Ooohh. After four full lengths and a handful of eps, this Portland-based indie-pop-prog act has pretty much proven themselves a sure bet, for intelligent, complex, catchy music that's equally, seemingly effortlessly at ease with today's electronic glitch, '70s prog inspired bombast, and quirky post-punk groove. This latest, Worried Well does not break that streak. No worries, if you love the 31 Knots thing, like we do. Plenty of nervous piano, lush arrangements, noisy guitars, mathy drums, theatrical vocals, all the works in other words. True, some might find 31 Knots a bit too much, too pretentious or peculiar or puzzling or poncy or something. Personally, though, whatever 31 Knots is too much of, we want more. But maybe this one works better if you're already into their other albums as well. If you do, dive right in. And besides, you've gotta love an album where in one song ("Compass Commands") what sounds like a chorus of little girls yells "Kill or be killed!" in response to the singer's schoolteacher-ish question "Who can tell me the universal rule of thumb?".
Here we go once more, (yet) another journey into the cosmic inferno. One worth taking, again and again. We're already pretty darn tanned from it. It seems like just last week (actually, on list #299, so four weeks ago) we had a new live AMT disc, Pink Lady Lemonade on Riot Season. Now here's the first studio document from this latest AMT lineup, featuring new drummer/vocalist/cosmic shaman/etc., Pikachu, also of Afrirampo. Those who have Pink Lady Lemonade will note that, on the back cover of this, the band's still wearing those ridiculous matching Hawaiian shirts/shorts (in Pikachu's case, a dress) with palm trees, flowers, sailboats, and beaches on 'em. Weird. As always.
And as always, they deliver the psychedelic hippie rock freakout goods. And this time, with a fair amount of structure. It's divided into several "movements" which make it seem especially composerly.
Track one, "1st Movement: Cosmic Inferno's Gate" is perhaps so titled not only 'cause it's the first track, the entrance to the album, but also 'cause a good portion of it features a scraping string-drone (or is it a squealing horn?) of some sort that sounds a bit like a creaky door being slowly, very slowly opened.
Then -boom- the 2nd Movement kicks in. A heavy, lumbering riff and lotsa spacey FX. Vocals eventually enter the fray, singing the praises of the "Master Of The Cosmic Inferno". It's starting to sound a lot like a J.A. Caesar album from the '70s, one of those wild psychedelic theatrical soundtrack productions. If you're a Japanese psych nerd you may have heard of 'em. Solar Anus covered one of their songs, as well. Someday hopefully we'll list some reissues. But we digress. Anyway, this track goes a lot of places over its nearly 23 minute length, ranging from frenzied guitar squiggle to gentle female vocal lullaby. Quite the tour de force.
Then, a mellow interlude. This third movement is called "Cosmic Blood Feast". Sounds like half a Roger Corman double feature, or their tribute to Herschell Gordon Lewis. Droning horn and plinking bells. Quite nice. It's the calm before the storm of "4th Movement: Ecstasy Into The Cosmic Inferno", a whirling dervish buildup of distorted snake charmer guitar and ecstatic (indeed) vocal chant. Which brings us to track, er, movement 5: "Usisi", much more folky and melodic. And then the album wraps up with "6th Movement: Shalom Cosmic Inferno" and it's back to the acid guitar wailing from Kawabata that really pays the bills. Whew! Altogether, it's about everything you could want from a journey into the cosmic inferno. Even if you haven't been on board the AMT train this whole time for every last release, this one might be a good one to pick up, though your tolerance for some of the more wild vocal excesses here, when Pikachu really gets riled up, might be a factor in that decision.
The latest from Bay Area new-kraut-folk-age combo Alps, finds the band sounding more�high fidelity than ever, and more kraut than folk, which in both cases suits them big time.
For those new to Alps, a rundown of several members should help give you an idea of where their sound is coming from: our very own Scott Hewicker (Troll), Alexis Georgopoulos (Arp, formerly of Tussle) and Jefre Cantu (Tarentel, Colophon, J.C. Ledesma). But Alps is definitely more than the sum of its parts, their sound is quite varied, expansive, even epic at times, but simultaneously, they manage to craft a sound simple and solid, based as much on rhythm and texture as on song and melody.
On past releases, Alps were a much more ramshackle concern, which at the time was definitely a big part of their sound, and thus set them firmly amongst the lo-fi cd-r drone folks scene, their sound a sort of ghostly Appalachia, mixed with longform drone music, muddy muted ambience, minimal soundscaping and plenty of lo-fi buzz and hiss much of the record mired in a corrosive murk, that only added to their dark dronelike vibe. The move to Type Records, coincides, perhaps not coincidentally, with a sonic shift, where once was abstract and low fidelity, is now rhythmic, and propulsive, looped and repetitive, and most importantly, glistening and glimmering, the sound crystal clear, and this time the dreaminess doesn't come from poor recording, it comes from the compositions, and the arrangements, and a super nice sounding recording courtesy of Phil Manley of the Champs and Trans Am. The core members of Alps also have a keen interest in new age music. Not the Deep Breakfast sort of schlock that most seem to equate with the genre, but instead more the sort of inner space, dreamy drift of Tangerine Dream, Deuter, Steve Hillage and the like. And those sounds are all over III as well.
The opener is a gorgeous looped soundscape of repetitive guitar figures, and glistening chimes, almost like a dreamfolk Steve Reich, bits of Appalachia, big buzzing synths, strummed zithers, a gorgeous melancholy melody played out over the course of five and a half minutes. The second track finds the band getting their kraut on, channeling Neu! Or Agitation Free but through a much more washed out and weary space rock, like Hawkwind gone new age. Distant drifting vocals, all manner of layered buzz, distorted guitars buried in the mix, space-y FX, very tranquil and mesmerizing. The follow up "Cloud One" finds Alps revisiting their folk roots, taking strummed acoustic guitars, and simple piano, and draping them over a woozy melody and a super spare abstract rhythm. "Trem Fantasma" is a barely there whisper of spaced out dronemusic, Gloriously wreathed in musical mystery, drifting piano, fragmented guitars, some soft sixties 'ladada' vocals, another dreamy drifter that threatens to spirit the listener away to some sun dappled green grassed knoll. "Labyrinths" is another new age / krautrock meander, washed out and shimmery, the drums the only thing keeping the rest of the song from just floating away, playful melodies, that sound like Perry and Kingsley rendered in shades of grey. The next few tracks are more abstract, sounds swooping in and out, rhythms, if there are any, buried beneath soft layers of sound, everything hushed and minimal, until album closer, "Into The Breeze", which sounds just like the title would have you imagine, breezy, soft focus, the drums, simple and stripped down, shimmering steel string guitar, that ever present piano, the melody wistful, the production hazy and a little woozy, effects swirling in the background, the drums gradually becoming more and more tripped out, before fading out completely, leaving just the guitar and the piano to drift heavenward, through a field of soft shimmer and the glistening afterglow of the sounds that came before.
The more we listen to III, the more obvious the new age-isms become, which is not a bad thing at all, it wraps the proceedings, no matter how krautrocky or folky or droney, in a sweet swirl of moonlit dreaminess, turning each song into its own sort of otherworldly mesmer.
LIMITED TO ONLY 400 COPIES ON VINYL!!!!! (& the compact disc version is coming soon, but not out yet...)
Better known (or perhaps more realistically, not really known at all) as the man behind aQ faves Souvenir's Young America, Jonathan Lee steps out on his own, trading in his brooding harmonica flecked metallic post rock, for something a little less post rock, a lot less metallic, but no less brooding OR harmonica flecked. The thing with SYA that really set them apart from so many others in the ever expanding army of Neur-Isis clones, is that they approached their sound from a pretty unique direction, of all those bands they are definitely the least metal, instead infusing their sound with plenty of dusty Morricone-isms (due in no small part to the harmonica) and a desert-y almost soundtracky vibe akin to Scenic or Calexico. It's still dynamic and epic and sweeping, but with more
twang, more subtle shading, slide guitar, just more evocative in general.
The opening track of Lee's first solo foray starts out right away with harmonica, maybe the same harmonica as on the SYA record since the liner notes explain that those harmonica's are sampled, but the result is much the same, the instrumentation may be different, a slow whirling churn of textured low end, and buried muted melodies, but that mournful harmonica over the top brings it right back to some barren windswept street, the sky overhead clear, the sun beating down, everything cloaked in a layer of dust. This is drone music, or dark ambience, but Lee demonstrates his unique sonic approach expands well beyond his rock band.
The second track eschews the harmonica, but is no less cinematic, weird melodic fragments, drift on thick swells of low end, a strange melody is twisted and draped over the top, the track peppered with strange sounds, like buttons being pushed, or tapes being rewound, or splashing water, hard to say what, but it adds a strange haunting texture to the already mysterious soundscape. The harmonica returns one track later, and we're once again transported right back to that lonely stretch of desert. This time though, there is some skittery rhythm, and another layer of low end, all rubbery and warbly, shimmering beneath the surface. The rest of the record wanders similar paths, exploring equally haunting soundscapes, crumbling distorted guitar, smeared into a soft drone beneath a lilting minor key melody, lurching processed rhythms floating in stretches of hiss and shimmer, deeeeeeep bass rumbles and pulses, peppered with fragmented melodies, one track transforms into a sound not that far removed from the Souvenir's mothership, slow motion guitar grind, skittery drums, moaning distant melodies, all wound into a super tense slow burning epic.
Two tracks here feature guests, the first is a name most aQ customers are probably familiar with by now, Jasper TX, whose contribution is quite subtle, adding extra low end, introducing some subtle textural chop and shuffle, adding a bit of an Oval vibe to an already murky underwater drift, the other is another aQ fave, Xela, aka Type records head honcho John Twells, who does a serious number on his track, adding all manner of shortwave interference, warm smears of hiss and static, haunting disembodied vocals, thick distorted crumbling guitars, verging on a Nadja vibe partway through, before slipping back into the mesmerizing moodiness of the rest of the record. Definitely not a run of the mill drone, or ambient record. Anduin definitely puts about 90 percent of cd-r floorcore dronemusic to shame, this drone approached like songs instead of sounds, this is the sort of record that blossoms with more listens, headphones are mandatory, dig deeper, get lost, let the sounds swallow you whole, carry you off. ABSOLUTELY RECOMMENDED.
Packaged in a beautiful handscreened sleeve, and includes a cd as well (not a cd-r) for your iTunes or Discman.
A very interesting split LP for several reasons, not the least of which being the almost 20 years separating the two recordings. Thomas Ankersmit is a young composer, who splits his time between the saxophone and analogue synthesizers, having spent a good portion of his young career touring the globe with Phill Niblock. His performances are as transcendent as they are physical, with him tugging and re-plugging patch cables into his modular synth at a dizzying speed all the while generating a refined blur of arcing drones and potent electricity. Despite the sax, jazz, this is not! In many ways, Ankersmit's loping compositions resemble those early pieces by Jim O'Rourke, especially his impressive Scend and Tamper albums from the early '90s. So perhaps that's why a contemporary Ankersmit composition got teamed up with an archival (and possibly unreleased until now) piece from O'Rourke from that very time period.
Ankersmit's piece incorporates both sax and synth, with cracked electricity fizzing and popping with electroshock capacity only to be consumed by a laser beam of analogue synth tones swarmed by searing hiss of white noise. The saxophone appears as a sustained squawk of circular breathing techniques with the edges thoroughly roughed up by a litany of distortion pedals. O'Rourke's piece seems to be all guitar, with a midrange distortion enveloping the choppy riffs that eventually coalesce into a thick morass of drone-dirge that looks forward to the likes of Ambarchi and O'Malley, although not nearly as heavy. We've been told this is rare. We've been told this is limited. We can tell you this is great!
We've long been fans of Swedish one man black metal band Arckanum. Even those who haven't heard his music, probably remember the 'band' photos, which always featured a cloaked creature with a deformed troll-like face, huge hook nose, and carrying a massive staff. Some folks were put off by this bit of theatricality, probably giving them visions of the much cheesier Mortiis. But then they were missing out. This Swede kicked out the classic black metal jams, nothing avant, or experimental really, barring the occasional ambient interlude, but just pure raw grim blackness. With a lo-fi production and a great crusty black sound, Arckanum released 3 full lengths in the late nineties, and since then, it's been nothing but a handful of splits and eps. So we were pretty excited for the first Arckanum full length in ten years, and we were not disappointed.
The sound, at its core is similar to the classic Arckanum sound, but the production is massive, the guitars thick and monstrous, the drums pounding and brutal, the whole vibe is much more sleek and streamlined and 'produced', but thankfully manages to retain most of its grimness and blackness, although now the music is imbued with a power never present before, and if anything, dare we say it, a new found groove.
We've heard this record compared to discs by Craft and Inquisition, among others, but we can't help hearing a little Khold, which as far as we're concerned is actually a good thing. Take the album opener, after a creeped out drone-y intro, and a swirl of guitar buzz and cymbal sizzle, the song launches into a furious blast, which sounds punkier and crustier that we remember, and again, groovier. It has much to do with the chord progression, as on the surface this is still all blasting beats and buzzing guitars, but then the deal is sealed with the bridge, where the guitars and drums lock into a weird droney, almost poppy part that sounds like it could have come from a Torche song! And that vibe, those melodies, those subtle touches are present throughout, even at its most intense and furious, the band easily will slip in a subtle, yet impossibly catchy hook or phrase, almost like they don't even know they're doing it, some mysterious musical force manifesting itself, hidden among the black brambles and jagged harsh heaviness. Then there's a track like "Rokulfargnyr", which is primarily a strange clipped staccato guitar chug, the drums locked in, peppered with dynamics, but it almost sounds like some sort of fractured math rock. Even when the song kicks in for real, the stop start guitar, the super technical drumming, eventually gives way to more soaring melodic buzzing blackness. "Nakjeptir" is all eighties groove and chug, laced with cool stretches of black dissonance. "Eksortna" is just guitar, distorted and melodic, unfurling a stately court-of-the-king style melody,
while closer "Formala" is classic blackened doom, very spacious and sprawling, with some weird drumming, a killer main riff, and an outro of demonic murmurs and buzzing distorted rumbles.
This disc has been getting crazy play around here, and has had us revisiting the older records as well, which sound even better than we remember. Lots of folks we know have been talking about Antikosmos as BM record of the year, and while we still have other contenders to consider, we're definitely inclined to agree that this could very well crack the top ten. Maybe even the top five...
Now is one of those rare times when the dedicated lovers of vinyl are rewarded with something exclusive to LP. By now we're all pretty familiar with Mulatu Astatke, what with Ethiopiques #4 and the LP reissue of his "Ethio Jazz" album he's practically a household name by now (at least around here). I'm kidding of course, but rabid fans of the inimitable funk/soul/groove sounds from Ethiopia no doubt place him pretty high on the short list of the greatest from the period. And what's better is that "Mulatu of Ethiopia" contains entirely exclusive tracks. Yep, that's right, none of these tracks are on any of the discs in the Ethiopiques series (though there are two reworkings of tracks -- "Dewel" and "Munaye" -- from Ethiopiques 4). The album itself, a reissue of a 1972 release of the same title, was recorded by Astatke in the U.S. during his tenure here and until now it fetched high prices on the collector's market. Given Astatke's experiences working in the U.S. with American jazz and Latin jazz musicians it should come as no surprise that it sounds nothing like anything else in the myriad Ethiopian groove reissues. For one, it's super smooov' (in a good way) with Mulatu picking up his mallets and playing vibes through it all and the recording -- which must have been done at some swank U.S. studio -- is ultra lush (what's that? You say you can hear the bass?) The music on this album totally sounds like a soundtrack to some long lost Michael Caine political intrigue film. You can almost see the cigarette dangling out of Caine's mouth as he drives around in an Austin Healey tailing a bad guy. On "Mulatu of Ethiopia" Astatke is accompanied by a pretty tight ensemble, much smaller than the orchestras of the Amha recording era. The backbone of his accompaniment is an uber funky organ/electric piano that sounds at times like they've got a wah wah pedal hooked up to it. Also included in the ensemble is electric bass, drums, percussion and plenty of soloing assistance from saxophone, flute and trumpet. Highly recommended, but act fast 'cause, as with so many things, we only have a few...
MPEG Download: "Mascaram Setaba" [/audio/mulatumascaram.mp3]
MPEG Stream: "Mascaram Setaba" [/audio/mulatumascaram.m3u]
Wow! The Omni Recording Corporation reissues another gem in the form of this druggy 1969 West-Coast Pop-Americana masterpiece by enigmatic country legend Hoyt Axton. Son of a Nashville insider who wrote "Heartbreak Hotel" for Elvis, Axton cut his teeth in the Greenwich village folk scene, becoming better known as a songwriter than a singer, scoring a big hit for The Kingston Trio with "Greenback Dollar". But it wasn't until a little film called Easy Rider featured one of his songs, "The Pusher" performed by Steppenwolf, that Axton got his biggest break. Signed to Columbia Records, he immediately began working on My Griffin is Gone, a startling socially conscious document of drug withdrawal (LSD and pills) and war that is barely concealed under kaleidoscopic lyrics and blissful orchestral folk rock arrangements of spacey organs, soaring strings and sitar rock-outs. Like Euphoria covering Nick Drake's Five Leaves Left or Bill Fay doing The Notorious Byrd Brothers, this is full of that wistful melancholy, stunning songcraft and pointedly poetic self-examination that we love in records from this period. Not a good plan for a money-making hit record, but perfect for those great lost cult records that we can't seem to get enough of. This reissue augments the original album with 12 rare bonus tracks of demos and singles, 8 of which are previously unreleased, including his demo recording of "The Pusher". Essential for psych-roots-folk fans of all persuasions. God Damn!
If 79 tracks over two volumes was a little too much to digest of John Baker's strange and jazzy electronique miniatures, than this vinyl version might be just the thing for you, as it condenses the most interesting 25 tracks from both volumes.
Delia Derbyshire may embody the otherworldly beauty and mystique behind the sounds of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop, but John Baker was its alchemical heart. Who else could take a simple tone from air being blown over a bottle and make it into a warm and electrifying panorama of melodious sound? In this LP, we find TV adverts, library pieces, jazzy soundtracks, radiophonic pieces and home recordings as well as an interview on how he made the sounds contained here, and his broadcast obituary. Baker had a knack for melody, and often imbued his mechanically made recordings with a warmth and playfulness that his more mathematically-inclined contemporaries lacked. The jazz and library compositions (made for the Southern and Peer International organizations) are similar in form and sound to Basil Kirchin and Michael Garrick (two other Trunk luminaries), urgently spright and pastoral, sometimes soft and spacey. Yet he could also establish veils of mystery and drawn out suspense in his carefully composed themes. Our favorite in particular is "Jazz Advert" a track we suspect Broadcast or Stereolab must have been very aware of. However, Baker's real talent is brevity. With most of the tracks contained here lasting under a minute, he evokes a complex and engaging sound world that is perfectly encapsulated within its miniscule timeframe.
Covering his entire musical career from 1954 up until his death in 1985, and exhaustively culled from boxes and boxes of often unmarked tapes, this is a great and essential purchase for anyone interested in early British electronic music.
Blue Sabbath Black Cheer have become the band du jour of the deathdirgedronedoom scene, their records disappear in a heartbeat, we were lucky to get 25 of this new one, it's already out of print and sold out at the label.
This sick love for BSBC makes perfect sense the second the first filthy note comes oozing out of your speakers, this is harsh, hellish, abstract black black ambience. Take the slowest sickest Khanate song, strip away the drums, slow down the vocals to a raspy gurgle, add later after layer of filth and crust and grime and you'd be getting closer to whatever subterranean pit these anti-musical miscreants crawled from.
There's two side long tracks, each previously released as insanely limited cassettes, remixed and remastered for this release, with additional sounds from Chris Dodge of Spazz and aQ pal Matt Waldron from Irr. App. (Ext.). The A side begins with slowed down vocals, a monstrous demonic murmur, slithering over a grim landscape of high end hiss and deep tectonic rumbles, distant tones pulse and throb, all manner of crash and scrape and crunch, the track building slowly to a frenzy of hellish howls, thick sheets of white noise, crumbling walls of distortion, grinding washes of thick, dense buzz and whir, a seriously fucked up, freaked out expanse of post industrial noisemusic, thick with drones and haunting textures and undulating layers buried beneath the skree. The B side begins with a low resonating drone, a thick, serpentine rumble, that is eventually subsumed by a symphony of buzz saws and crackling fires and collapsing buildings and grinding scrapes and processed vocals and malfunctioning tape machines, all wound into some sort of hellish high end ur-drone, before slipping back into another shimmering expanse of upper register skree, eventually drifting back into something much more mellow but no less ominous and intense, a creepy low end drone, field recordings, crackle, whispers, evokes hiding in the woods, terrified, as something stalks you, muted growls, the crack of dried branches underfoot, the whisper of leaves falling to the ground, all set to the boom of distant explosions. Intense, and in its own way, sort of sickly beautiful.
Akin to Gnaw Their Tongues, Khanate, Wolf Eyes, Alkerdeel, the more abstract and dismal end of the doomdirgedrone spectrum.... this definitely takes all that and pushes it even further, darker, noisier, more dismal and way more grim.
Packaged in plain white sleeves, with a screened image affixed to the front, a black and white printed inserts, pressed on white vinyl, plain white labels. SUPER LIMITED. ALREADY OUT OF PRINT. We only got 25 COPIES, once these are gone that's it!
4th album from these longtime, uh, 'neo-grunge' faves of ours. Though, we'll admit that this far along, we're wondering if it's diminishing returns time for the Burning Brides. Don't get us wrong, on the strength of Anhedonia, we still don't understand why this band isn't totally huge. Next to Dax Riggs (Acid Bath, Agents Of Oblivion, Deadboy and the Elephantmen), BB mainman, guitarist/vocalist Dimitri Coats is our favorite rockstar who isn't actually exactly a real, cover of the Rolling Stone rockstar... yet. In a perfect world, though, like maybe if he'd been born a few years earlier, and grown up in Seattle...
But, in actual reality, just how many albums are Coats & Co. gonna have to make before they get on the cover of Rolling Stone, y'know? They'd better pace themselves, and that's maybe what it sounds like they're doing here, putting out just another BB album. Which is pretty cool, mind you. Though they're more Foo Fightery these days, and less Bleach-era Nirvanalike.
The metallic leanings of their previous effort, Hang Love, have been dialed back a bit here, and likewise they're slick enough now we can't be calling this all that garagey. But BB are still kicking out the heavy hooky jams with soaring ready for radio melodies and fuzzy guitars, and it's the closest thing to good grunge you're gonna find this side of 1995. Fans should check it out, it's a dose of what you like. But, if you haven't heard BB before, we'd say start with Fall Of The Plastic Empire, their much rawer, more psychedelic debut.
We've been meaning to list this for a long time. One of those special records that so many past and present aQ employees hold close to their hearts. This is John Cale's orchestral pop masterpiece! Last list we made his collaboration with Terry Riley one of our records of the week and while this is a different beast all together it definitely shows what a wide range of musical genius Cale had going on during the early '70s. Paris 1919 is most certainly a pop record, but not just any kind of pop record. This is one that immediately transports you to the lavish and lush fantastical worlds these songs take place. Backed by a band featuring members of Little Feat as well as the UCLA Symphony Orchestra, Cale was able to create songs that somehow are as delicate and understated as they are glowing and baroque.
It's a record that always makes us want to wander along pastoral hillsides filled with the greenest grass, a cup of delicious hot tea in our hands as we twirl and daydream through the afternoon. Cale's voice has never sounded better, and it's for sure his most emotive and sensitive statement ever put to tape. It's amazing how many newer bands we love that for sure had to be influenced so strongly by this record. Just listen to The Hidden Cameras, Kelly Stoltz, Jens Lekman, Beck or Belle & Sebastian and you can hear the legacy of Paris 1919 in their songs. Total pop perfection!
A while back, we thought it would make an excellent April Fool's Day New Arrivals List, to have all the reviews written not by staffers, but by our Moms! The logistics proved a bit too tricky, but some Moms were definitely into it, especially Andee's Mom, Gail. Now without airing too much dirty laundry, teenage sons and Moms often clash, and in many cases it has to do with music, in my (Andee) case, it was heavy metal, of course. And what's a Mom to do when her son starts dressing weird and wearing spikes and listening to that devil music?! Well a lot has changed in 20 years, and now Gail is a regular rad music aficionado, putting other Moms to shame. She even hung up on me once because she was watching a special on VH1 about heavy metal. Man would the sixteen year old me have a meltdown! Well, it just so happens, that Gail is a big fan of Tucson boys Calexico, so we figured we'd get her to weigh in on their new record. Thanks Mom! Here's what she has to say:
My son, Andee has been quite generous over the years, giving me cds I like and request, cds he THINKS I should like, and then there's Calexico, a band we both like. Neither of us can remember what sparked my interest in this band, but since I now live in Tucson, I appreciate their fascination with the Southwest, and their fusion of country, Latin and folk (I am, after all, a '60s gal!). Ironically, I will see them live on September 20th at a Democratic fundraiser, at the Rialto Theater in Tucson. Take that, teenage Andee!
Other than their newest release, I only have 2 of Calexico's albums, The Black Light and Hot Rail, and like them both, even though I think they are quite different from each other. There's an evocation of place in their songs, which to me is one of the most appealing elements of their music. In Carried to Dust, a beauty from start to finish, I was transported from the first track, "Victor Jara's Hands", to a road trip somewhere near the border, a la Thelma & Louise, in an old convertible, music blaring, hiding a beer between my legs, and feeling young, happy and free. I don't know who Victor Jara is or was, but the verses are sweet and melancholy and then the chorus soars with horn fanfare. Definitely feel-good music!
"Two Silver Trees" morphs into an entirely different mix of instrumentation and vocals. I can't help but think they were influenced just a tad by the opening music from The Sopranos, but perhaps I'm hearing what others won't.
My favorite track has to be "The News About William". Flowing, but desolate... I'm lying on my chaise lounge looking at the amazingly bright stars in a gorgeous blue/black Tucson night sky, letting the music of Calexico spirit me away.
First proper full length from this mysterious seventies outfit, who formed in Kentucky (some argue that Circle X were the first punk band from Louisville), the band eventually relocated to the Big Apple where they became a small part of the burgeoning no-wave underground, a scene at the time that consisted of bands like Mars and DNA, they would later graduate into the second wave of NYC noisemakers like Swans, Sonic Youth, Cop Shoot Cop, Live Skull and others.
Unlike the raw primal fury of their debut ep, Prehistory, originally released in 1983, is much more restrained and rhythmic, the drums tribal and trancelike, the arrangements less like songs and more like rituals, the guitar abstract and angular, the bass locked into mesmerizing loops, the vocals gloomy and emotive, the mood dark and depressing, the drums very reminiscent of Southern California tribalists Crash Worship, in fact, much of Prehistory references the ritualistic drum jams. But Circle X, due in no small part to the company they keep, injected plenty of moody miserablism into their decidedly gothic sprawl, a strange hybrid of chaotic post punk, junkyard crash and clatter, and dark depressing almost new wave. Jagged guitars are tossed about by frenzied percussion and buzzing low end synth drones, melodies are mostly angular and atonal, although here and there the band do inadvertently slip into something bordering on catchy and lovely, wild vocal caterwauls wrap themselves around, flurries of intense drumming, and long drawn out rhythms, Jandekian guitars surface and blurt out some strangled melody before sinking back into the mire, it's definitely a strange sonic miasma, a quick listen reveals mostly chaos, but beneath it all, the band had some strange twisted pop sense, which somehow holds the whole rickety thing together.
This long awaited reissue of Cluster's stellar 1976 recording, Sowiesoso (So Not So So) sees Roedelius and Moebius at their most collaborative and creative. Recorded after moving to the tiny village of Forst from West Berlin, the progressive evolution of Cluster's solely improvised sound from free-form cavernous synth-scapes to percolating motorik pop had already been documented on their Zuckerzeit album from 1975. On Sowiesoso, that sound gets even more refined, with Moebius's machinist currents of whirs and klangs jutting up against Roedelius's serene Eastern pastoralism, resulting in a haunting mix of pensive ambient beauty that matches the idyllic countryside pictured on the front cover.
So Recommended!
Comparing a band no one has ever heard of to Neutral Milk Hotel, right out of the gate, is usually the kiss of death. NMH are such an untouchable entity at this point, that they barely qualify as indie rock, or whatever you want to call them. They are Neutral Milk Hotel, and nothing else. And in their wake of course have come a million wannabes, very few of them coming anywhere close.
So while The Comas don't necessarily sound like NMH, they do share some common sonic characteristics, especially the weird crunchy harmonic soaked electric guitars, that sound acoustic half the time, and drive the songs ALL of the time. The second we threw this on, first thing we thought was NMH, but only for a second, as the record soon sprawled into all sorts of other sonic avenues. We also hear plenty of Flaming Lips, as well as a ton of the Swirlies. And if you're anything like us, Neutral Milk Hotel + the Flaming Lips + Swirlies = our new favorite pop record! But not super new, this came out last year, but we only just discovered it recently and have been listening to it nonstop.
The aforementioned crunchy guitars, super distorted processed leads, wild blown out drumming, scratchy raspy emo boy vocals, soaring angelic female vocals, cool off kilter arrangements, swooshing effects, and HOOKS galore. And while we may have been listening to this record over and over endlessly, more often than not, it's the opening track "Red Microphones", that gets locked on repeat, sounding like a super charged fuzzy Elephant 6 power pop freakout, easily one of the catchiest jams of the year. Of any year.
WAY recommended for all pop kids, or any one needing to feed their jones for smart rambunctious crunchy fuzzy pop.
Record number two from the peculiarly monickered Common Eider, King Eider, the one man project of Mr. Rob Fisk, formerly of Deerhoof, currently of Badgerlore, and much like the first disc, Figs, Wasps And Monotremes, is another haunting missive of long drawn out drones, and minimal folk mesmer.
The intro is a smoldering shimmer of scraped strings, wavery falsetto vocals, and all manner of overtones and harmonics, mysterious and hypnotic, we would have been quite happy if it had gone on just like that for the record's entire 32+ minutes, but the record soon shifts to something more songy (only slightly though), deep distant swells, dense soft drones and more ethereal falsetto vocals, all drift over insistently sawed strings, the string unfurling an almost looped sounding rhythmic melody. The record drifts lazily after that from spare melancholic reverb drenched sun dappled soft folk, all shimmery and washed out, to still more keening high end drones, looooong tones allowed to howl and buzz and slowly decay before being overtaken by still more growling, scraped strings, sounding almost like a 20th century string quartet slowed down to no beats per minute, to fractured free folk, steel string buzz, angular abstract riffage wrapped in haunting gauzy lo-fi hum, to super intense, almost Sunroof! worthy sheets of high end ur-drone, the notes crumbling and distorted and gorgeously blown out, and back to more introspective folky flutter.
A gorgeous sprawling, abstract record, the listener drifting dreamily from song to song, sound to sound, sinking ever deeper, falling in slow motion, Common Eider's blurred soundscapes moving past, like a film slowed way down, so each frame flickers gently before slipping away, allowing another to take its place. Absolutely lovely.
Gorgeous packaging too, as with all Root Strata releases, a three panel white cardstock sleeve, printed in silver ink, adorned with images of fruits and branches and a platypus!
If we had to pick a favorite, out of all the post rock / math rock / post metal hordes, a sound we do admittedly dig a whole lot, and one we can't seem to get enough of, Maine's mighty Conifer would be right there at the top. Which is saying something, as up until this brand new full length, we'd only heard from them twice, their debut, and a split with Ocean. As compared to some of the other bands who have released 2, 3, 4 maybe more records in the same amount of time. The first Conifer disc was fresh when it came out, taking classic math rock and beefing it up with huge swells of Neurosis crush, but the thing with Conifer is that they never completely buried that post rock vibe, even at their most metallic, when they were slipping into full on doom territory, they hung on to those loping rhythms, those fractured melodies, and figured out a way to infuse those elements into the roiling heaviness. On the debut we were hearing Slint and Bastro and Seam as much and as often as Isis or Neurosis, probably even more so.
In that way, the sound of Conifer hasn't changed all that much, their sound is still rooted heavily in mathrock, the metal elements more adorning the postrock instead of the other way around. In fact more than ever, they sound like a nineties mathrock band supercharged and transported to the oughts. Even at their heaviest, they don't get HEAVY, as in metal heavy, they get louder, and more dynamic, more intense, the sound gets fuller and more expansive. And this time around the band we can't help but hear all over this record is Polvo. The guitar parts are all woozy and warbly and angular and sort of seasick, the opening track is the perfect example, it almost sounds like some metal band covering the opening track from Polvo's Cor Crane Secret, with its multiple parts, its liquid arrangements, the clean guitars, layered and indeed woozy, the drum part and the arrangements, loping and mathy and not a little bit groovy. We hate to go on and on about mathrock and Polvo, cuz it could all be a big ol' coincidence, but we doubt it. Every song on Crown Fire is mathy and melodic, sometimes locking into repeating figures for just a tad longer than would be comfortable for most bands, opening up and drifting through wide open spaces, all glimmering harmonics and shuffling rhythms, backwards guitars floating in a sea of muted soft drones, tripped out almost Pink Floyd action here and there, complete with space-y synths and fluttery flutes. "Into The Gauntlet" almost sounds like a heavier Codeine, a bit doomy, with a strange lurching arrangement beneath glistening sparkling chimes, and flurries of shuffling snare drum and floor tom. Hard to say what it is exactly,
as it should be with music, but regardless, this is definitely a new high for a genre that becomes more and more overpopulated every day. Whenever we find ourselves listening to one of these new post rock / metal hybrids, as much as we love metal, and we do, we find ourselves longing way more for the intricacies and arrangements and dynamics of the post rock side of the equation, it's too easy to just turn it up and let downtuned guitars chug, and Conifer prove that you can make a super heavy, super catchy, epic record, without even bothering with faux metal chug, which is something else for sure.
If that weren't enough, the record closes with the 13 minute title track, featuring Eugene from Oxbow on guest vocals (normally Conifer are instrumental). The result is pretty excellent, and finds the band, doing their best Oxbow, a sort of abstract bluesy groove, that over the course of the song gets a little bit mathier and more complex, while Eugene sing-talks, howls, mewls, wails, growls, shrieks, moans, The track is super spare until about halfway through where it dials up the metal, offering up being churning chords and pounding drummage to support Eugene's increasingly unhinged and manic vocals, the song building to a furious climax, before drifting out in a haze of whispered mutterings and fractured electronics. It's a pretty awesome track for sure, but for us, it somehow works better when taken almost as a separate record. The first 6 tracks are so perfect together, a brilliant 38 minute post-math-metallic-rock suite, which just so happens to come with an equally brilliant bonus single song, 13 minute ep, featuring Conifer backing up Oxbow's Eugene Robinson.
However you slice it, WAY recommended!
Y'know this series of books, right? The 33 1/3 series, each one devoted to someone's (lots of people's) favorite album ever? We have a few in stock, and have listed a bunch in the past, from OK Computer to Meat Is Murder, most recently one about Slayer's Reign In Blood. All of 'em are pretty cool, if you're into the album in question, and sometimes even if you're not ('cause you then will be).
This one in particular has a lot going for it. Not only is it about one of the best albums by one of the best bands ever (sez Allan, excitedly jumping up and down), Black Sabbath's Master Of Reality. But it's written by our pal John Darnielle of Mountain Goats fame. He's an awesome writer. And, if you didn't know, a serious metalhead. He does a witty column, South Pole Dispatch, in the back of metal magazine Decibel each month, as a matter of fact.
In addition, John doesn't simply write a nonfiction, journalistic overview of the "behind the music" story of the making of this classic album. No, he takes this opportunity to do something a lot cooler and more creative - the book is actually a novel, written from the perspective of a teenage burnout in 1985. He's committed to a psychiatric facility, and writing in his journal all about his obsession with Master Of Reality, among other things. And it works as both a novel, and as rock crit too. This definitely illustrates an extra dimension to what we mean when we say Sabbath is "heavy."
Break out the headphones, relax the body, and close the eyes, it's another one from the devastatingly droney and dark Darsombra, whose debut Ecdysis disc we really liked a couple years back. We like this just as much, maybe more. There's a great deal of melancholic, mesmeric beauty in Darsombra's isolationist grinding and evil ambient shimmer. We can imagine Darsombra's human operator, Brian Daniloski from the Maryland metalcore band Meatjack, up late at night alone in his home studio, lights dim, wreathed in smoke, hunched over his guitar and synth and effects and whatever else he uses to conjure this music, willing himself off into another place, out into the void of space, riding the dense waves of his own creation, returning only at dawn with another track for this album finished.
Let's discuss these tracks, but not in order... The echoey minimalism of "Drops Of Sorrow" is simply glorious, it's Riley or Reich from a psychdronedoom perspective. Or perhaps krautrock's Achim Reichel & The Machines playing Black Boned Angel!? Elsewhere, there's more gloom and glory, from the hushed sinister soundtrack melodies of opener "Auguries" to the haunting, spacey drone-whispers of "Night's Black Agents" - this disc's longest track at 17:34, reminding us of the 'Vox Insecta' work of old AQ fave Q.R. Ghazala. Then, with an intro of ommming voices (or synth) there's "Lamentings / Auguries", featuring sparse melodic guitar weepery buried beneath fuzzed out layers of deep, electronic drone and distortion. Again, this definitely sounds like it would make good soundtrack material for some eerie, arty Italian horror flick. And further cementing our love affair with the abstract attractions of Eternal Jewel, the calmly vibrating "Incarnadine" brings some rays of light to this disc at its very end, with its peacefully repetitive clusters of gentle chimings over a quiet drone.
Packaged by Public Guilt in a nice black, gothically graceful gatefold sleeve, this is definitely recommended. Imagine Expo '70 cloaked in black, performing a seance with Tony Conrad and Lustmord, and you'll have an idea of how much we must like this!
Volume two of these recently discovered long lost recordings of seventies synthesizer music from a mysterious Belgian musician named Edmond De Dyster. Like the first volume, these pieces were discovered on unmarked reel to reel tapes in a box marked simply with the year, 1975. Discovered by Ultra Eczema head honcho Dennis Tyfus, these recordings, along with those on the now out of print first volume, are only part of a trove of unreleased, and for the most part unheard recordings De Dyster made in private, who seemingly had no intention of releasing them, in fact, even his family didn't know he had been making recordings.
None of this mystery would be worth anything if it weren't for the music, which is weird and wonderful, raw and primitive, all analog synthesizers, almost like a lo-fi BBC Radiophonic Workshop. The sounds are tripped out and abstract, bleeps and bloops and beeps and sine wave tones, and crumbling distorted rhythms, plodding ominous low end melodies, spooky squalls of glitch and squelch, reverbed squiggles, ghostly tones, haunting and otherworldly like a Theremin, here and there some new age flutter, deep soft swells, fuzzy staticky streaks of buzz, muted rhythmic thumps, that low end creeping and slithering through clouds of swirling tones and shimmering textures, all set adrift in wide open expanses of distant rumble and soft fuzzy whir. Amazing stuff. Think Tangerine Dream, Conrad Schnitzler, Battiato, Schulze, Heldon. And you may as well add De Deyster to that list. Anyone into experimental electronic music, should absolutely check this out.
Who knows how many other lost boxes of tapes or mysterious music makers lurk in bedrooms and basements out there? Probably more than we might imagine...
Gorgeously packaged in a hand screened, extra thick jacket, with a full color printed insert. LIMITED TO 500 COPIES.
We're always �going on and on about the weirdest, most fucked up black metal bands ever, even elsewhere on this list, we review the new one from Tasmanian one man band Striborg, and declare it maybe the weirdest yet. But there's weird, and then there's Dead Reptile Shrine, who beyond being weird, are barely even black metal, the metallic elements far outweighed by the fractured folk and total whatthefuck elements, and the blackness, well that infuses pretty much every sound they produce, just not in the way most folks are used to or most metalheads want. Instead, DRS do their own thing, and their own thing is some fucked up mix of dark dronemusic, detuned free folk, stumbling chaotic black metal, some orchestral bits, tortured vocals, all wound into a confusional world of black rituals and mysterious sonic otherworlds. While we anxiously await the forth coming double cd on tUMULt, we have THREE new tapes to tide us over, two reissue of long out of print rarities, and another brand new album, to be released soon on cd and vinyl as well, but for now on the oh so cult cassette format. Each of these is limited to 400 copies, we got a bunch, 30 or so, but odds are those will go fast and we probably won't be able to get more.
Burning Black Intensity is the new album, and offers up a taste of what will be found on the soon to come sprawling tUMULt 2cd full length, and if BBI is any indication, then two whole cds of this stuff is going to DESTROY. This record begins with some creepy, orchestral Peter And The Wolf type sounds, strings and percussion, sampled we assume, while DRS croon over the top, offering up wavery clean vocals, strange incantations, and various other vocalizations, the result is truly twisted. This goes on for several tracks before the band launch into some black metal, but DRS black metal is a whole other thing, the drums buried in the mix, barely audible, the guitars strangled, and gnarled, buzzing, blurred and murky, dueling vocals, one a high howled screech, the other a rumbling demonic gurgle, both drenched in reverb, both howling maniacally, and relentlessly, while the guitars churn and the drums stumble, the whole thing lurching drunkenly, super raw and primitive and lo-fi and fractured and FUCKED for sure. The next track demonstrates that no matter how weird it gets, everything they do is deliberate, the guitars are thick and fuzzy, the drums simple but propulsive, the riff a near static black groove, the bass, pulsing and undulating, more typical black metal vocals screeching over the top, while way in the distance a voice shrieks hysterically, the two vocals all tangled up, the guitar spewing forth a super mesmerizing singular riff, totally hypnotic and trancelike, the vocals growing more and more unhinged. The next track is a murky muddy Wold style soundscape, melodies and guitars smeared and blurred into bleary eyed streaks of sound, the vocals an ominous rumble, the drums a chaotic blast beat, while the guitars swoon woozily, the whole track dizzy and druggy and weirdly dreamlike, the vocal eventually growing more and more warped, almost cartoonish, sing songy and almost operatic, wrapped in fluttery flutes and more distorted soft buzz.
Needless to say, this is brilliantly twisted stuff, totally wacked, outsider blackness, as true as any of the more classically TROO black metal, but unlike those, DRS are true only to themselves, any resemblance between their music and other black metal is not only coincidental it's a fluke, as most of this sounds like nothing you've ever heard.
We're always going on and on about the weirdest, most fucked up black metal bands ever, even elsewhere on this list, we review the new one from Tasmanian one man band Striborg, and declare it maybe the weirdest yet. But there's weird, and then there's Dead Reptile Shrine, who beyond being weird, are barely even black metal, the metallic elements far outweighed by the fractured folk and total whatthefuck elements, and the blackness, well that infuses pretty much every sound they produce, just not in the way most folks are used to or most metalheads want. Instead, DRS do their own thing, and their own thing is some fucked up mix of dark dronemusic, detuned free folk, stumbling chaotic black metal, some orchestral bits, tortured vocals, all wound into a confusional world of black rituals and mysterious sonic otherworlds. While we anxiously await the forth coming double cd on tUMULt, we have THREE new tapes to tide us over, two reissue of long out of print rarities, and another brand new album, to be released soon on cd and vinyl as well, but for now on the oh so cult cassette format. Each of these is limited to 400 copies, we got a bunch, 30 or so, but odds are those will go fast and we probably won't be able to get more.
Isth Naral Ja was one of two full lengths released in 2002, but whereas N.t.K. was a proper DRS release, Isth Naral Ja was a three track, 65 minute, all ambient record, originally given away with another disc, and later reissued, but both times in incredible limited amounts. While much of DRS's output is truly twisted, sometimes to the point of sounding a bit goofy to the untrained ear, the sounds found on Isth, while still twisted, are woven into what seems to be a much more serious soundworld. Epic sprawling expanses of whirring low end, deep throbbing bass, strange disembodied voices, fractured truncated guitar melodies, very haunting and peculiar, incantations surface throughout, long long long streaks of sound, trance inducing minimal rumbles, hissing almost industrial high end, long stretches of hushed murmured blackness, that bass pulse creepy and recurring, the whole thing very cinematic and evocative of some grim black wood, or some abandoned house, or some vast black sea, seemingly serene on the surface, but with who knows lurking beneath.
Isth manages the difficult task of being twisted and strange, haunting and mysterious, still embodying the musical ethos of Dead Reptile Shrine, while pushing the sound into new directions, without losing any of its power, any of its mystery, its blackness.
Whereas other DRS records are most definitely an acquired taste, this disc, while definitely still essential listening for DRS fans, would most definitely please the abstract drone and cd-r crowds. Tunnels, Bones Of Seabirds, Drommer, Expo '70, Nordvargr, Acre, Bonus, Encomiast, Starving Weirdos, Metal Rouge, Trollmann, folks who dig any or all of those might just dig this particular chunk of Dead Reptile Shrine black ambience.
We're always �going on and on about the weirdest, most fucked up black metal bands ever, even elsewhere on this list, we review the new one from Tsmanian one man band Striborg, and declare it maybe the weirdest yet. But there's weird, and then there's Dead Reptile Shrine, who beyond being weird, are barely even black metal, the metallic elements far outweighed by the fractured folk and total whtthefuck elements, and the blackness, well that infuses pretty much every sound they produce, just not in the way most folks are used to or most metalheads want. Instead, DRS do their own thing, and their own thing is some fucked up mix of dark dronemusic, detuned free folk, stumbling chaotic black metal, some orchestral bits, tortured vocals, all wound into a confusional world of black rituals and mysterious sonic otherworlds. While we anxiously await the forth coming double cd on tUMULt, we have THREE new tapes to tide us over, two reissue of long out of print rarities, and another brand new album, to be released soon on cd and vinyl as well, but for now on the oh so cult cassette format. Each of these is limited to 400 copies, we got a bunch, 30 or so, but odds are those will go fast and we probably won't be able to get more.
N.t.K was one of two full lengths released in 2002, originally a super limited cd-r, and yet another piece of the missing pieces puzzle that is the bizarre soundworld of Dead Reptile Shrine. The opener is a super creepy slab of ritualistic drone, the low end drenched in hiss and disrtortion, the vocals a harsh whisper, seriously haunting and intense, a murky mystery that soon gives way to a more 'traditional' DRS, a fractured buzz drenched fragmented black metal, ultra lo-fi, the guitars so distorted they almost sound like a solid hum, the drums a buried muffled thump, the vocals harsh and venomous, until they shift gears and become swoonsome wailing, the sound more Urfaust or Jandek, a wailing clean voice that goes from deep bellow to off kilter howl, as fucked up and out there as the music behind it. Later, the sound veers into all sorts of unimaginable territories, one track offers up a weird almost bouncy stumble, with sing songy clean vocals, underpinned by a super creepy death metal gurgle, the track like some blackened chunk of French outsider new wave, the vocals slipping from hysterical shriek a sort of creepy scatting, another track unleashes some super grim, old school raw plodding black metal, like Darkthrone and Von, but filtered through a broken boombox and a fractured psyche, while still another is a gorgeous black folk drift, all muted strum and mumbled melody, before it suddenly transforms into a stuttering dizzying off kilter doom, with some deep demonic vocals that sound almost like Darth Vader, and another sounds almost like crusty punk, pounding riffage and simple drumming and weird nasally punk rock vocals. It's all over the place, but some twisted black thread holds it all together. We've mentioned it time and time again, but the music of Dead Reptile Shrine is not for the faint of heart, or even the black of soul, it's for the twisted, the warped, the musical misanthropes, in search of sounds mysterious and baffling, and no band was ever more of both than DRS.
It's only been a year since we last heard from Deathspell Omega, but it feels like forever. Their last record, Fas - Ite, Maledicti, In Ignem Aeternum, still ranks as one of our favorite black metal records ever. A truly original blast of gnarled avant black metal, as true and grim and buzzy and black as any black metal we've heard, but rife with strange chords, and distinctly non-metal phrasings, convoluted arrangements, an incredible raw black metal record, all tangled up with something much more fractured and experimental. The record before that, Kenose, was even more far out, transforming their black buzz into something approaching a blackened Slint, a strange twisted metallic post rock.
This disc however takes us was back to the beginning of this century, and compiles a handful of super rare splits and compilation tracks, from the disc they shared with Mutiilation, their split with Moonblood, and the Black Crushing Sorcery compilations. The sound here, based on the dates, and the fact that these tracks predate new vocalist Mikka Aspa from Clandestine Blaze and Fleshpress joining the band, are sonically much more in line with their earlier records Infernal Battles and especially Inquisitors of Satan. The first two tracks from the Mutiilation split find the band right at the cusp, clinging to their grim raw roots, but allowing their music to sprawl, the chords get more and more dissonant, the arrangements more complex, the overall sound thicker and more lush, but still rough and black. The three tracks from the Moonblood split go back to 2000 and thus sound much more raw and straight ahead, total early nineties Norwegian BM worship, a definite Darkthrone vibe for sure, but is suits them, the soaring buzz, the blasting beats, all wound up into long epics, peppered with woozy midtempo breakdowns, the riffs slippery and atonal, the overall sound a super smoldering lo-fi blackness. The final track from the Black Crushing Sorcery is more of the same, another solid chunk of classic nineties sounding black metal, insectoid guitar buzz, furious blast beats, even a weird punky Darkthrone breakdown partway through.
Essential and classic, another glimpse into the past, revealing more of the black roots that would eventually take hold and produce the fearsome black beast that is Deathspell today.
As we wait patiently for a new Deathspell Omega, we have not one, but two archival releases to hold us over, one, reviewed elsewhere on this list, is a collection of splits and compilation tracks, and this one, well, this is the one DSO the troo fanatics have been waiting for.
The music on the other disc, Manifestations 2000-2001, is all previously released, and while most folks probably never got their hands on the way too limited originals, those recordings have definitely been floating around. But the music on this disc, Manifestations 2002, is all previously unreleased, and unless you're seriously well connected, this is essentially a brand new Deathspell album. These tracks were originally recorded for two different releases, several for a split lp with Cantus Bestiae, which never materialized, and the rest, were intended to be DSO's contribution to the Crushing The Holy Trinity comp. For whatever reason, these tracks never made it, and the band recorded a single 22 minute epic to take their place. But thankfully, these tracks were preserved, and are finally seeing the light of day, or rather, the black of night.
And regardless of where these tracks were headed for, they play pretty solidly as a proper DSO album. Filthy and furious, frenzied and relentless, a flurry on insectoid buzz lightning speed blast beats, harsh bile drenched vokills, but it is Deathspell, and this is about the time their sound began to change, so amidst all this buzz and blast, are strange loping midtempo sprawls, slippery woozy angular riffs, notes colliding and shimmering in fields of weird almost-grooves, melodies and harmonies twist and transform, their sound simultaneously demonic and weirdly pretty, but buried under avalanches of black fury, pounding almost punky breakdowns slip smoothly into impossible fast blurs, brief moments of near poppiness surface amidst roiling seas of choppy black grind, but it's still 2002, so instead of defining their sound, those elements become just another part of the heaving monstrous whole, and infuse even the most straight ahead black blasts with the sort of twisted avant vibe that would eventually become the core of DSO's new direction.
Top Ranking Santogold, mixed by Diplo, is a full blown Santogold medley. So if you were into her latest release, you'll definitely be skankin' to this ragga, pop, dub influenced mega mix which ties some of the Santogold favorites, b-sides, remixes and mash-ups together into a rude 35 track mixture of gold goodness. The mix runs seamless from start to finish with plenty of overlapping blends that somehow someway work wonders together. Picture Santogold vocals, singing/rapping over the likes of dubstep wonders Benga and Skream's shakey slumpers or the Celtic synth grooves of electro pop jam band Ratatat, with added appropriate yet unsuspected jams from Devo, The Dixie Cups, and The Clash mashed against Cutty Ranks, Sister Nancy, and Three Six Mafia betwixt and between, what!? Oh and did we mention, a little Sir Mix-A-Lot action for good measure? Trust us, the line-up looks semi-disaterous but Diplo definitely makes it work effortlessly. We dare you to stay in one place while this album is a bumpin'! Recommended!!
You know these guys. A seminal outfit of the post rock ilk, one without whom... well let's just say there's a good reason they'll be namechecked in every Battles or Hella review we're or anyone else who knows what's what is gonna write. Pittsburgh's finest, the SCTV lovin' Don Cab, led by drummer extraordinaire Damon Che, are back with yet another lineup, and their second Relapse release (7th album overall if you count the singles comp). While the "metal" leanings of their 2006 Relapse debut World Class Listening Problem have been scaled back a bunch here, it's still another dazzling display of their trademark instrumental mathrock chops. Except, this time, it's not all instrumental! There's vocals on some (about a third) of these 14 tracks, and they're surprisingly melodious. (Maybe not so surprising if you've ever heard Che's other band, Thee Speaking Canaries, in which he sings and plays guitar.)
But don't worry, aside from the sometime singing, everything else is 100 percent Don Cab: Wise ass song title non sequiturs. Stop on a dime changes. Complex song structures. Unusual time signatures. Loud-soft dynamics. Proggy perplexity. And quite a lot of pretty parts too! Several tracks are much more harmonious than hectic, soundscapes with airy grooves and lulling, lovely vocals. But an album called Punkgasm can't be a total blissout, it's usually a bit busier. On most tracks, the guitars - sometimes bright and chiming, at other times heavy and distorted - mesh with precision into the spinning gears of Che's constantly percolating, plentiful percussion. Imagine a King Crimson "Projekt" gone indie rock, but better.
Metalheads, buy this! Author Daniel Ekeroth, a Swedish death metal expert (and Swedish death metaller himself, from the band Incision) has collected and presented an invaluable resource with this book, a weighty tome indeed. Due to a dearth of information on this fairly specific subject, the material within was compiled via a practical attempt to synthesize an accurate retelling of the history of Swedish death metal, based on varying accounts in zines and such, then by bouncing those stories back and forth in interviews with key band members, label bosses, etc. The book itself begins by outlining the myriad of influences behind the Swedish sound: San Francisco Bay Area thrash, NWOBHM, and the Tampa Bay Florida scene. Keep in mind, this was well before the internet, so tape and zine trading, and word of mouth, were the only ways to find out about music. Thus some of these band members were true metal geeks. There are accounts of various artists' own early exposure to metal and some really interesting stories about a few of the early Swedish bands, obscurities crossing over from the hardcore punk scene and so forth. Gripping reading for anyone into the book's subject matter. The second half of the book covers the pinnacle and strength of the scene at its brightest. But then there was black metal, and Ekeroth details how it helped usher out the popularity of old school death metal. He also delves into subgenres like grind, death n' roll, and of course the melodic Gothenburg sound.
And then in the back, there is an incredibly useful, opinionated encyclopedia of (possibly) all Swedish death metal bands. Awesome! Complete with band members and releases, where Ekeroth substitutes the term 'deathography' for discography. And this book covers not only the big shots, like Dissection, Unleashed, Entombed, Marduk - hey their first record was recorded with Dan Swano and their first singer was the guitarist from Edge of Sanity - but there are tons of lesser known bands that the Ekeroth goes into detail about. Graphics-wise, there are tons of flyers, demo tape covers, cool pictures, and everything else relevant that you could possibly want in print. It's pretty sweet.
There's not much else to say, really. You know who you are. There are those that would read a 456 page book on the Swedish death metal scene, and there are those who would not. If you are one of those people who WOULD, or just want it as a rad reference point, you need this. In a word, it's totally fucking killer. Recommended! And by the way, this is the new, expanded (and cheaper than the import) US edition, with extra art and interviews.
You know that anyone who can count creative and talented folks like Brian Wilson, Matt Groening, Frank Zappa, and Stereolab as their biggest fans had to be doing something quite amazing with their music. Such is the case with Juan Garcia Esquivel, better known by just his last name, to all of us with a big love for the exotica sounds he helped make famous. This disc brings together his earliest recordings, which have been pretty impossible to find until this reissue, and even if you could find them, they would have been crazy expensive! His first album from 1957 Las Tandas de Juan Garcia makes up the first half of this cd and the second half is packed with rare singles and tracks from 78's that he recorded in Mexico from 1954-57. It's actually those songs that really stand out the most with their dazzling space age pop sounds bursting with flare and that special charismatic touch that Esquivel would soon make famous.
It's unreal how much awesome, trippy music is coming out of Portland these days. Either there's something funky in the water up there, or Portlanders just know how to keep it real. Real fucked up and tripped out that is. Either way, we couldn't be more happy about all the amazing things happening in Portland lately. And Eternal Tapestry is no exception. These dudes just rolled through town on a short West Coast tour, and they made sure to drop off a nice stack of goodies. This is their brand spankin' new tape on the Digitalis Ltd. label and we're super into it. Krauty, spaced-out, bluesy improv that hits hard. For those of you who don't know, Eternal Tapestry features the famed Bindeman brothers, Jed (Heavy Winged!) on drums and Nick (Jackie-o! and Tunnels) sharing guitar duties with Dewey Mahood. In the same vein as Parson Sound or Can, these guys have really nailed the art of weaving improv in and out of catchy riffs, really sweet. Sadly, this one's already sold out on the label's end and we only got 10 copies! So act now before it's too late!
The first four Fairport Convention albums are cannon, no doubt about it. But while many may disagree with the inclusion of the first album, the one before Sandy Denny joined, and their full on embrace of traditional folk material on the fourth, Leige and Lief, pretty much all Fairport fans can agree that their second album, What We Did On Our Holidays, and third, Unhalfbricking are their very best. Thankfully Water has reissued both.
Unhalfbricking? What the hell does that mean? Perhaps the title was alluding to the transitional shedding of American rock elements that had featured more prominently on their first two records and laying the foundation towards redefining a traditional British sound. Sure there are still Dylan covers, in fact three of them, but the exiting of Ian Matthews brought in another Fairport stalwart, fiddler Dave Swarbrick which tipped the balance musically towards classic British folk. And what's more British than this cover? We think that's Sandy Denny's parents. So awesome! Of course, strong songwriting doesn't hurt, and Sandy Denny contributes her most famous song, "Who Knows Where The Time Goes" and the equally haunting "Autopsy". But the finest moment of the album (and prescient of their future sound) goes to the eleven minute take on the traditional tune, "A Sailor's Life". Rumor has it, that they recorded this song in a single take because Denny, suffering from a cold, didn't think she could sing it more than once (though she wouldn't stop smoking). It's definitely the band at their peak and one of the finest recordings they made. Unfortunately, as we mentioned in the "What We Did On Our Holidays" review, the band was cursed and this was the last record for teenage drummer, Martin Lamble, who died in a freak accident involving the band's van. This cemented their future foray towards traditional material as the band refused to play live any of the music that they previously recorded with Lamble. But it's the air of that legendary rock curse (which would also tragically claim Sandy Denny, eight years later) that gives the early music of Fairport Convention it's mysteriously bewitching and dark edge. Recommended!
The first four Fairport Convention albums are cannon, no doubt about it. But while many may disagree with the inclusion of the first album, the one before Sandy Denny joined, and their full on embracement of traditional folk material on the fourth, Leige and Lief, pretty much all Fairport fans can agree that their second album, What We Did On Our Holidays, and third, Unhalfbricking are their very best. Thankfully Water has reissued both.
What We Did On Our Holidays is our definite favorite. If there were one classic British folk-rock record we could recommend, it would be this one, mainly because it's so unclassic sounding. Here is the band at their most adventurous and unsettled, moving into different territory with each song. Mixing covers of American songwriters Joni Mitchell and Dylan with a wide array of original numbers and spirited takes on traditional material, we're taken through a trip of lively blues stomps, eastern mysticism, ghostly ballads and the best pairing of male and female vocal harmonies from Ian Matthews and Sandy Denny. Fairport Convention had the blessing of being made up of many other talented songwriters and musicians as well, including Richard Thompson, Martin Lamble, Simon Nicol, and Ashley Hutchings, but they were forever cursed by never having the same line-up twice on any of their records. While replacing former co-lead singer Judy Dyble (Giles, Giles and Fripp, Trader Horne) with Sandy Denny definitely upped their musical profile, this was sadly the last record for Ian Matthews. He went on to found Matthew's Southern Comfort and then later pursue his own solo work, but it just wasn't on the same par as his work on the first two Fairport albums. This is arguably the best line-up they had which makes for our highest recommendation.
We fell so hard for the latest Flying Lotus release, Los Angeles, that we knew we had to go back and give the proper attention to his debut. We'd heard bits and pieces of it before but never really got to spend any quality time with. Until now.
Proving that his latest great record was not just some fluke, 1983 offers up for display lots of the roots and promise that would blossom into the powerful cosmic instrumental hip-hop/electronica that made the latest Flying Lotus release one of our favorites of the year. This disc, from a few years back, barely pales in comparison. While not quite as explosive and engaging as FL's newest record, it's still a skillfully crafted and delightful to listen to chunk of crunchy yet smooth flowing beats and melodies with equal nods to downtempo, hiphop, and electronica. Definitely the kind of record that should appeal to anyone into Madlib, Boards Of Canada, Prefuse 73 or even prime era Morr Music outings. Glad we took a moment to look back, as this is proving to be a record that deserves a home here at AQ and we hope on your shelves as well!
It's been a few years, Mr. Gelb, we've sure missed you! Your new album is absolutely wonderful, and not just because you've got Neko Case, M. Ward and Isobel Campbell on board this time around... although that definitely sweetens the deal!
Each of the thirteen songs slowly unwinds in the dusk hour shadows with the ever enigmatic Gelb occasionally bringing to mind a southwest desert sun-baked Leonard Cohen. While he definitely pulls out a few classic Giant Sand twangy eccentric yarns (particularly late in the album - "Belly Full Of Fire" and "Saturated Beyond Repair"), overall Provisions seems to be his most mellow, straightforwardly melodic and song structured work to date. Even when he drifts off into the downright cryptic and bizarre, the raw emotion and poetry of his music somehow still speaks straight to the heart. Some of the album's best moments feature are the most bare bones with just voice and piano ("Spiral"). Wow. You might recall the short lived superb collaboration that took place many years ago between Gelb, Lisa Germano, and Calexico's Joey Burns and John Convertino. OP8 was its name, and Slush was the title of their amazing album (it's still one of Cup's all time top faves!). Of any of the albums that the individual artists have released since, this new Giant Sand full length comes the closest to capturing that magic (albeit with different parties involved).
And attention all you new Calexico fans picking up the latest album from those fellow Arizonans, time for a little history lesson! Burns and Convertino were members of Giant Sand prior to forming Calexico. If you haven't checked GS out yet, you are missing out! Some early GS albums may initially seem impenetrably strange and more of an acquired taste, but you don't wanna miss this album!
Most certainly highly recommended!
It's weird to think that amongst the legions of fans out there who LOVE Jesu, there are probably loads of folks who don't realize that Jesu was born out of the mighty behemoth that was Godflesh. Justin Broadrick, who started off in grind pioneers Napalm Death, made a quick pitstop in Head Of David, and eventually struck out on his own in Godflesh. These days, drum machines and metal are not strange bedfellows, but back in the day, this was some seriously what-the-fuck action. Metalheads and punk rockers alike were confused, but got over it pretty quick once they realized that Godflesh might just be the heaviest fiercest thing they had ever heard. And Godflesh at their heaviest was to be found right here, on Streetcleaner, adorned with the now iconic image of crucified men on crossed in front of a cascade of burning lava (a frame from the genius movie Altered States), this record, originally released in 1989, still sounds as fearsome as ever. And now that we have a handful of Jesu records to reference, it's easy to hear that some of the seeds that would eventually blossom into the dreamy shoegazy metallic bliss of Jesu, were present even back then, albeit buried beneath a black hole crush of churning downtuned riffage and blistering skull rattling programmed beats. Our old three sentence, 14 word review of this still says it best:
"One of the heaviest, scariest "metal" albums EVER. Drum machine doom death. Godflesh's best."
NOW ON VINYL!!! And holy crap if that cover doesn't look even more amazing all blown back up to its proper lp size!!
Growing have been on quite the hot streak as of late with each of their recent releases hitting the spot and pleasing our ears BIG TIME, with their soaring, mesmerizing, cosmic psychedelia. They keep the streak alive with All The Way, which finds the Brooklyn duo at their stuttering, looped, repetitive and hypnotic best. Almost sounding like a more focused and chilled out version of Black Dice, All The Way finds Growing continuing to explore outer dimensions of sound with a krauty disposition and space on their side. We really like how they've come to understand duration as their songs and records last long enough to spellbind with their propulsive sounds yet never overstay their welcome ending almost before you would like, so you're always ready to jump inside their orbit again. Very nice!
Whoops, when we first hit 'play' we almost mistook this new David Grubbs cd for Codeine. Ultra slooow, ultra stark and ultra emotive. By the third song however Grubbs' kicks it up a few notches into jangly emo pop territory (think: Versus or Weakerthans). Very wistful and contemplative. And by the sixth and final track "The Not So Distant", he's set us adrift on an almost twelve minute long minimal guitar drone and percussion soundscape. Yes, he's a man of many musical hats and he keeps a number of them (mostly those of earthy muted hues) in constant rotation on An Optimist Notes the Dusk.
Wholly enveloping, river soaked, fog piercing drone. Barn Owl's Evan Caminiti and a previously unknown-to-us artist named Lisa McGee collaborate to bring forth cathartic ruminations in the form of ghostly guitar, softly sparring vocals, various percussive devices and an unnamable, innumerable catalog of various other instruments. The collaboration was a live improvisational affair, which the liner notes claim was recorded "in the valley." The appropriately and cleverly named album, Haze Valley, name checks one of our own neighborhoods here in San Francisco, Hayes Valley. Anyone who checked out and enjoyed any of the releases by Cloaks, White Rainbow (particularly the more sedate side), Barn Owl (obviously), or La Monte Young will be pleased with what they'll find here. Make no mistake about it, this is definitive dronemusic. While it is beautiful and has some structured elements, this is for the true trippers. Those looking for hummable hooks and such may find more satisfaction looking elsewhere, but for an immersive, spiritual headphones experience, this is your destination. It is also worth noting that the cover art was made by Evan, and its burgeoning crystal pyramid couldn't be more lovely or more perfectly suited to the sounds found herein. Drone freaks beware, this could easily take over your stereo.
LIMITED TO ONLY 100 COPIES!!! These are the only ones we'll ever have...
The first nine tracks of 1000 Fragments are not what you would expect from the Ryoji Ikeda of today. His contemporary installation work and accompanying audio documents have been researching pure frequency manipulation and psychoacoustic delirium with occasional bursts of Pan Sonic / Alva Noto ventures of post-techno rhythm. Albums like Dataplex or Test Pattern are uncompromisingly clean and conceptually simple; but in 1995, Ryoji Ikeda likened himself more a media provocateur than a minimalist technician. 1000 Fragments was originally released through Ikeda's own CCI label well over a decade ago and now enjoys the re-issue treatment care of Raster Noton. Those first nine tracks represent one of three distinct styles of work on 1000 Fragments, and collectively manifest as a frenzied media collage of disembodied voices, electro-shock noise bursts, and skittered militant rhythms, paralleling the dystoptic sound of Illusion Of Safety and The Hafler Trio from that same time period. The second section explores more sedate dronefield territory, still emerging from a post-industrial framework (again think Illusion Of Safety and The Hafler Trio albeit in their alchemical and gnostic guises) whose beating phasepatterns upon long-form tones refined from shortwave datastreaming anticipated where he would venture in many years later. The third chapter to 1000 Fragments is a subtle composition that weaves together the aerated reverb from what could be some forgotten choral piece by Ligetti. This finale is surprisingly delicate and beautiful for an artist best known for his cold, hard edges of pure electronica, although it has to be said that a track such as this does look forward to Ikeda's orchestral detour Op. While never intended to be a cohesive body of work, 1000 Fragments is an excellent overview of the origins of one of our favorite sound artists.
A very rare document indeed, but somehow we managed to get a hold a very limited number of this tour-only cd-r originally released back in 2001. This is a collection of unreleased tracks from the seminal post-industrial and horror drone act Illusion Of Safety. The opening number finds IOS figurehead Dan Burke improvising with the violinist Theresa Marin Nakra, as the melancholic sweeps across the strings gets mangled through Burke's electronic synthesis and shortwave static. It ends up sounding like a much looser version of the Machinefabriek / Jasper TX filmic soundscape sound that we love so much. Elsewhere, Burke revisits a track from one of the early IOS cassettes, stretching out the pastoral if plastic ambience of his synthetic strings into a terrifying blur of unsettled distortion and post-Fennesz pixelated drone. Illusion Of Safety offers similar early examples of digital synthesis, including a soundtrack for an art installation of thickly collaged car horns, looking back to the maddening sound design of traffic jams from Jean-Luc Goddard's "Weekend." Limited to 200 copies of which we've got the final few copies.
We have very very very few of these so we won't go into too much detail. You probably already know just from the two artists if you need this or not. New work from two of the few women kicking ass in the mostly male 'noise rock' scene. Both huge AQ faves, both who utilize voice and effects, in addition to the usual string-ed instruments to weave dreamlike soundscapes and delicate cinematic ambience.
Both are in full effect here, each outfits offering up gauzy beauty and mysterious haunting murk, distant shimmery drones and abstract lo-fi song fragments. Gorgeous as always.
Printed insert in a gold paint splattered tape case. And as mentioned above, CRAZY limited and gone before you know it.
It's no longer out of the ordinary for a rock band to look beyond rock for inspiration. Or a jazz band, looking to expand their sound. It definitely makes sense as musicians are generally constantly striving to explore, to open their minds, their music, searching for unique instruments, new ideas, new sounds, even looking for something much more ineffable, something more spiritual. Psychedelic rock bands have typically looked East, The Beatles are probably the prime example of a rock band looking to India for musical AND spiritual inspiration. But on a much smaller scale, modern music develops and expands by incorporating new influences, the more 'exotic' the better. So for years, we could watch bands do just that, incorporate new instruments, sitars, tablas, whatever, alternate tunings, Eastern scales. Jazz musicians on the other hand, tended to look to Africa for inspiration, the tribal drumming, the vocal chants, all found their way onto tons of amazing records, amazing in part because of what they borrowed from the African music that was their genesis, as with many many discs by the Art Ensemble, Coltrane, Don Cherry, etc., etc...
So if all this borrowing and influence is so commonplace, what's the big deal with this disc, a deluxe reissue of a rare 1972 LP entitled Uganda, by Japan's strangely named Akira Ishikawa & Count Buffalo? Well to begin with, imagine a Japanese jazz drummer in the early seventies, so obsessed with African music, that not only are his records already rife with African influences, but he eventually travels there, and proceeds to play with local musicians, collects indigenous instruments, and returns, driven to realize the record he knows he must make, Uganda, a record that manages to sound like African music, jazz and psychedelic rock, while sounding like nothing else. Ishikawa teamed up with fellow percussionist Larry Sunaga, a bassist and guitarist, and a saxophonist, who instead of playing sax, composed all four lengthy pieces here, the results are amazing. Dense, dizzying, abstract and tribal, fuzzy and tripped out, long stretches of solo hand drum percussion, furious acid fuzz freakouts (courtesy of guitarist Kimio Mizutani, from Love Live Life+1, People, and other freaky Japanese '70s psych units), chanting and handclaps, all woven into an expansive, sprawling divine chunk of out there Afro-fuzz-psych-jazz-rock divinity.
Take the first track "Animals and Dawn", nearly 12 minutes long, and over those 12 minutes, the song veers and drifts through about ten distinctly different sounds and styles, all held together by the relentless African drum jam that runs through all four tracks. Beginning with what sounds like some strange low end synth buzz, those drums kick in, intense and hyper rhythmic, amazingly recorded, so on headphones it sounds like drums are all around you. That buzz, pulses and undulates beneath the frenzied drumming, and this goes on for almost 3 minutes, which is when some wild super distorted acid psych guitar swoops in, jagged and freaked out, spitting out soaring wah wah drenched buzz, before the bass joins in and the drums coalesce into a more recognizable groove, and the band nails it, heavy, slithery proto-metal, churning and pounding, eventually locking into a super technical prog workout, and then dropping out completely, again leaving just the drums, which are soon joined by hand clapping, and chanted African style vocals. Finally, for the last four minutes or so, the band unwinds a groovy jazzy prog workout, still underpinned by those same rhythms, but now the bass carries the groove, letting the guitar go wild, wild psychedelic leads all tangled up in great strange shapes over the groovy rhythm below. Eventually, the song is swallowed up by effects, reverb, delay, echo, as if the band were playing on some huge elevator, as we sit on the surface, listening as the band slips further and further into darkness. Holy shit. If this were a $30 single, that track alone would make this essential for folks into psychrock, proto-metal, free jazz, avant African music or really anyone into strange and fantastical sounds.
The second track, "Asking For Love", once again begins with African drums, the two percussionists, offering up wild tangled beats for nearly two minutes, until in swoops a weird synthy buzz, which quickly transforms into a seriously Led Zep worthy riff, the drums a strange counterpoint to the distinctly rock and roll riffage, and the vocals soaring and shouting, but this kick ass riff fades out only after a minute, and we're back to more dense drumming, Mesmerizing and hypnotic, locking into incredible grooves, veering off into off kilter time signatures here and there, but always returning to that groove. This continues until about one minute from the end, when the bass and guitars explode in a buzzing psychedelic freakout, the drums mirroring the intensity of the axes, locked into an ever expanding supernova of blown out sound, until the furious explosive finish. Whew.
Track three (on the original, the start of side 2) "Battle", begins with some straight up jazz prog, angular and complex, the drums and guitars locked tight, the whole thing convoluted and intricate, stopping suddenly after 30 seconds, at which point an African thumb piano plucks out a delicate music box melody, while in the background, other strange instruments scrape and thump and honk, eventually blossoming into a full on Afro-jam, the drums pounding away, male and female vocals, call and response over the mesmeric beats below, but again, this only lasts a few minutes before switching gears and launching right back into the angular prog that opened the track. This happens a couple more times. Long stretches of abstract percussion, plenty of buzz, and rattle, melodies played out on mysterious African instruments, separated by brief blasts of that �buzzing tangled prog, which is exactly how the track finishes off.
The closer, "Pygmy" begins with a groovy walking bass line, a cowbell heavy almost-funk rhythm, eventually some acidic wah wah guitar, and suddenly we're in some serious seventies, Blaxploitation soundtrack style jazz funk, the bass a constant presence, that groove irresistible, the vocals soulful, the percussion still busy and intense, beneath the more static rhythm driving the songs. The guitar and vocals get all tangled up, the vocals more sort of scatting, the guitar offering up jagged shards of high end, or unfurling soaring psychrock leads, the bass and guitar locking into step right at the end, for one final super tight psychprog finish.
It almost seems ridiculous to describe each song in detail, as that's only part of the story. All four tracks work together, leading into one another, offering up bits from pervious songs, giving up little sonic hints as to what might come later, and it's not just the arrangements, it's the feel, the mood, the vibe, and while mere description might make some of the songs sound schizophrenic, flipping back and forth from part to part, some parts lasting only a few seconds, nothing could be further from the truth. The composition here is as deft as the performance, the arrangement is simultaneously free and abstract, yet, tight and composed. The songs breathe and open up, drift and wander, but never seem to lose their direction, and the grooves ever present, even if on the surface the band seem to be drifting though inner space.
Uganda is truly unique, freaky and far out for sure, but most definitely an essential chunk of jazzy, proggy African Japanese psych rock bliss, organic, expansive, epic, rhythmic, space-y, proggy, heavy and funky!! If you've got Julian Cope's Japrocksampler book, you'll find it in his Top 50 list of Japanese psych essentials, right above the debut from Flower Travellin' Band.
As with all Tiliqua releases, gorgeously packaged. This one is housed in a full color miniature box, printed front and back, with a Japanese style obi of course, and inside extensive liner notes in both Japanese and English, with tons of photos. And it is limited of course, not sure how limited, but judging from how quick past Tiliqua releases fly out of here, better to be safe than sorry. And this is actually the first in a new Tiliqua series called Distorted Oriental Sensory Perceptions 1969-1978 focusing on "Obscure Japanese Psychedelic rock artifacts." We can hardly wait to see what they dig up next... there's a lot of others on that Japrocksampler list we'd love to hear...
A tape version of these recordings came and went in 2005, pressed in an edition of 30 copies. So, perhaps like most of you, we didn't even know this thing existed until Robin Barnes (one half of Isolde and proprietor of the Penny Poppet imprint) offered us this album. It's got a different title and different artwork, but we'll trust that it's the same set of recordings. The other half of Isolde should need no introduction. Andrew Chalk has long been at the very top of our list of favorite drone composers and sound artists for many, many years now. Big thick harmonic drones of the dark and sublime variety are what we have come to expect from Mr. Chalk; and the other recordings we had been able to acquire from the Isolde duo certainly delivered on that aesthetic. But this one is considerably different. Here, Barnes and Chalk augment their narcoleptic guitar picking with little more than the gilded halo of spring reverb and some uneasy sounds situated well into the distance. The two use plenty of space between their abstracted clusters of guitar pluckings, which only barely give hints to avant-blues strategies, even more abstracted than early Loren Loren Mazzacane Conners or the quieter Keiji Haino solo offerings. Vapor trails of sustained sound linger around these simple notes, occasionally merging in a placid drone more in keeping with Chalk's more well known sensibility. Somewhere in the distance, something bellows like a pack of wolves, which immediately makes us think Dead Raven Choir; then it percolates like the BBC Radiophonic Workshop or even like a snippet of EVP. This makes for a really excellent recording, although something of a detour for Chalk. Limited to a mere 300 copies.
What began as an homage to legendary SF black metallers Weakling, and maybe even a joke (not a ha ha joke, more of a fucking around, we're bored so we might as well record some grim black metal joke) has pretty rapidly morphed into a serious black metal contender amongst weirdo black metal aficionados.
Jabladav is a one man band who owes as much to Weakling as they do to Black Flag. Their first release, Dead As Duck, was a gnarled Greg Ginn-ified blast of intense blackness, blown out guitar buzz, insane blasting drums, some killer riffing and huge heapings of black atmosphere, channeling Weakling through all sorts of random not-that-black business, drone, post rock, math rock, no wave, and yeah Black Flag. The thing was, whatever inspired it, was soon eclipsed by how fucked up and far out the finished product was. A baffling and fucking genius collection of convoluted black buzz. Hot on the heels of the debut, came a second disc, Black As Pitch, which was like part two of Dead As Duck, but expanding the sound, making it even more metal, more chaotic, the songs got longer, and way more complex, even introducing some intensely blackened ambience. Which led to the next record, 3K Hum, a mostly ambient affair, huge stretched out slabs of glacial blur, massive roiling low end rumble, shimmering black ambience, hypnotic and mesmerizing, and while ambient, still extremely dense and heavy.
As if that weren't an exhausting spurt of creativity, now, not all that much later, comes the latest from Jabladav, the even more expansive and sprawling 2 cd-r set Primland, two hours of incredibly tangled black riffing, super blown out buzz drenched production, creepy keyboards, and deep dark ambience, super mathy drums, demonic vocals, all wound into super extended black jams, shot through with head spinning Ginn-ish squiggly leads, stop start riffing, but all strangely melodic, a moody mournful undercurrent beneath the roiling black heaviness. And the drums, shit, the drumming is insane, WAY up in the mix, louder than the guitars even, mathy and calculus complicated, like the guy was sitting at the top of a concrete stairwell in a 40 story building, each landing mic-ed, and then proceeded to hurl drum kit after drum kit into the black abyss, only in such a way that the resulting crash and clatter coalesced into impossibly deranged black rhythms.
But then out of nowhere, there'll be a track, all murky and muddy, lo-fi and practice space style, that sounds like it could be some lost nineties BM demo. EXCEPT, it's Jabladav, so even those tracks, are layered with slow doomy tones, deep rumbling chimes, and raspy vocals, threatening to swallow up the thrashing blackness below.
The tracks are definitely tweaked, and damaged, and a little bit spaced out and acid fried, druggy and mathy, but at their core they are pure black, the riffs are blown out, recorded so loud and in the red, the chords threaten to crumble. The record careens wildly from stumbling doomic Burzum style lope, to manic crazed thrashing black blasts, often both in the same song, the strange production only adds to the mood and weirdness, the songs on Primland even more epic and far out and convoluted and fucked than any of the Jabladav we've heard before, which is saying a lot. WAY recommended black metal weirdness/brilliance.
While they last, we have the ULTRA LIMITED, wax sealed wooden box version. If it's too pricey for you, hold off and we'll relist the normal version once these are sold out, but c'mon, this music deserves more than a jewel case. These are hand assembled, hand stained wood boxes, with a removable lid, that slides out, inside are the two cd-rs, in jewel case, and a printed color insert. The box is sealed shut with a silver wax seal. Each box signed and numbered on the bottom. But be warned, these are not had crafted keepsakes, the kind on a glass shelf at your grandma's house, no, they look grim and ancient, like the music within, weathered and worn, they're beautiful, but they look like they were unearthed from some cursed tomb, left on a shelf in a locked room, in an abandoned house, where they were discovered years later. Meaning that they are not perfect, the coloring is different on each, as is the wax seal, and the seal is quite fragile, so no matter how carefully packaged, the seal might crumble, or come off in transit, but you have to remove the seal anyway if you want to listen to the music.
You have been warned...
Ah, the Miasmah label, can they do no wrong? Not if darkly moody, cinematic soundscapes are your thing. It you like stuff on Type, for whom Miasmah's boss records as Svarte Greiner, you'll like Miasmah's releases too. Previously, this Norwegian label has brought us several dreamily eerie (or eerily dreamy?) discs by the likes of Elegi, Gultskra Artikler, and (highlighted just a few lists ago) the latest from Jasper TX. Now, Polish electro-acoustic composer Michal Jacaszek makes his Miasmah debut. His rustling electronics are melded with classical strings (cello and violin played by Ania Smiszek-Wesolowska and Stefan Wesolowski) and, crucially, the lovely vocals of Maja Sieminska, which seem inspired by the liturgical chant of medieval 'early music'.
It's all quite intimately lonesome, and somber, and very beautiful. Sieminska's ghostly, gossamer singing sighs amidst those mournful chamber strings, humming glitch and crackling drone, and occasional electronic "beats" that sound more like drops of water, slowly dripping from stalactites... as if you're in some vast dark cavern, Sieminska's siren voice drawing you ever deeper into the catacombs, entranced. One of our new favorite drifting-off-to-sleep records, its many shades of grey so, so very gorgeous.
Andrew Chalk began his Faraway Press imprint less than a decade ago, hand-fabricating some of the loveliest packaging we have seen, created to house some of the loveliest drones we have ever heard. Almost all of the records on Faraway Press have been Chalk's solo records, with a couple of collaborations, and a few albums from Vikki Jackman, who had previously partnered with Chalk on a handful of records, most notably providing the source material for Chalk's Goldfall album. Her first album was Of Beauty Reminiscing, and this one Whispering Pages is the second - both of which enjoy Andrew Chalk's impeccable ear and additional production. Jackman's principle instrument is an antiquated piano, which clearly wears its age in its warbled tones and wooden creaks which Jackman has no interest in disguising. Her compositions are gossamer at best, with gently plinked clusters of notes leaving little more than impressionist marks. Where her previous outing took many of its Spartan cues from Erik Satie, Whispering Pages enjoys a greater amount of additional treatments: field recordings, drone fabrication, and even some digital pixel smear. Throughout the album, Jackman's soft focus piano flickers across shadowy rumbles, which while somber and nocturnal are never oppressively blackened. The bits of digital splutter which dot the drift and drone are a bit unusual from anything that Andrew Chalk touches, but it certainly does not detract from the delicate drama of this album. Think Tim Hecker judiciously remixing Brian Eno's Thursday Afternoon. Be warned however, Whispering Pages is strictly limited to 300 copies.
Not a brand new Jesu record, instead, this ep collects the three tracks from Jesu's split lp with Eluvium from last year, and adds two alternate versions to flesh it out a bit. Folks who missed out on that now out of print 12", or those amongst you who remain turntableless, will for sure want to pick this up, and Jesu fanatics, might just find this worth it for the two extra alternate takes. First the songs proper:
Three new songs from Jesu, and as if we didn't already see Broadrick and Co. heading in this direction, they've almost entirely jettisoned the heaviness, in favor of a blissy new wave-y drift. Really! No massive sludge, no blissed out crunch, in fact, most of this sounds like Jesu doing the soundtrack to a John Hughes movie, all drift and croon and no crunch and pummel, but it's really nice, and pretty, and still suitably Jesu-like. Imagine Simple Minds or the Cure but raised on Slowdive and Chapterhouse and Swervedriver and My Bloody Valentine, doing the theme song for Sixteen Candles 2008 (which if our calculations are correct would be more like Forty Candles). The first song would be a massive hit, sort of melancholy and romantic, dark and dreamy, but still sort of catchy and hopeful, like sunbeams barely making it through grey storm clouds. The final track sounds like it could be from that last scene in Sixteen Candles 2008, the one where the boy and the girl finally make it to the dance after all of the crazy mishaps and misunderstandings and are finally sharing that slow dance... lugubrious and fuzzy, and soft focus and so great actually. It's weird, and a bit unexpected, but as much as we love the glacial crush of past Jesu discs, this new-wave-y drift really suits them, which is a good thing, since they seem to be heading even more and more in that direction with each new release.
The two extra tracks are definitely not -drastically- different, but different enough certainly to make them worth having. "Farewell" gets even more washed out, the whole thing muted and over saturated, the chugging guitars, disembodied and more textural than heavy, the whole song suffused with chiming harmonics and sun dappled soaring bittersweet melodies. "Why Are We Not Perfect", the above mentioned Sixteen Candles 2008 closer, hews closely to the original, the change more in timbre and texture than anything, the vocals still weary and woozy, the beat a loping skittery shuffle, surrounded by shimmering clouds of effervescent streaks of warm buzz, swirls of backwards melody, all whirling softly and dreamily.
Beautifully packaged in a super thick oversized Japanese style mini lp cd jacket, with a thick printed inner sleeve.
We're huge fans of Norwegian black metallers Khold, who we've described in the past as a black metal Nirvana, which while perhaps simplifying it a bit too much, does essentially get at the root of their sound. The weird thing is we thought Khold were dead and gone. Before Khold were Khold, they were an equally kick ass, but sonically quite different outfit called Tulus. After several records Tulus got an image overhaul as well as a sonic one, and become Khold, their new sound much more, hence the black metal Nirvana reference, and their look, well as we've mentioned in past reviews, probably the coolest looking frontman we've seen, wearing some sort of black furry skirt, a black turtleneck, then face painted black just up to his nose, so it looks like some black entity is creeping up his body, the top half of his bald head painted white. The effect is quite striking. Anyway, we reviewed the most recent Tulus record a while back, assuming Khold were on hold, but it seems both bands can exist simultaneously, all the better for us!!
So Khold is back, and their sound is pretty similar, the riffs simple and almost groovy, the tempos a slow pounding chug for the most part, barring the occasional almost blast, the vocals a raspy howl, the drums simple and stripped down, the bass a deep throb, in fact the more Khold progress it's hard to say what even makes them black metal anymore beyond their pedigree. This new disc sound almost more punk than metal, some sort of crusty, metallic garage punk, albeit with a wicked huge percussion. The hooks aren't as obvious this time around, which on the one hand is a bit of a bummer, but on the other makes this record sound a lit meaner, and harder, and well, a bit more punk. Although repeated listens have definitely revealed some hidden killer hooks that stick in your head like crazy: the tangled little angular bridge in "Forrykt", the strange melodic almost post-rock-isms of "Rekviem". And weirdly enough the more we listen, the more the vocals start reminding us of Killdozer, who we LOVE. And the bottom line with any metal record, black or otherwise, is that it's all about the riffs, and the riffs here KILL.
This is probably not the kind of record that will appeal to most black metallers, way too groovy and punky, and not enough buzz or blast, but for the rest of you, who might be into some slightly blackened, heavy as fuck, catchy, punky metallic rock, Khold might be right up your alley.
"Whooohoooo, yeah!" Allan's kavalcade of Kiss reviews kontinues. Here's maybe where I should have started, which is where Kiss started, with their 1974 self-titled debut... at the time, record buyers who weren't already hip to the styles of the NYC glam scene were probably puzzled when they saw this album's cover. Why were these guys wearing that stupid makeup? Turns out Kiss were cleverer than people thought. From the get-go, they were aiming to be the "biggest band in the land", with this album being an important first step along the way, and then some.
There's ten tracks here. And y'know what? We bet in 2023, on their umpteenhundreth reunion tour, a blind, geriatric Kiss will still be playing a bunch of them. Likewise, any Kiss "best of" would have trouble not including, like, half this album. "Firehouse", "Cold Gin" (written by happy alky Ace of course), "Strutter", "Deuce", "Black Diamond", "Firehouse", "100,000 Years".... killer Kiss classics all of 'em. Harvey Milk covered "Deuce", you may recall, on Live Pleaser, and Kiss was definitely an influence on The Pleaser itself. Meanwhile, the Melvins too are of course mega Kiss fans, and already on this album you can hear some parallels: the slower and slower, lower and lower outro to "Black Diamond" could be them, and even the brief bouncy instrumental "Love Theme From Kiss" has a Melvins-y hook, though they'd play it considerably heavier.
But forget about Harvey Milk and the Melvins, ever consider Kiss's parallels with their heroes, the Beatles? A four piece band, the two main songwriters and vocalists on bass and rhythm guitar, but everyone (eventually even the drummer) writing -and- singing songs. And they all sang backup, with vocal harmonies and all. And take a look at the album cover again - looks a little bit like Meet The Beatles, which was apparently their intent. Of course, Kiss weren't the Beatles, so if they were gonna become the biggest band in the land (which they pretty much did, for a while) they had to make up the difference, with, well, makeup - and a loud n' proud stage show, pure glammy spectacle unmatched by any other band. And they got in on the ground floor of the up and coming heavy metal genre. Though Kiss can't be considered as a heavy metal band entirely... maybe the first pop, bubblegum metal band? They certainly weren't as heavy or serious as Black Sabbath. They rocked, all right, but on this album sounded more like Grand Funk Railroad, Aerosmith, or the James Gang (check out "Firehouse", Ace busts out some Joe Walsh sounding guitar licks on that one fer sure). Elsewhere on this debut, they hark back to rollicking '50s rock ("Nothing To Loose" and goofy cover "Kissin' Time", the latter of which also reminds us of the Beach Boys, it's sorta Kiss's "Surfin' USA"). Which is kool too, but they coulda left the latter off and it wouldn't have hurt the album any. All in all, a fine debut, standing the test of time as one of their best albums, full of some of their rawest rockers - and thus good place to start, if you haven't already!
Ok, so this is my fifth Kiss review in this series, and eventually the lesson of these reviews should be... you want 'em all. Maybe I'll stop after a half-dozen Kiss reviews and turn to essentials from other classic bands we haven't given enough attention to, like maybe Queen or Thin Lizzy or Uriah Heep...
