from oblivion. And now you can finally experience one of the original black cults who expressed their blackened misery through impossibly anguished vocals. Hysterical shrieks, frenzied and overwrought howls of absolute terror. Never has a band captured grief and misery and loneliness so perfectly and in such an utterly frightening way.
But it's not just the vocals, the music is completely intense and seething as well, with an unrestrained turbulence, dense and buzzing and so emotional and personal and overwhelming. Heart rending minor key melodies emeshed in black swirls of buzz, the riffing so intense and totally manic, exposing a tortured inner world wrought with drama and tension, a dark soul exposed, a damaged personal hell expressed through shriek and buzz. The anguished blasts of blackness are separated by dark doomy ambient passages, from simple mournful acoustic guitar to droney piano fugues to simple melodic doom metal minimalism, but when the riffs and the vocals kick in, a huge brutal blackness dropping on you from above, it's the sort of musical moment that gives you chills, makes your hair stand up on end, and in the right frame of mind makes you want to just break down. Which is precisely why Silencer and Death - Pierce Me are so revered, this record set the template for ALL depressive suicidal black metal to follow, and while some have come close, Xasthur and Nortt certainly, there is just something so special, and so utterly frightening about this record that keeps anyone from ever capturing the same black musical world of abject fear and unmitigated misery.
Here's a Skull Defekts artifact that we've had hanging around for quite a while, meant to list it long ago but somehow it got lost in the shuffle! But since we luv this Swedish noisemaking duo (just raved about their latest, Drone Drug, on list #298) it would be a shame not to finally review this one too. Released on Utech, in one of their stylish slim die cut sleeves, this cd finds the Defekts doing their thing, using a "custom Drone Machine" and multiple mixing desks, also maybe a field recording of a flapping crow? We're not sure, that's what we read. The Skull Defekts are a cryptic crew indeed. Anyway we could believe it, and this sounds like what we like: one long 43 minute track here of whooshing, whirring, droning, crunching, crackling, glitching, abstract electronic bliss n' brutality with plenty of piercing peaks and lulling lows. Doubtless dangerous at high volumes, but hummingly hypnotic too (not in the "you can hum along" pop sense, but 'cause it sounds like a soothing huuummmmmmm!). No drums here, so it's not as rock or rhythmic as records like Blood Spirits and Drums are Singing.
Lovely, noisy stuff, looping and grainy, for fans of Pan Sonic, Stilluppsteypa, Vulture Club, Sunroof!, Space Machine, just to name a few you probably have already sitting nearby to the Skull Defekts cds you already possess.
Fun fact: 1/2 of Skull Defekts was once the drummer for '80s Stooges-style Swedish psych/punk rockers Union Carbide Productions. Did not know that until recently.
Another blast of Skullflowery fury, the second in as many months. Recorded live in 2007, live on the air, at a Belgian radio station, Pure Imperial Reform finds Skullflower mainman (only man?) Matthew Bower joined by fellow axeman Lee Stokoe for 42 minutes of unmitigated dual guitar overload.
As we mentioned in the last Skullflower review, Bower and his 'Flower have gone from riff to noise to and back again over the last twenty years. The last clutch of releases finds Bower once again exploring noise in lieu of any actual riffing. So for folks expecting some sort of Exquisite Fucking Boredom or IIIrd Gatekeeper, this might just rub you the wrong way. But if you loved Bower's Total project, and the more intense and facemelting side of Skullflower, then this live set will definitely hit the spot.
Two guitars, a wall of amps, the sound both white hot and in the red, these two gents spewing furious gouts of hissing fuzz from their respective axes, kicking up a planet splitting din, blown out buzz, squalls of feedback, jagged chunks of deconstructed melodies, streaks of garbled psychedelia, the guitars soaring and screaming, grinding and growling, strings scraped and bent, notes split into a million pieces, chords laid over other chords, gnarled pulsing drones, walls of full on Merzbowian white noise, all whirled into a constantly shifting, roiling miasma of fractured sonics.
Like most stuff like this, a cursory listen will get you nothing but a headache and some sore ears, but dig in, dive in, lay back and let the molten flow pour over you, and suddenly, like all 'great' noise music, the layers unfold and unfurl, melodies surface, rhythms reveal themselves, the sounds, however harsh and brutal, begin to soothe and mesmerize, about halfway in, you'll be totally entranced, a master musical hypnotist, who instead of a pocket watch, swings feedback and amp destroying buzz before your heavy lidded eyes. Wicked stuff for sure, heavy, noisy, brutal and impossibly beautiful.
LIMITED TO 1000 COPIES!!!
We're huge fans of Australian guitarist Chris Smith, but until now had only ever been able to get a hold of the split 12" he shared with the Ivytree. There have been plenty of other releases, but the only proper stateside release has been out of print for ages. So finally, we managed to get a bunch of these, Smith and fellow countryman Justin Fuller's first full length collaboration, a full 7 years in the making, and it's quite nice.�
Hard to discern exactly what the instrumentation is, there are most certainly guitars, and according to the liner notes there is also piano and accordion, but with records like this, it's not what you're playing, it's how you play them and what you do with the sounds once you've made them. These two wrangle the various sounds into long stretches of slow shifting ambience. Some tracks are delicate and dark, barely there shimmers of crumbling low end and distant glimmering high end, while others are massive walls of guitar, churning chaotically, but smoothed into warm thick whorls. The heavier tracks definitely remind us of�Sunroof! or Vibracathedral Orchestra or even a less mangled Wolf Eyes or a way prettier SUNNO))). The prettier tracks have a bit of Tim Hecker going on, all blissy and fuzzy and beautifully blurred. The whole record is quite dreamy in fact, whether buzzing malevolently, or drifting languorously, a gorgeous chunk of blissed out guitardrone. The usual suspects will definitely need this...
Recorded live at the 2005 Roskilde Festival in Denmark, this latest installment of the self-released SYR series chronicles the monolithic collaboration between Sonic Youth, Japanoise master Merzbow, and Swedish saxophonist Mats Gustafsson. Even Jim O'Rourke re-joins the band for this hour long improv sesh that results in a smoldering heap of damaged free jazz. These dudes really had to bring out the big guns here, considering they were opening up for Black Sabbath (!!!) on this particular night of the festival, not an easy task. On one level, this record sort of shows that improvising isn't exactly what Sonic Youth does best, although there is a charm in the clumsy nature of the collaboration that ends up being really cool and unpredictable. Merzbow and Gustafsson really shine here, conjuring a sea of noisy textures that are harsh and cataclysmic but never over the top or indulgent. "Andre Sider Af Sonic Youth" is the perfect addition to the SYR series and a must-have for any fan of free noise sorcery.
Shame on anyone who somehow managed to miss the acoustic Harvey Milk instore, with HM frontman Creston Spiers tackling stripped down Milk tracks, Leonard Cohen covers, heck, he even covered "Three Is A Magic Number" from Schoolhouse Rock. Well this one is for those of you who blew it, or for those of you who didn't but still need more.
A super limited yellow vinyl 7", the second and supposedly last pressing, 300 copies, already sold out, we have about 30, of Creston Spiers from Harvey Milk performing acoustic, two originals, both awesome. And both sounding like could-have-been Harvey Milk tracks, or obscure Leonard Cohen covers, anyone at the instore knows exactly what we mean, his voice and way with melody is so distinctive, and owes quite a bit to Mr. Cohen. On these two tracks, Spiers' vocals are rough and ragged but still melodic, accompanied by stripped down steel string guitar, spare and melancholy, with slightly off kilter arrangements, the tone mournful and melancholy. Barring a recording of "Three Is A Magic Number" you couldn't hope for more.
Pressed on thick clear yellow vinyl, housed in a clear plastic PVC sleeve, limited to 300 copies, out of print, this is most likely your last chance...
While they released some great 7"s that were compiled onto one disc a couple years ago called Fab Four Suture, it's actually been over four years since these swirling pop masters have released a proper full length. Chemical Chords finds them in top form and while there are still plenty of keyboards, organs and electronics the album's real magic comes from the rich and layered string, brass and horn arrangements. This is Stereolab at their most lush and catchy. mining the gold out of of their love and rich appreciation of '60s French pop, Motown, exotica, and psych-pop. Chemical Chords is filled to the brim with songs that get right to the point and the band effortlessly keeps them filled with the brightest colors and most vivid of sonic shapes throughout. While we're not always crazy about High Llamas records (although we do like some of them) we have to say that the Llamas' Sean O'Hagen's contributions to this record are so striking (he's responsible for all the string and brass arrangements). Like all Stereolab records it's important to remember that it takes several listens for the songs to really reveal themselves and start sinking in. It's easy at first to say this just sounds "like Stereolab" which of course it does, but sounding "like Stereolab" means being one of the best pop bands of our time and Chemical Chords is one more great record to add to their already impressive catalog.
The first batch of these come with a free 7" with two non-album tracks, while supplies last!
Wow!!! A few years ago, we were totally blown away by a compilation put out by Smithsonian Folkways called Indonesian Guitars, which among many amazing tracks happened to feature a song called "Fajar Di Atas Awan" by Irwansyah Harahap. It was of that disc's highlights, with haunting female and male vocal harmonies, lilting acoustic guitar, sruti box drones and cymbals. What we didn't know was that Harahap and singer Rithaony Hutajulu, both ethnomusicology professors at the University of North Sumatra, were the main composers and singers for a larger group of musicians and performers called Suarasama, and that song was the title track of THIS incredibly beautiful, blissful record by Suarasama, a 1997 live recording, now released for the first time in the U.S. by the fine folks at Drag City. We are so stoked, what a wonderful surprise this is.
Formed in 1995, Suarasama's musical influences are widely diverse, creating contemporary music based on vartious aesthetic and conceptual aspects of Middle Eastern, Indian, Sufi Pakistani, Eastern European, Southeast Asian as well as North Sumatra Batak and Malay traditional music. But the results are very far from academic. Instead the music is infused with a hermetic introspective devotional quality that seduces the listener with its soft trance-like rhythms and haunting vocal mantras. Persian and Indian percussion of tablas and defs meld with deft finger-picked guitar and gambus improvisations and dueling vocal harmonies that propel circularly forward in hypnotically beautiful interweavings. Meditative and organic, full of levitation-inducing majesty. For any devotee of raga folk, Masaki Batoh, Six Organs, Daniel Higgs, L, Robbie Basho, Sandy Bull, Congregacion, The Habibiyya, Malachi, Pandit Pran Nath, The Trees Community, or Bruce Palmer, this is absolutely essential!!
Oftimes, in the past, the drifting dark psychedelia of Tokyo "bleak folk" combo Suishou No Fune has been on the dreamier side, never quite as distorted and heavy as some of their amp-frying Japanese peers. Up-Tight and LSD-march and Acid Mothers Temple and so forth tend to crank it up more brutally, more often, while Suishou No Fune, though often displaying flashes of heaviness, are usually content with wallowing in a more atmospheric, delicate sort of murk... so a title like "Mystic Atmosphere" is to be expected... yet on this new limited edition cd-r, Suishou No Fune (here a trio, with occasional drummer Tail on board) are fairly quick to turn it up to 11! The dreamy drift is still there, but also lots of clattery drum-pound and guitar grind, taken to its most loud n' distorted degree on the final, 14:48 monster jam "SUSANO'O". Elsewhere Suishou carve canyons of feedback through the mists of opener "The Memory Of Ancient Times" (also 14+ minutes), plod ritualistically into sweet oblivion on "Endless Descent" (11 minutes), and throw a lo-fi thrashing psych tantrum on "UZUME" (3 minutes). Definitely a SNF disc for those hankering to hear 'em heavy it up and freak out a bit more than usual. WAY limited. We only have a very small handful and they're the last copies ever...
Somewhere between The Free Design, The Incredible String Band and The Buggaloos lies Sunforest. Sunforest were a mysterious British female trio that recorded this sole 1969 gem of acid-folk prog-tinged popsike that has been a holy grail of sorts for sample-searching record heads. Even our own Antaeus (Lazer Sword) admitted to sampling the opening track "Overture To The Sun" to make a beat. That song along with another track, "Lighthouse Keeper" are also famous for their inclusion in the film "A Clockwork Orange". Medieval and baroque at times with harpsichord, piano and pump organ flourishes, lilting horns and sublime triple harmonies, Sound of Sunforest also features some of the best British session players around including Herbie Flowers (bassist on Lou Reed's "Walk on The Wild Side, Bowie's Space Oddity and Serge Gainsbourg's Histoire Du Melody Nelson), and Big Jim Sullivan (Lord Sitar) on guitar. Like most British records of the era, whimsy and zaniness can gain the upper hand at times with songs about candy shops, insect weddings, and eccentric old hippy ladies taking us back to the Sid and Marty Kroft days of our youth, but there is plenty of insanely beautiful songs of the likes we've never heard making this an odd but highly satisfying listen.
Ready for an ecological concept album from an Australian psych/prog/pop act, circa 1970? We are, we've been waiting for a reissue ever since Tamam Shud's first album, Evolution, appeared on cd as part of EM Records' odd & enjoyable "Under Water Series" of psychedelic surf music last year. Released by the deluxe Aussie reissue imprint Aztec (who brought us Buffalo and Coloured Balls already), The Shud's wonderfully titled second album should charm all who loved the earlier one EM put out. And while we haven't really wrapped our brains around their whole Goolutionites concept, which probably is along the lines of "give a hoot, don't pollute!", we're certainly enjoying this groovy record.
The Shud's music here is mostly mellow and melodic, lazy and laidback and even loungey, but the album is littered (whoops) with sudden proggy shifts and somber mood swings (as befits the serious subject matter), and they are definitely capable of doin' some harder rockin' too, with the bluesy, fuzzy, acid-rock guitar leads getting whipped out often enough. It maybe reminds us of stuff like the Amboy Dukes, Cream, Vanilla Fudge, and (to cite another recently reviewed reissue) Mecki Mark Men. Plenty would qualify as Vertigo-esque "hairy funk" as Andy Votel would put it, like the loping riffery of "I Love You All".
This reish is handsomely digipacked, with a thick, info/photo packed booklet, and there's a whole bunch of bonus tracks too, weirdly some of 'em the SAME as the bonus tracks on EM's Evolution disc (the three cuts from the the Morning Of The Earth soundtrack, originally released as the Bali Waters ep) which you think someone would have realized was a bit redundant, but there's also four fairly rockin' (though sax-laced for some reason) numbers from a 1971 live performance, and a couple of especially sunny singles tracks too.
The Tompkins Square label who puts out the Imaginational Anthem compilations (volume 2 of which is reviewed elsewhere on this list), has reissued the 1965 sole private press record of finger-picking guitarist Harry Taussig. A contemporary of John Fahey and Robbie Basho (Taussig's only other recording is on a 1967 Takoma label compilation featuring both Fahey and Basho), Taussig's repertoire explores blues, ragtime and Americana, covering songs from Reverend Gary Davis and Elizabeth Cotten as well as other traditional songs. Comparisons to Fahey will of course abound, but there are definite differences in their playing styles. Most notably Taussig's exploration of stark ragtime idioms and stricter adherence to songforms, leaving less room for the excursionary meditations that Fahey fostered.
While this reissue is remastered with original liner notes and photos, our only complaint about it is the lack of Taussig's back story. What happened to him? Is he still alive? Perhaps the mystery is what the title eludes to. Fate is Only Once.
By now, pretty much everyone knows who Kevin Shields is. He of shoegaze pioneers My Bloody Valentine. Who over the course of the last 20 years or so have released all of THREE records. But what about Ed Ball. A musical contemporary of Shields. A man Shields described as "A sensitive soul from another planet. A modernist musical alchemist", going on to say "Where other people struggle, Ed Ball plays what we're thinking." Ball, over the last 20 years, has released close to 40 records, a whole mess of amazing discs with UK mod popsters The Times, a handful under his own name, and a bunch with power poppers the Boo Radleys, among others. But what Ball is most famous for, at least around these parts, is releasing three of the most perfect, and perfectly fractured genius shoegaze blisspop records EVER, as Teenage Filmstars: Star, Rocket Charms and Buy our Record Support Our Sickness. Each a kaleidoscopic blurred and blown out avant pop fantasia of sound, mixing in gorgeous melodies, with all manner of found sounds, backwards loops, ethereal vocals, studio fuckery, with very little regard for form or function, for the rules of pop. Instead, seemingly feeling their way through a totally tactile world of sound, everything bristly or buzzy or fuzzy, smeared or blurred, wah guitars wrapped around roaring motorcycles, Spectorish wall of guitars spread over, skittery almost Stone Roses-y rhythms. The most obvious reference is My Bloody Valentine. And at the risk of receiving an avalanche of hate mail, Teenage Filmstars are better. They may not have invented the sound, and they definitely didn't perfect it, instead, they fucked it all up, twisted it and chopped it and doused it in FX, and flipped it backwards, and let it sprawl and spin out of control, wrapped tightly into perfect pop gems one second, then let loose in unhinged squalls of sonic whatthefuck meltdowns the next. Each of the three records growing continually more abrasive, more intense, heavier, more backwards, more fractured and freaked out, and somehow only getting better and better and better.
Star is the first proper release from Teenage Filmstars, and was released a year or two after MBV's epochal Loveless. Opener "Kiss Me" is TOTALLY cribbed from Loveless, but it sounds like it was recorded on a busted 4-track, the rhythm track supplied by a fluttery backwards loop, the guitars super distorted but also brittle, woozy and wavery, all wrapped round the main hook, a guitar / vocal harmony that is just incredible, soaring and wistful but sort of super rocking, the whole thing dripping in effects, Loveless filtered through DIY bedroom pop, and then filtered through the twisted musical mind of visionary sonic alchemist Ball. The track crumbles near the end, the guitars disappear, motorcycles zoom by, the drums all distorted, snippets of classical piano, the twitter of birds, disembodied voices, one intoning "this just might be the finest composition I ever wrote", which it might have been, if it weren't for the follow up "Loving", which follows a similar template as "Kiss Me", with the main hook, a hushed wordless vocals crooning along to a slithery guitar line, all over a looped tribal rhythm, and tripped out wah guitar all over the place. If this was just a single, "Kiss Me" / "Loving", A side B side, it would be hands down one of the greatest singles ever! But we've barely just begun. And it only gets weirder and weirder.
"Inner Space" predates the fuzzy gauzy drift of Fennesz and Jeck and Tim Hecker by 20 years, unfurling sweeping vistas of sound, intertwined with buried melancholy vocals, muted rhythmic skitter, and deep whirring strings. "Apple" is all sixties strum and whirling effects laden swoosh, simple pop stretched out and blurred and distorted into something slightly alien, a warm dreamlike missive from beyond the stars. "Flashes" is a strange sort of electronic calypso, with a subtle techno throb beneath divine female vocals, propulsive krauty drums, and of course loads of FX. "Kaleidoscope" returns to the more MBV style rocking of the openers, and does indeed sound like a shoegazing fuzzrock kaleidoscope, a swirling dizzying space pop jam, the sounds slipping from speaker to speaker, the drums relentless and hypnotic, the vocals buried, but the main guitar melody soaring over the wavery sonic swirl beneath.
Then comes a three song suite of tripped out avant weirdness, drifting fuzzy almost melodies, strange intercepted radio broadcasts, a super deconstructed version of "Kiss Me", looped and flipped backwards and transformed into something else entirely, deep whirling drones, weird voices, samples, deep black ambience, shot though with streaks of glimmering buzz, the sounds of engines, choir like vocals, damaged effects laden rhythmscapes, flange and chorus and delay and reverb all wrapped around little sonic events, laced into a delicate framework of tripped out sound. Until the closer, "Moon", a gorgeous explosion of distorted pop effulgence, thick warbly organs, epic melodies, the guitar so distorted they almost sound like white noise, almost proggy keyboards, the whole thing fracturing into a brief falling apart coda of drum freakout, and skipping lurching guitars. Holy Shit.
So maybe it's not that Teenage Filmstars are -better- than My Bloody Valentine. Just weirder, more fucked up, more spaced out, more fractured, more challenging, more out there, less like ANYTHING you've ever heard, more... oh fuck it, okay... BETTER!!! Bring on the hate mail!!
This reissue tacks on three bonus tracks, all good enough to have been on the record proper, but with way more of the backwards production that would come to define their sound on future records, blissed out fuzzy shoegazey power pop, but crumbling and often in reverse, and thus fantastic. Also included lengthy liner notes, as confusing and obfuscated as the music itself.
The other two Filmstars discs are getting reissued soon, and will definitely also be Records Of The Week, so immerse yourself in Star while you can, cuz it only gets better and weirder from here on out...
You should see all of us at the store when a box arrives from Mississippi Records. It's like a house full of little kids on Christmas. All of us running towards the box and practically tearing it apart to see what amazing treats await us. Mississippi's track record speaks for itself, a seemingly endless stream of amazing vinyl reissues, so kick ass, that at this point, many of us will buy anything they put out. And we haven't been disappointed yet.
When we discovered that our treat this time around was a slab of early era cuts from New Orleans soul queen Irma Thomas, those of us who were already in love with her voice and style jumped for joy and those who had yet to discover the magic of Irma Thomas, her sounds and songs quickly convinced them why she is truly one of the great soul singers of all time.
Thomas has been singing her heart out for over four decades now, she even has a brand new studio record coming out. But it's those years in the early '60s where her voice shines and sparkles with a special kind of magic. It's that era that this LP spotlights. Such amazing songs fill this record, with spot on arrangements, broken hearted laments, catchy melodies and such warm and full hearted delivery. Mixing the best of girl group sass, the melody of doo-wop and the deep emotive core of classic Southern soul. While the lp notes that the songs were written by N. Neville, it's known that the so called Naomi Neville was really a pseudonym used by legendary producer Allan Toussaint.
If you love folks like Betty Harris, Aretha Franklin, Otis Redding, Helene Smith or Sam Cooke we can guarantee you are going to fall in love with Irma Thomas if you haven't already. It's a total crime that Irma has never experienced a larger kind of fame or commercial success. She's only had one top 40 single in all her years, but we dare you to listen to this record and not wish you could hear any of these songs played on the radio over and over as her voice on these songs is something no one could ever get tired of hearing!
Another band of slow heavies from New Orleans, following in the deep muddy footprints of the original NOLA sludgelords Eyehategod, and while Thou do in fact share much sonically with their legendary forefathers, they inject way more melody into the proceedings, some stretches are downright pretty, still caked in filth and crust, but weirdly melodic and pretty.
In fact in some ways, Thou seem to be drawing on true UK doom for inspiration as much as their fellow NOLA noisemakers, Paradise Lost, old Cathedral, My Dying Bride, sure the vocals are harsh and throat shredding, the drums a lugubrious pound, the rhythm a lurching almost groove, but the melodies and the arrangements almost soar at times, the sound epic and massive, the melodies expanding what might otherwise be more of the same old sludge, in fact there are long stretches of undulating heaviness where the riff becomes a sprawl of near static buzz, and harmonies glisten and drift over the top, but it's never long before the band slip back into their grinding downtuned lumber and pummel.
Fans of the usual dooooooomy crawl will not be disappointed, if you love Moss, Monarch, Corrupted, Trees, Bunkur, you'll pretty much definitely dig this, but Thou mix it enough to maybe convince some of the more skeptical freaks out there, that there's more to sludge than just pummel and pound. Definitely recommended.
Highlighted last list, we had A Semblance Of Something Appertaining To Destruction, the most recent disc from Dublin, Ireland's To Blacken The Pages. Now we've got their prior release, None, released just a month or two earlier in 2008, which is essentially the part I to A Semblance's part II. Don't get 'em confused (and we'll try not to, too), 'cause they do look virtually identical, the same almost-black-on-black no-color scheme for the cover photo and logo. The black-on-black music is similar too, of course, but different and equally essential for anyone who loved the minimal doomdrone instrumental ambience of that other disc. And again, there's three tracks. 13:45, 16:10, and 8:06. Each stately, somnolent, fuzzed out and, this time, drumless... heavy in a restrained, spacey, spacious way.
Track one, "Alien", tiptoes in, super slow, individually suspended guitar notes one at a time connecting the dots of melancholic melody over a void of silence. Then, suddenly, the needle jumps. DISTORTION. An electric crackle and buzz. The song is still super sloooooow and sparse, but each note is now planetarily weighted with rumbling vibratory effect, surely speaker shredding if it all happened at once, and at volume. An underlying howling hum begins, buried beneath but gradually filling all that empty space with its own not so silent emptiness. The next piece, "None", starts with an eerie electric wind, and some sparse Earth-style guitar strum over it, reverberant and lonely, before sheer fuzzdrone kicks in, fuzzdrone nirvana to our ears, that continues in like manner on final track of the disc, "As If Forever"... Ah, yes, so glacially good. For fans of Earth, SUNNO))), Expo '70, Bohren & Der Club Of Gore, Slomo, Boris, Skullflower, Nadja, etc. All at their darkest yet dreamiest.
To Blacken The Pages is actually a solo project, the work of one guitar wielding, amp abusing man, Paul McAree. We're told he has a non-solo side project coming up, a band called Slaves Of War Orphan Farm (!) that is supposed to be a worthy offering of Les Rallizes Denudes worship! Can't wait to check it out...
Every single time we play this, someone either asks us if we're listening to Monarch. Or Khanate. Every time. That should give you enough to go on right off the bat. And indeed, Trees are a dead ringer for both. Maybe a perfect mix of the two. They don't write songs so much, as put together slow moving arrangements of buzz and howl, throb and skree, crush and chunk, much of the two loooooong tracks here are spent in long drawn out slowly decaying drones, huge chords almost melting before our very ears, feedback and downtuned buzz crumbling to pieces, tones beating against each other, slipping into shrieking streaks of feedback. The long stretches are of course peppered with huge jagged shards of drum pound and demonic vocals, these spaced out blasts somehow arranged to form some sort of skeletal song structure, but it's much more of an exercise in tension and atmosphere, dynamics and drone, and ultra slow motion heaviness.
They do introduce some of their own flavor into the mix, little flurries of double kick, skittering snare drums, some strange strangled mewlings, haunting complex chords, some monklike chants, and some intense abstract soundscapery, so almost-pretty it threatens to slip into some serious black ambience, and at some points, they even -almost- rock, slipping into Eyehategod territory, but it's in the swirling black morass these guys feel most at home, and thankfully, for the dronedirgedoom obsessed, that's precisely where they spend most of Lights Bane. Needless to say, you dig Monarch, Khanate, Moss, Bunkur, etc., you will dig Trees.
Fancy mini-lp style gatefold sleeve with super striking, dense tangled red ink cover art.
It's baaack! Another mammoth (216 pages!) issue of one of our favorite magazines, all about "wild sounds from past dimensions" as they put it - garage, beat, psych, punk, etc. Now, a lot of you reading this probably have some idea of what it's like to be a musician in a band today. You're in a band, or were in a band, or have friends who are in bands. But not so many of you probably know what it was like to be in a band back in, say, 1964. Sure in 2008 we have garage bands - and GarageBand too - but things were different back then. Let's see, the band you were in, did you have a manager, and were they your drummer's mom? That's part of what makes Ugly Things so interesting, the way it delves into what might be termed the "human interest" or "behind the music" stories of bands that otherwise you haven't heard, and in some cases, will never ever hear. For instance, the 30+ pages devoted this ish to a teenage surf/R&B combo from Orange County called The Spats. Remember them? And their bottom of the Billboard Top 100 hit "Gator Tails and Monkey Ribs"? No, well us neither of course, but we still enjoyed reading their detailed history here, which included regular gigging at Disneyland, and some tantalizing brushes with fame.
And of course Ugly Things isn't all about things quite that obscure - The Who and The Small Faces are also featured in this issue, with an article detailing the story of their tempestuous tour Down Under in '68. Also you get stuff about The Animals, The Koala, Beatles manager Brian Epstein, Bo Diddley (R.I.P.), Chile's Los Vidrios Quebrados, "Beat Girl" actress/singer Gillian Hills, '70s punks The Victims... There's also a glam rock/junk shop top 50 from Johan Kugelberg (as always with his contributions, a highlight of the issue), a psych top 10 from Clinic's Ade Blackburn, and the usual gizillions of reviews. Plus loads more. This will keep you busy reading for a while, though maybe not 'til the next issue is due out, in early 2009, which we're looking forward to already.
You know those Sublime Frequencies "Radio" compilations we love so much, the ones that just sound like someone sitting in a hotel room in another country flipping stations on the radio and recording the results. Well imagine a similar compilation, but in this case, the listener/recorder has an extreme case of ADD, and is flipping between some insane non existent all avant freaked out noise satellite radio station and all the strange little non-stations you discover when you're driving across the country, flipping through the dials at 4am. Little chunks of beautiful pastoral sound, bursts of ear gouging static, voices, snippets of speeches, some crazy guy testifying, some country or classical music that is just out of range so the sound �is all skittery and blurred, delicate swaths of soft plinked piano, blasts of grinding deathmetal, talk radio, skittery rhythms, lots of textures and timbres, noises and melodies, most often swallowed up before they can develop into anything more than a fragment, than a partially formed musical thought, but that's sort of the point. This comp will definitely enrapturously engorge the ears of aural adventurers and noise devotees, but just might rattle the nerves of those less prepared. Despite the incredibly lengthy list of incredibly eclectic artists who participated in this brand new compilation titled (Triskaidekaphobia) 13,000.00 Milliseconds:
Venetian Snares, Matmos, Thrones, MGR, I Am Spoonbender, Wildildlife, David Scott Stone (Melvins), Blevin Blectum, Winters In Osaka, Leslie Keffer, Microwaves, Sword Heaven, To Live And Shave In L.A., Wobbly, The White Mice, Skozey Fetish, Brad Laner, Rubber O Cement, Bobb Bruno, Cock ESP, Panicsville, Otto Von Schirach, Crank Sturgeon, Deletist, Drums Like Machineguns, Valerio Cosi, Eats Tapes, Evil Moisture, No Doctors, Two Dead Sluts, One Good Fuck, Leslie Keffer and about a million more....
The nature of 215+ 13-second compositions strung together non-stop without room to take a breath pretty much ensures that this cd will be catalogued in most libraries and music shops in the experimental/noise section. Unfortunate really, since while it definitely has its share of earwax-dislodging aggressive assaults, it also has quite a few shining moments of artful sound design and subtle songcraft that defy genre-fication. And somehow, the bits of noise, and the bits of prettier sound, do balance out, almost seeming to play off one another, or at the very least, slowly seep into each other, helping form what is ultimately a constantly shifting somewhat schizophrenic sonic whole. It's an overwhelming and intense listening experience, another one for the iron eared, or at least the adventure eared, and while we just listened to the whole thing all the way through, for the third or fourth time, for some folks it might work better in smaller chunks, because admittedly for some tracks the 13 seconds seems like an eternity, while others fly by all too swiftly. That said, we just started it over again from the top...
They don't make compilations like they used to; but this one from Elevator Bath is certainly an exception to that rule. A good percentage of the currently released compilations tend towards collections of impossible to find rarities (at best) or (at worst) a random assortment of tracks which never quite made it onto proper albums, so why not lump them all together on some disposable compilation with the good tracks just ending up on the iPod anyway. But there was a day when labels took the job of curating compilations very seriously with the artists rising to the task as well. One can think back to the Perspectives And Distortion comp from Cherry Red back in 1981, or the eccentric electronics on The Elephant Table Music Album, or those weird comps on United Dairies, or even 4AD's Lonely Is An Eyesore. Dare it be said that A Cleansing Ascension might be one of the few modern comps that even comes close to those seminal compilations of post-punk atmospherics and obscure experimentation.
Elevator Bath was birthed in Texas, although relocated to Seattle in 2004; and this compilation marks the 10th anniversary of the label, which has quietly and consistently released an excellent body of deep drone construction, damaged plunderphonic collage, sound ecological research, and even a few things which are down right sublime. The heavy hitters on A Cleansing Ascension are LAFMS ring-leader Tom Recchion and the globe trotting field recordist Francisco Lopez (operating here in a more musique concrete guise), with plenty of Aquarius favorites as well: Keith Berry, Adam Pacione, Matt Shoemaker, and aQ's own Jim Haynes. Shoemaker opens the album with a synthetic soaking of midrange din and drone immaculated sculpted in a blur of mottled hiss. Pacione, Keith Berry, and label boss Colin Andrew Sheffield conjure the more lush moments of Eno's Music For Airports with remarkable flare for restraint through their smoke & mirrors. Haynes does his best Organum impersonation with a cranky motor rumbling beneath a hallowed gasp of refined long-form tones. Rick Reed moves from a Delia Derbyshire squiggle into a deep reverberant belllow. The vastly under-published Dale Lloyd generates a thick rumble dappled with bristled electronics and distant Andrew Chalk-ish half melodies. James Eck Rippie turns toward a clank and clamor of found objects scraping across the patina of vinyl surface noise and Phillip Jeck stabs at turntable manipulation. Tom Recchion's maudlin lullaby reconstitutes haunted melodies of ye olde carnival into a beguiling conclusion to the compilation.
While each track is quite solid, the album also flows very well, with somber drones dominating the palette of sound although similar themes and complimentary sounds seem to return after small detours towards the heavy, the oblique, and the desolate. Highly recommended!
NOW ON VINYL!
Remember that rad White Lace And Strange compilation we highlighted not long ago? Some killer late sixties, early seventies psych rock from the USA, garage bands gettin' "heavy". Well this disc, on the same Nick Saloman-affiliated label Psychic Circle, is in some ways a sequel, featuring similar bands of the era from the UK (and one Israeli band that recorded in London, to be perfectly accurate). With the subtitle "20 Gems From The Early Years Of Prog", it's billed as a collection of obscure "progressive rock" tracks... but the stress is on the rock. After all, Black Sabbath was once considered a "prog" band too. Sure, there might be some keyboards, but there's lots of raw, raucous energy here, both singers and guitarists wailing away in full fuzzed-out psychedelic proto-metal glory, when they didn't know from headbanging but knew how to boogie! Being a comp, of course some of this is better 'n the rest, but quality control is pretty high. Some faves include the punkish Helter Skelter (ex-Crushed Butler), the powerful axe-action of Israel's Jericho, and the heavy blues thud of early UFO, among other treats here to be heard from these bands (some we already knew, some new to us): Treetops, Mousetrap, Deadwood, Fuzzy Duck, Incredible Hog, Mouse, Beggars Opera, Kingdom Come, Little Big Horn, Strange Fox, Onyx, Spontaneous Combustion, Sheephouse, Pussy, Axe, Sunchariot, and Kansas Hook.
One of our favorite mix makers, DJ Andy Votel. One of the most sparkling genres of music ever, Tropicalia. Can't go wrong with this one! Andy Votel is responsible for such AQ fave discs as Prog Is Not A Four Letter Word, Folk Is Not A Four Letter Word, Vertigo Mixed, Welsh Rare Beat, and the recent Well Hung (that killer comp of Hungarian funky fuzz rock we highlighted last list), among many others. Tropicalia? Well that's the late '60 Brazilian musical movement (with political and artistic dimensions as well) that melded psychedelia with Latin rhythms like bossa nova... chances are most AQ customers have some passing familiarity with it, probably having an Os Mutantes, Gilberto Gil or Caetano Veloso reissue or two or more in your collection.
Of those three biggies, only Mutantes appear hear on Votel's Brazilika mix, which should appeal to both Tropicalia fans and the simply curious as well. And of course Votel digs fairly deep to bring some definite obscurities into play, all from the vaults of the Brazilian Som Livre and RGE record labels. Some names: Os Brazoes, Tim Maia, Novos Baianos, Sidney Miller, Trio Soneca, Azimuth... Those familiar with his penchant for heavy, "hairy funk" on his previous mixes won't be surprised that this rocks fairly hard (and also jazzily), full of organ jamming and wah wah fuzz guitar, giving less of a look in to the breezier, more delicate and folky aspects of the Tropicalia sound. So it's not exactly a primer, but if you can untangle which part of each track is by what artist (Votel mashing several into each cut), it should whet your appetite and give you some clues for further reissue exploration. And be a surefire hit at your next party, of course.
If you've been keeping up with the fairly recent wave of late '70s, early '80s French post-punk and new wave experimentation, then you're definitely going to need this. Des Jeunes Gens Modernes - Modern Young People - oscillates between the pop electronics of Ruth and the angular guitar stabs of Metal Urbain. Officially, the compilation is in conjunction with a show at the Agnes B gallery in Paris, but for those of us too far to just stop by, this is the next best thing. Also, we've got to admit, college was a long time ago, and our French is pretty rusty. So, attempting to decipher the fold-up insert was a bit of a challenge, and instead of potentially embarrassing ourselves we'll just tell you that it's there. In addition to the bands mentioned above, there are some other rare favorites on here. Guerre Froide, Lizzy Mercier Descloux, and Charles de Goal all make appearances. You may remember Guerre Froide's "Demain Berlin" from the Flexi-Pop series, as well as the band Visible. If nothing else, let it be known: GF's absolutely anthemic and completely amazing "Ersatz" is finally back on vinyl! That alone makes this worth buying! For sure one of the better, if not the best, of the whole early 80's French electronic/punk revival compilations. If you've got any interest at all in that scene then you need to pick this up pronto, because there's no telling when half of these tracks will be available again, not just in general but on vinyl in particular!
FYI: unfortunately, the sleeves of pretty much all the copies we were able to get had one slightly crushed corner. It's not a terrible defect but we felt we should mention it, buyer beware and all that. It already took forever to get these in stock so we weren't gonna send 'em back and wait for another batch in several months, which might not be in any better shape anyway. But just so you know.
The Honest Jons label has lately been giving Dust to Digital a real run for its money, in terms of releasing those far flung old world global sounds that we have not been able to get enough of. After devouring the Victrola Favorites and Black Mirror comps on D2D, the gorgeous I Don't Feel At Home In This World Anymore LP on Mississippi records and Honest Jon's last foray into dislocation, Living is Hard, we couldn't help but get excited over Honest Jon's latest release of early twentieth century recordings from Baghdad. Pulled from the same EMI archives as the Living is Hard compilation, Give Me Love: The Brokenhearted of Baghdad gives a keenly focused view of the ethnically diverse musical output of Iraq when it was still a British mandated territory. Arab folk singers backed by Jewish dance bands, solo Kurdish violin excursions, nightclub bands with female singers who doubled as prostitutes, circular zorna improvisations on par with the most out-jazz out there. So unearthly,beautiful and emotionally urgent. For obvious reasons, this release couldn't be more timely, as continued forced occupancy in the region has created such intense division and strife that it's a wonder we'll see such beauty again. Heartbreaking!
Soul Jazz takes their second dip into the deep vaults of funk gems drawn from New Orleans in the late 60's to early 70's. It's a non stop funkified throwdown filled with songs by so many of the city's brightest stars of that era: Eddie Bo, Jimmy Hicks, Allen Toussaint, Lee Dorsey, The Meters, Betty Harris, etc. The collection does a good job of mixing in some of the more well known songs from this era in New Orleans (you will probably recognize a handful of these cuts) with a big chunk of tunes new to our ears (and probably yours) but just as smokin' if not even more so. If you like your soul and funk uptempo and full of punch and fire then this collection is for you. Another reminder of the powerful spirit that helped establish New Orleans as such an important place for music with true soul to flourish.
There is absolutely no doubt as to the importance Strut Records' 2001 compilation, Nigeria 70: The Definitive Story of 1970s Funky Lagos, played in bringing about the current flood of interest in afrobeat, highlife, disco, soul and (of course) funk from Nigeria and other West African nations. It was the first compilation to really pay homage not only to the songs of that era but to the entire culture that allowed the music to come into being. By doing so, it laid the blueprint for the kind of lavishly packaged, meticulously researched, insanely detailed reissues coming from labels like Sound Ways, Honest John's and Analog Africa. It's hard, even just 7 years later, to remember how mysterious the world of Nigerian funk seemed at the time; it was a an entire world of sound that outsiders had access to only through bootleg LPs and traded tapes with giant question marks next to everything from song titles to the performers themselves. Now sadly out-of-print, the original triple cd Nigeria 70 comp was a revelation - an unparalleled wealth of sights and sounds that showed how much more there was to Nigerian music than just Fela.
If, like many of us here at aQ, you are still reaching for the original every time you make a mix tape, then you'll be happy to hear that Strut Records has not only risen from the grave but issued Nigeria 70: Lagos Jump, a second installment to the Nigeria 70 series (no doubt spurred on by the massive success of its many imitators). Rather than try to outdo the first volume, Strut have taken a decidedly lower-key approach to this single disc of astoundingly funky cuts from Nigeria's finest. The liner notes are slim but densely packed: John Collins' introductory essay traces the evolution in Nigerian popular music alongside the changes in the country's cultural and political climate, while the liner notes provide brief but informative notes for each cut. Musically, the collection is an immaculately compiled and sequenced mix of everything from the traditional highlife bounce of Ashanti Afrika Jah's "Onyame" and Rex Williams' soulful "You Are My Heart" to the swaggering afro-rock of The Immortals' "Hot Tears" and the afrobeat/ju-ju mashup of the leadoff track, Sir Shina Peters and His International Stars' "Yabis." Furthermore, we'd be remiss if we failed to mention Chief Checker's "Ire Africa," which manages to balance riddims cribbed straight from Studio One with proto-Rick James disco funk (check out the bassline!) and straight up afro sounds. Amazing!
If you've heard the original comp, it's a safe bet that you've already deemed Lagos Jump an essential purchase. If you missed out but have been loving the Nigeria Special comps even half as much as we have, then this disc will freak your beak. If your exposure to Nigerian music of the '60s and '70s subsists solely of the odd Fela Kuti song slipped in between segments on Democracy Now!, then this compilation could be the jump off point for a new musical obsession. This is raw, soulful Nigerian funk compiled by a label with an obvious reverence for the music as well as the culture and people that made it happen.
DFA Records thrives on the past. The debut track by label bossman James Murphy's band LCD Soundsystem, "Losing My Edge," humorously exposed his healthy record collection and grinningly unveiled current day, hipster cynicism. But one of the conundrums about DFA is that while their influences are timeless, much of their output simply isn't. This collaboration release with Rong reifies that sentiment. And while Notwave is certainly a catchy term, it isn't immediately obvious what it means, or what the common thread is that holds it together. Styles range from the Kraftwerk musique of Nonstop's "Hydration Explosion" to the New Romantic meets The Slits-ness of Striplight's "No Search No Entry," to the abstract, paranoid peyote-soul of former !!! members Free Blood to the Gwen Guthrie-style, b-side dub of Research. Everything is fine really, nothing is great. The Nonstop track is the only one that seems to standout. It's solid bedroom krautpop. Speaking of the past, Sal P of Liquid Liquid is present on a perfectly fine early '90s acid house-style Tussle remix, and James Chance & The Contortions live freakout/meltdown "King Heroin" shows up second to last. Then out of nowhere, we're right back in some mid-'80s electro-soul for one final track. DFA completists, desperate disco revivalists, or those looking for an extraterrestrial, extraneous house/dub cover of Spoon's "I Turn My Camera On" may want this.
Super limited, ultra deluxe reissue of a compilation that came out last year, and that somehow completely slipped beneath our radar. Hard to believe considering how amazing this is. All you need to know is it's a tribute to Judas Iscariot, a USBM institution, and features the elite of what might be considered the second wave of USBM cover classic JI tracks: Xasthur, Leviathan, Nachtmystium, Krieg and more! Holy shit!
After 10 years, Judas Isacriot hung it up in 2002, but they still manage to influence countless legions of musical minions. Most of the bans here owe no small debt to Akhenaten and his Midwestern metal outfit, which is obviously why they're here paying their respects.
The mighty Xasthur covers "The Cold Earth Slept Below...", the result is an incredibly lo-fi, brittle washed out smear of fuzzy guitars, stumbling dirgelike drumming, the whole thing so hissy and buzzy it's almost dreamlike, with some gorgeously mournful melodies that would make it sound downright poppy if it weren't so frosty and harsh. So fucked and hauntingly pretty it had us digging out our old JI records to hear the original. AQ fave Leviathan takes on "Where the Weather Beats Incessant", nearly 12 minutes of moody depressive midtempo blackness, with some strange droney interludes, super harsh distorted vocals, and strange drawn out guitar parts, the whole thing epic and majestic and almost post rock sounding. Krieg cover "Babylon", a furiously fuzzy, ultra lo-fi burst of muddy murky black buzz, guttural vocals vomited up from the depths, blasting beats, amazing lightning speed riffing, but the melodies buried in the mix are haunting and again strangely lovely....
Fellow Midwesterners Nachtmystium tackle "Gaze Upon Heaven In Flames", a super loud, in the red blast of relentless buzzing black metal, the riffs and the drumming a blinding blur, until about halfway through where the song breaks down into a strange, lurching half time almost-groove with creepy melodies and a odd timed hiccuping rhythm. Frostmoon Eclipse offer up their version of "Spill The Blood Of The Lamb" the grimmest and frostiest of the bunch so far, murky and muddy, but thick with buzz and thrash, the vocals a hateful demonic gurgle, the whole thing a buzzing snarling beast. The rest of the lineup holds their own nearly as well, offering up their own varied takes on classic Judas Iscariot material. Eternity Of Darkness, Sign Of Katu, Arkenstone, Merrimack, Dead To Earth, The Black Death, Carving To Nenia, Martyr and Birkenau.
The strange thing is, that as buzzing and black, as hateful and harsh, as dreary and depressive as these tracks are, we had almost forgotten how pretty some of the Judas Iscariot stuff really was...
Comes packaged in an oversized A5 style digibook, with killer artwork, a booklet with liner notes and photos, stickers and a mini-poster. And of course, EXTREMELY LIMITED!! ONLY 150 COPIES. WE WILL NOT BE ABLE TO GET MORE ONCE WE RUN OUT!!
This long time aQ favorite now available on vinyl!! Here's our review from when we listed this way back in 2003 on cd:
After releases on Howe Gelb's Ow Om label and Future Farmer Records, M. Ward finds his new album a welcome and fitting home on Merge Records, and what a splendid one it is! It might get filed under "country/folk/Americana", but Ward doesn't stay within the confines of these genres. He's much more of a vagabond, bringing a great deal more to his slightly skewed aural canvas - very akin to Tom Waits or the aforementioned Gelb's Giant Sand. For example, lend an ear to the warm rollicking pop of "Vincent O'Brien" with its plinky piano and driving tempo or the creeping, almost funereal cover of David Bowie's "Let's Dance". Pretty darn fine! Vocally, Ward has drawn comparisons to the weathered, emotive pipes of Waits, Vic Chesnutt and Sparklehorse's Mark Linkous. It can go from hoarse and near-spoken in one song to gentle and sweetly pleading in the next. He's backed up by The Old Joe Clarks with some extra field recording input from Grandaddy's Jason Lytle. So timeless, otherworldly, and intriguing. Recommended.
Now over 30 years old, this British art-punk trio has released their 47th recording, whether that be a single, a concert document, a compilation, or a full-length album. Yup, this one is a full album, but something is missing on it. And we aren't simply referencing the absence of guitarist Bruce Gilbert from the band. Wire - now the trio of Colin Newman, Graham Lewis, and Robert Gotobed - have sought to sound a lot like Wire, but their mimesis of themselves is not for the classic sound of Pink Flag or 154 but rather the quasi-angular, plasticine collage-rock of the late '80s which did produce a handful of legitimately great singles: "A Head," "Kidney Bingos," and "Drill" being the most noteworthy. Lyrically, Wire are just as punk-smart as ever, twisting the banal vernacular of daily life into something slightly sinister and misanthropic; but where Graham Lewis had previously penned some fine basslines in the past to augment the drone-plus-chime of Colin Newman's guitar, many of the songs aspire to a punchy pogo-pop, but Lewis lets us down with some less than imaginative riffs. For a man whose work in Dome and in collaboration with John Duncan have produced some ecstatic experiments with sound, this is a bit of a head-scratcher. To be fair, Object 47 is an entirely different beast than the extremes found on many Wire related releases; but this could have been a whole lot better.
The Wire gets political as "audio activists" Ultra-red make the cover this time. Elsewhere in this latest issue of the indispensable British magazine covering all kinds of new (and old) music (jazz, electronic, dub, improv, noise, avant-rock, techno, world, psych, etc.), you'll meet wax cylinder collector Alex Kolkowski, dubstep duo Dusk & Blackdown, ethno-experimentalist Ghedalia Tazartes, and others. There's also Tom Recchion's "epiphany" over Eno's Obscure label, our pal Sami Sanpakkila of Fonal Records talking about his favorite album cover, the usual tons of reviews to check out, and, last but not least, an "Invisible Jukebox" test taken by not one, but two infamous indie rock outsiders: Daniel Johnston and Jad Fair!
