The sticker on the new record from longtime aQ faves Kiss The Anus Of A Black Cat, the project of musician / instrument builder Stef Heeren, compares the band to Current 93, Woven Hand, Richard Youngs and Comus. That's some serious company for sure, and typically we scoff when a band is compared to Comus, but in fact, we too have compared KTAOABC to the mighty Comus, an honor reserved for an elite few. And that comparison still stands, but this time around, it's not so much the urgent pagan folk vibe as the overall misanthropic feel, the new Kiss The Anus is the least song oriented, the most abstract, definitely the most doomy, with long stretches of thick droning noise, simple pounding drum plod, the vocals in most cases seem like an afterthought, just another layer of sound. The Woven Hand vibe is much more pronounced, but we also hear plenty of Codeine, some Skepticism, even some Earth and SUNNO))). This might be the record that turns a whole new crowd onto the freaked out apocalyptic doomfolk of Kiss The Anus.
The opening track is the perfect example. For nearly half of its 15 minutes, the track plays out like a doomier Sunroof!, a squall of high end skree, upper register tones, wailing and squealing, weirdly harmonious and soothing, a massive trancelike ur-drone underpinned by a drifting languorous bassline, and then the drums come in, simple and slow, powerful and subtly propulsive, It's like Birchville Cat Motel covering Codeine, until the high end fades out, leaving just the bass and drums, to slither along into the second half, where the vocals come in, a dead ringer for Current 93's David Tibet, offering up a haunting invocation, over a minimal doom drift, that is soon joined by piano, a second vocal, and builds to a bit of a dramatic climax before drifting off.
The second track begins as another strange doomdrone guitar workout, at least in the beginning, a moaning scraping landscape of low end swoops and drones and rumbles, atop which tribal percussion clatters restlessly, sounding not unlike Finnish forest folk Avarus, before slipping into a deep, synthy minimal drone, long wheezing tones, an ominous minorkey melody, accordion and pump organ beneath passionate vocals that soar dramatically, gorgeous and intense, and weirdly minimal and trancelike, and again, the Woven Hand vibe is uncanny.
The record finishes with the shortest, and least abstract, track of the bunch, but also maybe the best, and most Comus-y, simple fingerpicked acoustic guitars, plaintive vocals, reverby piano, all lowkey, offering up a deep shimmery counterpoint to the main melody, peppered with brief sort-of-choruses, with urgently strummed steep string guitar, haunting falsetto harmonies, subtle effects, strange ethereal production, the whole thing pagan and ritualistic, but still folky and lovely, super moving and powerful, a gorgeous bit of dark apocalyptic dream folk for sure.
In our recent highlight review of No More Invention by the frantic French acid guitar punk band Gunslingers, we kinda bagged on all other modern day signings by the World In Sound label (as opposed to their rather better selection of reissues, of which we generally enthusiastically approve). Then we realized, that wasn't quite fair, 'cause besides the excellent Gunslingers, WIS has also put out good stuff by at least a couple other contemporary bands, both of 'em from South America, Peru to be precise. There's El Cuy (which we'll review when we can get more in, our supplier was out) and this one, La Ira De Dios.
We've actually stocked several earlier discs by this Peruvian power trio (sans reviews, sorry), so we knew we liked 'em. They rock it and roll it in a fat, fuzzed out "desert rock" style not unlike an Andean version of Kyuss, or Monster Magnet... Each track swirls dizzily with spaced out Hawkwindy electronic FX, while the band keeps on keepin' on, riffin' hard, hair and sweat a-flyin'. With their gravelly Spanish language vocals and command of psychedelic/Satanic drug things we also wouldn't understand, they also of course remind us of AQ faves Los Natas from Argentina. But while Los Natas sometimes get all gentle and proggy, these guys stick with the blown out, balls out rockin'. Pretty badass! The final track, a 13 minute trip called "Jamas Morire", is a category 5 stoner rock storm that definitely demonstrates that this album was not mis-titled.
We've been meaning to review something from this SF duo for a while now, the mysteriously monickered Z.V.H. and V.J.C, who make up the equally mysterious Lascoviec (formerly Angkor Vat). But their demos disappeared before we had the chance, and we've yet to receive the forthcoming split with Hungarian black metal masters Marblebog, but thankfully, Dark Hidden Productions has compiled their first two demos, Gesamkunstwerk and Gunshots Ring Out Over Vinland Streets, both originally released in 2006, onto one cd, and added a few bonus tracks to sweeten the deal.
Lascoviec traffic in droning, hypnotic, trance like black metal buzz, the guitars long washed out streaks, the vocals a distorted croak, often sounding like another layer of static, the melodies are melancholy and sorrowful, some tracks have programmed drums, pounding away machine like under a buzzy blurry blanket of epic majestic chordal whir, others are harsh and chaotic, with the drums lost int he mix, leaving just a thick undulating sheet of acid riffing and tortured vokills. There are plenty of clean guitars, and tranquil folky interludes, but just as many grinding ultra raw blackened dirges, the guitars thick and viscous, the vocals more of a animalistic hiss, the drums a buried throb, here and there dreamy washes of synth surface, but far from being tranquil, they're fuzzy and distorted, and slightly ominous, with a definite Tim Hecker or Philip Jeck vibe. Elsewhere the band craft weird sort of new wave sounding reverbed guitar jam, but still subtly creepy and haunting. Swirls of strings build ominous tension before exploding into super sharp jagged shards of weirdly blown out clean guitar riffing over relentless blastbeats.
And that's sort of what's so amazing about these guys, their sound varies so dramatically, from record to record, but even from song to song, sort of like the EEE stuff, the texture and the production are as critical as the songs and the riff, some are muted and murky and bassy and lo fi, others are sharp and angular, the guitars sonically are all over the place, sometimes soft and subtle, sometimes downtuned and sludgy, sometimes buzzy and brittle, the drums more often than not are buried WAY down in the mix, but that just makes the songs sound freer, as if they could fall apart or drift away at any moment.
Grim and gorgeous, twisted and intense, dramatic and a bit fucked up, long sheets of buzzed out bliss butted up against short sharp raw blasts of true blurred blackness, often getting all tangled up within the same song. What's not to like, this is some seriously amazing shit. Buzzy and black enough for the grimmest of warriors, but tripped out enough for folks into freaky outsider blackness.
Fair warning: Lasoviec are on Dark Hidden Productions, a label with dubious political leanings, and with definite ties to the Pagan Front, the hub for all things NSBM, aka National Socialist Black Metal. Although the band seem to be more concerned with themes cosmic and spiritual, nature and mythology, there are definite racist implications, the link is undeniable, so regardless of the band's stance, the label's is clear, and thus, another instance where the listener has to decide if the music trumps the possible unpleasant politics.
While Sam Jayne might be best known for in Beck's band for the great One Foot In The Grave album (As well as being pictured on the cover), or being Isaack Brock's (Modest Mouse) best bud, but for us Sam Jayne will always be an important name in our record collections for the scrappy and catchy indie rock greatness he created with his band Lync in the 90's. Lync's album These Are Not Fall Colors will always be a bigtime AQ favorite, and in our minds one of the most underrated indie rock albums of all time! But in recent years Jayne has been busy with Love As Laughter, a band much more standard and straight ahead then anything Lync released. And maybe that's why we've never quite fallen in love with Love As Laughter like we did Lync. It's never had that urgency and spontaneous urgency that made Lync so endearing. But you can't be a teen forever and Jayne has grown up quite gracefully, making solid if not somewhat regular records that fit somewhere between Built To Spill and Band Of Horses.
You are more likely to find Lucky Dragons performing in a small gallery or someone's living room or on an enchanted island then you are a conventional rock club or bar. Convention doesn't seem to be something Luke Fischbeck or Sarah Rara care much for and their music and vivid imagination is all the better for it. While this is a record that brings together so many ideas and influences it's strength is in how seamless and succinctly they do so. Opening with a dreamy snippet that recalls a daydream Boards Of Canada moment, the record then finds it's way into captivating and repetitive percussion that sounds like a Konono No.1 record interpreted by the Penguin Cafe Orchestra. They have a very special ability to travel through both intense and wandering states with equal power and grace. It's amazing that they've made a record that can sound like the most relentless snake charmer recording one moment, a hip-hop inspired pulsating beat next, an ambient interlude that could be part of a Grouper record somewhere else but also a germinal techno jam you never want to end. While bringing in a wide range of styles and influences is not something so new, making a totally cohesive, pleasurable and transcendent album with all those influences is much more rare and with Dream Island Laughing Language, Lucky Dragons have done just that! Highly recommended.
Another new Machinefabriek, this one a collaboration with American musician, Stephen Vitiello, and this is a record where the concept is so genius, the music would be hard pressed to live up to the expectations. For this collaboration, with Machinefabriek in the Netherlands and Vitiello in the US, instead of sending files back and forth as is typical with long distance projects, the duo came up with a clever idea. Each picked a handful of objects, and sent the objects to the other with instructions to use nothing but those objects to craft a piece of music. Which seems simple enough until you see the list of items: bells, book, tin foil, buttons, crackle box (?), thumb piano, field recordings, rocks, speakers, broken record and cassettes. Each of them created two songs on their own, and would team up for a final piece using another box, full of even less obviously musical items, which we'll discuss in a second.
First, the two Machinefabriek pieces, number one, using just bells and tin foil and buttons, Machinefabriek, aka Rutger Zuydervelt, managed to craft a piece not all that different than stuff he's done in the past, bells being the main sound it seems, sometimes recognizable, other times blurred into warm fuzzy tones, super minimal, by the end the tones seem to have blossomed, expanded, the notes deep and resonant, the bells a distant shimmer. For his second piece, Zuydervelt, using field recordings rocks and speakers, crafted a very Jewelled Antler sounding soundscape of staticky crackle, muted scrape, distant hum, all very rough and raw, but partway through they transform into something much more clinical and cold, the field recordings taking center stage, an intense buzz, almost felt more than heard, bits of high end squiggle, distant voices, all over a deep dark shimmering whir. Quite nice. Like a more musical Ryoji Ikeda during the second half.
The first of Vitiello's pieces, using just a crackle box whatever that is and a thumb piano, is all sine waves and dog whistle tones, crackle and buzz, clipped clicks and processed static, the thumb piano, only audible now and again way off in the background, a mournful almost melody, drifting in a field of glitch and crackle. Vitiello's second track, utilizing broken record and cassettes (seems like he got the easier part of the bargain, as most of his items were sound oriented or sound makers), is a gorgeously blurred and woozy field of electronically altered voices and snippets of music, bits of crackle and pop, skipping looped fragments, all smeared into what sounds like fractured short wave broadcasts, chunks of glitchy buzz, muted melodic whirs, strange effects, by now I think we can safely assume that the objects sent weren't the only items used, as there seems to be much processing and loads of effects. Still gorgeous and abstract, but would have been neat too to see what these two guys could have done without a computer and all those effects. But it's a good thing, they were allowed to use effects and computers and things, cuz not sure what the last track would sound like without em, considering the objects for the final track, the collaboration, are chocolate sprinkles, tape, egg cutter, rice and a plastic bag. Listening to it now, hard to believe even with all that technology at their disposal, that these guys could conjure up something so musical, but they did, and it's fantastic, deep resonant tones, disembodied voices, shimmering chimes, deep swells of low end, plenty of crinkle and crackle and static, but all very warm, and haunting, dark and mysterious and most surprising of all, melodic. Easily the prettiest song on the disc. But now matter how hard we listen, we just can't seem to hear the chocolate sprinkles...
Yeeeay! Finally out on vinyl now. Packaged so nicely too with the cd's shiny silver cover transformed into classy white on white (Even the vinyl is white!), but still with that original awesome full color sexy robot painting smack dab on the front cover! Now we get to play this in our bedrooms and jump up and down and lose ourselves in this amazing record all over again! Here's what we said when we heard Love Is Real for the first time....
The year is only just beginning but there have already been some amazing new records released that we're pretty sure will end up on our favorites of '08 list. This new outing by the enigmatic John Maus is one of them and it might just be the most engrossing and addicting albums we've been hooked on in a long time!
Best and barley known in the past as being loosely associated with the Paw Tracks family (Animal Collective, Panda Bear, Ariel Pink) Maus has made a record that will make his name definitely stand on its own. As he's created one of the most fantastical, bizarre and engaging pop records in recent memory. Warped bedroom pop with a flair for fantasy, wrapped in old fucked up synths, deep slowed down vocals, cosmic beats and a singular unique vision. Like OMD on codeine or early home demo recordings of The Cure captured on an answering machine tape that's been dubbed over way too many times. Or imagine a soundtrack to a lost early '80s movie made by both John Hughes and John Carpenter, as romantic teenage life intersects with magical apocalyptic doom! Love Is Real is as creepy and mystifying as it is heartfelt and endearing. As catchy as it is unpredictable. Out of nowhere the synths will rise to crazy loud levels or Maus will let out a haunting scream, and even after listening to this album hundreds of time as we have obsessively already, those parts still jump out, scare, startle and thrill us every time we listen.
Start to finish the album is impeccable. Songs lead into each other perfectly, the pacing is dead on, and every single track on the record belongs where it is and has a weight of its own. Whether it's sounding like the muddiest version of a Psychedelic Furs track or tapping into a bizarre drugged out cosmic disco excursion or having a freaked out panic attack, the record pulls from so many directions while always sounding like a completely other universe. This is what fantasy sounds like when the world around you is falling apart. Totally amazing!
Damn. Not only was this here disc cooked up by a badass, totally STONED sounding R&B infused greasy garage rock n' roll band from Deeeetroit, featuring members of heavy hitters like the Black Keys (guitarist Dan Auerbach), Dirtbombs (bassist Troy Gregory), Outrageous Cherry (guitarist Matthew Smith), and the Sights (drummer Dave Shettler) but check the top billing - there's a bona fide, veteran black soul singer fronting this combo, maybe you've heard of him, maybe you haven't, but he's the real deal, Nathaniel Mayer. He had his first hit single, "Village Of Love", in the Top 40 back in 1962. We've had (but haven't yet reviewed) a pretty cool anthology of his '60s stuff, I Want Love And Affection, Not The House Of Correction. But we that certainly didn't prepare us for this. Don't call it a comeback, this is something else altogether. Ol' Mayer didn't sound like this back in the sixties. We mean, yeah, this IS retro, but also totally something that could only be made now, the unlikely meeting of a versatile, veteran voice and young 'uns who grew up worshipping the Stoogesy rock action, who bring a fresh dose of fuzz and loose, laidback druggy psych to the proceedings that's pretty special.
Even more special though, is Mayer's marvelously ragged, hoarse voice. Weary and burnished with time - you can hear every one of his 64 years. Yet he's also totally in command of it, butter smooth one moment, croakingly gruff the next, belting out the James Brown style "owwwws!" like he coined the phrase. Yeah, the man can sing. And lyrically, he's all about sex and desire. Beggin' his girl. "Why Don't You Give It To Me?" Sometimes, "Doin' It" (which is a nearly 9-minute, wasted wild wahwah'd jam). In keeping with Mayer's phlegmy voice, the whole album is wrapped in a lo-fi murk, adding to the battered, bluesy, psychedelic mood. One that we might compare to some of the more soulful obscurities on that ol' Chains And Black Exhaust comp. The 1995 solo album by LSD casualty and former Funkadelic, Tawl Ross comes to mind as well.
And we'll remind you ('cause you DO read his site, right?) that this was Julian Cope's Head Heritage Record of the Month back in May. This is actually a 2007 release (hey better to list it now than never) so maybe there'll be another one soon from Mayer and the boys, but we don't really know, since it was reported Mayer suffered a stroke earlier this year. Hope he's doing ok.
Metal Rouge is an unlikely combo, as the two members live half way round the world from each other making music that does not lend itself to digital filesharing. Andrew Scott is the New Zealand citizen in the group, having worked with Nigel Wright in the past as Nest; and the Californian of Metal Rouge is Helga Fassonaki, who seems to be the globetrotter of the two with huge amount of exhibitions and performances on both sides of the Pacific. Andrew and Helga declare their intentions as being "concerned primarily with pure thoughtless formless now and its expression through sound" or rather, they improvise toward the drone supreme with plenty of detours along the way. Andrew's tools are the pedal steel and guitar pedals; and Helga's instrument of choice is a Persian dulcimer jacked up through plenty of FX pedals as well. After a handful of tapes and cd-rs, Three For Malachi Ritscher appears to be their first proper cd, with kudos going to ever impressive curatorial hands at Root Strata.
From a strictly aesthetic / geographic axis, Metal Rouge is the perfect sum of its parts, situating all of the free-noise / freak-folk aspects that we love about both LA's Not Not Fun scene and NZ's PseudoArcana label. So, through the psychedelic damage of their pedal steel and dulcimer duets, Metal Rouge weaves a post-krautrock / Dream Syndicate atmosphere of thumbing drones built out of arcing layers of spectral tones and spidery pluckings. Tones glisten and vibrate with that unsettled narcotic feel of Pocahaunted's disembodied vocals and drug-drone mantras, but these are WAY better. The two also have clearly been listening to Matthew Bower as there's a few cut-the-power conclusions to the soaring heights of their drone stupor, leaving us hanging in a dizzying limbo at the moment of silence. Very nicely done.
LIMITED TO 300 COPIES!!!!
The pros and cons of Metallica's new album, pretty much off the top of our heads:
Pro - It's literally AT LEAST a million times better than their last album, St. Anger.
Con - Of course, that might not be saying that much, since St. Anger was absolutely one of the worst albums ever made.
Pro - It's also much better than Load/Reload/whatever else they've done since the Black Album.
Con - That also didn't take much.
Pro - It's actually metal, which is what a Metallica album should be!
Con - James' singing is still still pretty 'chain wallet' though.
Pro - There's guitar solos this time around, they actually let Kirk play his guitar!
Con - They're still letting Lars play drums. And boy does he sound tired on some of this.
Pro - Produced by Rick Rubin.
Con - Rick Rubin producing Slayer in 1986 is not the same as Rick Rubin producing Metallica in 2008.
Pro - Definitely some decent riffs here. Parts of "The End Of The Line" are pretty badass ferinstance. We're also digging how chunky and speedy and thrashy the likes of "My Apocalypse" and "All Nightmare Long" get, amongst others.
Con - Lots of 'meh', sensitive dude parts too.
Pro - The digipack packaging is really nifty, with a die cut cover and cd booklet that gives a 3-D effect to the coffin shape depicted in the cover art.
Con - "The Unforgiven III". That's right. III.
Pro - Like old Metallica, most of the songs are at least 7 minutes long.
Con - Most of the songs are at least 7 minutes long.
Ok, enough. We were just trying to be funny with the last one.
Lots of pros, cons too. And maybe Metallica, with Napster and Some Kind Of Monster and Load and St. Anger and haircuts and everything, have made it impossible to be objective about them at all.
Basically, one reaction is that, hey it sounds something like old Metallica, and at this point, that's something to be thankful for! Of course, also at this point, if you want to listen to old Metallica, chances are you're gonna just put on Master Of Puppets or Kill 'Em All, or one of their other albums that are all pros, pretty much no cons...
Basically, the diehard '80s Metallica fans here at AQ are never gonna truly be happy with these guys again, unless Cliff comes back from the dead, but heck at least the average radio-listener, record-buyer is getting something fairly metal out of the deal, more metal than Metallica has been in a looooong time. If we're gonna get a new Metallica shoved down our throats, it could have been a whole lot worse. (They've proved it in the past.) Now, if they'd have done another Diamond Head cover on here, we really might be calling it a comeback. That would have been sweet. In the meantime, we WILL be spinning Death Magnetic, mentally weighing record review pros and cons but also unconsciously air guitaring and headbanging... whoops, were we doing that? To the new Metallica?? Shit, maybe we DO like this!
Oh and here's another pro: it's cool that Kirk is still rockin' the long hair, like he's still in Exodus or something, even though maybe he shouldn't. Getting close to the dreaded "Gallagher!"
Just when we thought all the weird dusty corners of strange and magical sounds had been uncovered from the vast archives of the ESP label, something new to us, shiny and unbelievably wonderful gets unearthed. MIJ is the strangely cryptic moniker of Jim Holberg, (or on second thought not so strange as we just realized, it's his name spelled backwards!) who was discovered in Washington Square Park on a hot summer day in 1969 yodeling and playing guitar by ESP label head Bernard Stoller. But this wasn't any country western or Swiss Alps yodeling, this was some freaked out high-keening spacey Martian kind of yodeling. The kind that cuts through time and space and penetrates your subconscious. Blown away by his street performance, Stoller invited Holberg into the studio the next day to record a full length album and in just three hours with an array of echo effects and a patient and agreeable engineer, the Yodeling Astrologer was born. Apparently Holberg had explained to Stoller that after being injured in an auto-accident that had fractured his skull and impaired his hearing, his perceptions became altered and he began to do things musically that he couldn't comprehend but they somehow worked, and indeed they do. With both voice and guitar reverbed to the nth degree, this is some Donovan meet Dreamies meets Curt Boetchner of The Millenium psych-folk magic. So awesome and beautiful, weird and dreamy, with well-written songs and just enough freaky yodeling that won't scare off the folks who might be put off by the concept of, well, freaky yodeling. We've been playing this nearly everyday, it's so good. So Highly Recommended!
12" vinyl teaser for the new full length that drops next week. The title track is from the album, which if you're a Mogwai fan you'll be buying anyway. But the other two cuts here are non-album b-sides. One's got a great title ("Stupid Prick Gets Chased By The Police And Loses His Slut Girlfriend") and the other boasts guest vocals from the legendary Roky Erickson of the Thirteenth Floor Elevators. Though, if we didn't know it was him, we're not sure what we'd think.
First off, go see these guys if you get the chance. It's a crazed rock spectacle, kinda like Japan's DMBQ but more dangerous, or at least shirtless. They live up to the hype you may have heard about their live performances, that's for sure. This guitar/drums/vocals trio from Israel are very, very rock n' roll, and they know how to put on a show. Probably everyone who's ever seen them has a good story, likely to include the drummer soloing whilst simultaneously crowd surfing, and the band's wiry, longhaired, mustachioed frontman (who looks like a cross between Iggy Pop and Doug Henning) energetically scampering about, spilling many, many audience members' beers (grabbing 'em with his teeth and tossing them back over his head, usually, at least if they're served in plastic cups). Allan's Monotonix show story even involves a goat!
But, the question remains, does any of that translate on record? Well this six song, 24 minute Drag City debut should answer that question. It reveals some depth to the riffy, hard and heavy, good times rock they dish out at their shows, with more melody and intricacy certainly (surprisingly). The title track, ferinstance, is almost prog pop! Yet, they don't stint on the fuzzy guitar and pounding drums we were expecting either, so if you play it loud, you might manage to spill a beer or two on yourself at home. If you just see 'em live, what you'll remember is how they played, not what they played. But spin this a few times, and some of these riffs may get stuck in your bangin' head. However, Monotonix live is a tough act to follow, which is their own damn fault, and so this still seems a bit secondary, like, they've gotta make records, if only to have something to sell on tour. But it is nice to see that they've put some effort into this aspect of the Monotonix experience too, instead of totally coasting on their live insanity.
As heavy-ish late sixties psychedelia from the garage goes, this one-off 1969 album from Long Island's Morgen is a worthy contender. The b&w Edvard Munch "Scream" on the cover is perhaps a clue that this will be fairly dark and tripped out, and it is, with druggy lyrics like: "Come take a bite from my gingerbread house, and let your troubles fade away...". That's from the album's first (and we think bestest) track, a definite fuzz psych classic, "Welcome To The Void". The fuzz is so thick, you could cut it with a knife. The singer (who's a better guitarist) delivers some turned on tales of popular nursery rhyme characters, but mainly you'll be hearing fuzzzz. And there's lotsa wild guitar and more fuzz as the album goes on. For fans of Electric Prunes, Plastic Cloud, The Litter, etc. If you haven't found a previous reissue of this already, we now have this limited numbered edition put out in the UK by Phoenix.
This is the one! If you've ever heard someone playing Milton Nascimento, some sweet soothing sounds dazzling your ears, chances are it was this record. As many of us can attest to, just picking out any Milton Nascimento record can be a bit risky as his entire back catalog is quite varied and there are some not so hot moments, but all sins are forgiven with this record, an album that we dare say ranks as one of our favorite albums of all time!
Clube Da Esquina is a stunning disc of psychedelic pop that manage to be as dreamy and pastoral as it is tropical and full of life. Bursting with warmth and rich color this is a record we will never get sick of. It's not psychedelic in an obvious look-how-weird-I-can-be way, but instead it's about a slow melting lull, soft swirls and subtle shifts in sounds. One moment it's the dreamiest most lovely song you've ever heard and the next the warm sun is shining and all you want to be doing is running and twirling in the sand. As lush, gorgeous and dynamic as anything Caetano Veloso has created. We can't praise this record enough! Lo Borges is the big unsung hero of this album, not even 20 years old when it was made he helped with many of the arrangements, sang and wrote many of the songs...
Truly a perfect album from start to finish, an hour long trip filled with sunshine and surprise, melody and sophisticated glory. It's no surprise that songs on this record have been covered by the likes of Savath & Savalas and Tortoise and Bonnie Prince Billy. As these are songs that will always sound so alive and of the moment. Undoubtedly it's a record that's had a huge impact on everyone from Devendra Banhart, The Shins, Eden Express, Beck, Brightblack, Vetiver, Jose Gonzales, etc. And a must have for anyone who loves folks like Veloso, Gerard Manset, Eduardo Mateo, Congregacion, Alceu Valenca, Serge Gainsbourg, The Beatles, Melting Glass Box, Magical Power Mako, etc. No matter how obscure or mainstream your tastes tend to be, this is one of those records whose beauty and genius just can't be denied. We know we're always telling you about so many amazing records that you really just can't live without, but this time (again!) we really mean it!
Negativland's thirteenth album Thigmotactic is primarily the brainchild of founding member Mark Hosler with a supporting cast that includes the rest of the group as well as a few other particularly notable sound artists Thomas Dimuzio, Wobbly and our beloved former aQer Byram Abbott! According to the group this is their first "entirely song-based project... of electronic folk-pop noise songs". Hmmm, that description sounds conventional enough, does it? But of course we weren't fooled because even their most seemingly conventional of works is galaxies away from that of the common folk. As always can be expected from a Negativland release, they turn everything - be it low-brow and high-brow art and literature, pop culture, social traditions, politics, mundane everyday objects and products, not to mention other artists' works - on their collective head with a healthy dose of irreverence and mischief. It's a well documented fact that Negativland have a keen ear for melody too. Here in the spotlight, Hosler's frayed cardigan, rain-soaked puppy singing voice could easily be mistaken for that of an indie rock popster (a la Sebadoh, Pavement or Bright Eyes)! Of the album's generous seventeen songs, some sound like campfire or coffeehouse singalongs ("Extra Sharp Pencils"), some like the jumble that you hear when spinning the radio dial ("It's Not A Critique"), some like a b-side from a long lost Magnetic Fields 7" ("Basketball Plant" and "Lying On The Grass"), and some are more typically deliriously Negativlandish ("By Truck", "Virginia's Trip" and our current fave "Your Skin Is Gelatin"). A wryly witty, utterly tweaked, cut-up audio extravaganza with plenty of ear candy and lyrical absurdities. It includes a hefty 36-page booklet too! Doo dah!
So here's the deal. Nothing is heavy enough for you. Nothing is fast or furious enough. Hardcore techno, drill and bass, none of those offer up the beats you need, none of that stuff kicks your ass. And grindcore, no matter how heavy or fucked up or insane, is just not brutal enough. Sound about right?
Have you been loving the Drumcorps shit, did you go nuts for that Drum:Machinegun comp? A damaged and delirious hybrid of metal and spastic blown out beats what you're craving? Well have we got the thing for you.
Japanese duo Noism. Two dudes, a guitar and a drum machine. And all hyperbole aside, this is probably the most fucked up, furious and frenzied grindmetaltechnowhatthefuck you will ever hear. Imagine Drumcorps remixing Orthrelm, but then the results tossed in a computer, chopped up and spit out double time. Or along those same lines, take your favorite grind records and spastic drill and bass 12"s, throw those in that same computer, smash them to bits (and bytes) and then compress them all into 21 minutes of face melting tech(no) metal fury. There are no songs really, well there are, but they, super convoluted fucked up alien 'songs', no 'arrangements' (see: songs). Just lighting speed riffing, squiggly guitars all over the place, blasting 300+ bpm beats that stutter and skip and skitter, all tangled up into a blurred grinding metallic beat heavy onslaught, it sort of sounds like free jazz played by a malfunctioning drummachine and a robot guitarist set on shred. Like if you had some computer that was meant to emulate the music of any performer, and you entered Masayuki, Takayanagi and Mick Barr and Venetian Snares, and it overloaded the program and cause the mainframe to fail, but somehow it still spit out a result, it might sound a little like this, Which Is, as far as our iron ears are concerned, a very very good thing. Recommended, if you think you can handle it...
Digitalis label boss Brad Rose returns with yet another release as The North Sea. If you've heard any previous releases, well, it may not matter. For this release, Rose crafts an almost entirely different experience. In the past, tracks were more of the field recording meets post-Fahey variety. Here, there are two long form drone tracks, much darker and more bleak than before. Hardly an instrument can be discerned within this gorgeous, blackened trancescape. This might be what it would sound like if Throbbing Gristle teamed up with Windy & Carl. We love coming up with ridiculous genre titles, so let's just call this post-industrial folk drone. And to be honest, there's even a good amount of ambient blackness here. As the effects pull the listener to and fro, you can never tell if you're somewhere in space or lost in an isolated peyote forest. Tense, heavy, paranoid, recommended.
LIMITED TO 100 COPIES!!!!
The psychedelic folk fans here at Aquarius are overjoyed that this brilliant obscurity is at last back in print -- and in an expanded, vastly improved cd edition no less. Originally released in 1970, Linda Perhac's "Parallelograms" is a lost gem of lovely, delicate folk-psych songs in line with Joni Mitchell or Heart's folkier moments, gone waaay underground and mystic. For a long long time, although collectors held the record in great esteem, no-one knew anything about Ms. Perhacs at all. When the Wild Places label first reissued the album on cd some years ago they had to do it from a mint vinyl copy of the record. Since then, they've miraculously managed to track down Linda and got their hands on reel to reels dubbed from the original masters, along with a passel of bonus tracks -- half a dozen of 'em. Whoo-hoo! Along with that good stuff, some mysteries were answered. It turns out that, for instance, the popularly held belief that Perhacs was from Hawaii was incorrect. But she lived in the Pacific Northwest and California, so that's not too far off, really... They also confirmed that this was indeed her only recording. But if you're only going to make one record, having it be as good as "Parallelograms" is a neat trick. Her gossamer vocals encounter tripped-out electronic effects and gentle folk-rock backing, transporting the listener to a place not usually or easily reached in this day and age. There's a track or two that gets strangely coffee-house beatnik on us, and sound a bit dated, but most of this is truely ethereal hippie folk-psych beauty unparallelled. Really nice, and recommended.
A while back, it seemed like everyone, ourselves included, was totally obsessed with a French black metaller called Neige. Doesn't ring a bell? How about his shoegazey post-black metal outfit Alcest? Or his fuzzy black metal gone bliss pop combo Amesoeurs? His fracutured new wave black metal combo Valfunde? Or even his more 'traditional' black metal outfit Peste Noire? Yep, you got it now.
Been a while since we've heard from Neige, since then, he joined another 'dark metal' band, and he's also joined long time aQ faves Forgotten Woods. While that's pretty exciting, and we're always up for hearing more of what Neige has to offer. We also sort of wish he'd just cut down on the various side projects, so we wouldn't have to wait nearly as long for a new Amesoeurs, Alcest or Peste Noire record.
But while we wait patiently, we can now revisit the first Peste Noire full length, with the unwieldy title La Sanie Des Siecles - Panegyrique De La Degenerescence, finally reissued! We've been dying to list this, but until now we haven't been able to get enough. Above we call Peste Noire Neige's more traditional black metal group, but that designation is really relative, as the music of Peste Noire, while being black and buzzy and heavy and grim, is also totally tweaked, fractured and fucked up, rife with all manner of whatthefuck, from gorgeous sweeping melodies, to strange samples, so completely confusional arrangements, to bits of liturgical music mixed into the buzz, to some serious pop tendencies. But somehow it all works. That is if by works, you mean, constitutes one of the most awesomely fucked up lo-fi melodic outsider black metal records ever!! We raved about the latest Peste Noire a while back, the awesomely titled FolkFuck Folie, and everything we loved about that record (also just reissued) is present here as well, but if anything, all of those things are just, well, MORE. More fucked up, more freaked out, more melodic, more lo-fi.
Just take the opener, "Nous Sommes Fanes", begins with some record crackle, before the band lurches into a weird drunken waltz, sounding more like the Reeks And The Wrecks than any black metal. The guitars and drums swing woozily, the drums and cymbals super blown out, over the top, an ultra distorted guitar spins a web of damaged leads, before slipping into a strange moody post rocky drift, replete with big boomy reverb drenched chords. But then the second track kicks in, and we're back in more recognizable black metal territory, and even though it's buzzy and black, it is incredibly melodic, poppy almost, the melodies soaring and epic, the track is peppered with blasts of blasting grimness for sure, a bit of a crusty punk vibe all tangled up with the buzzing blackness, but even when the song is blasting blackly, close listening reveals all manner of melodic weirdness going on beneath the surface, and it doesn't stay below the surface for long, as the song shifts into loping minor key almost-dirge, before finish up how it started, with that strangely emotional super melodic soaring blackened buzz.
And so it goes, the band lurching from midtempo lope to roaring furious blast, to almost doomy plod, all strangely muddy and murky, the various parts twisted and gnarled into something totally unique. The guitars are incredibly varied, going from Ved Buens Ende like Slint-worship, to filthy Darkthrone-d crunch, to gorgeous almost folky finger picking, some serious moments of Opeth-y flutter peppered amidst the crusty blackness.
The second to last track "Dueil Angoisseus (Christine De Pisan, 1362-1431)" is all gorgeously bleak and buzzy, midtempo and melancholy, but then draped over the top is super clean, classical guitar, way up in the mix, that gives the track the strangest vibe, makes it sound strangely pretty. Finally, the disc finishes off with "Des Medecins Malades Et Des Saints Sequestres", which begins with a tangle of effects drenched hammer-ons, unfurling a haunting, off kilter melody, the drums a distant lo-fi pound, when the song kicks in, it's almost eighties metal, albeit filtered through a grim French black metal lens, but the riffing, so classic, and so cool sounding when cloaked in a filthy production and that demonic rasp. But this song too, shifts into some strange other space, and is suddenly
infused with what sounds like a wall of whirring organs, those hammer-ons return, and the song is some strange minor key doom pop epic, that flits back and forth between that eighties riffing, super distorted, and that sprawling metallic poppiness, before transforming into a blaze of super effected metallic chug, finishing off with a strange super distorted almost-jig (!), the drums huge and pounding, while the guitar plucks out a strange distorted melody, much like the opening track.
Needless to say (funny how we always say that after SAYing it for several thousand words), this is one of our favorite black metal records ever. Fucked up, but black and heavy, poppy and hook filled, but still grim and buzzy, if you loved FolkFuck Folie, you'll love this, if you dig Amesoeurs and Alcest but want to hear that sound dipped in filth and painted black, well then this will definitely do the trick. If this was brand new and had just come out, it would be, without a doubt, one of our records of the year (not just black metal either), but as it is, this is ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL AND RECOMMENDED!
Considering the buzz surrounding this LA drone duo, it's really surprising that this is the first Pocahaunted release we've actually listed! Not to mention the tons of cd-rs, tapes and lps these gals have put out already! (Well maybe not so surprising - we did write a review of their Peyote Road LP on Woodsist, but never listed it 'cause we ran out and it went out of print too fast). In any case, we're super happy to include this genre bending slab of stoned drone-dub on this week's list.
Island Diamonds, a reissue of a sold-out lp released on Arbor (see?) with added bonus tracks, is the latest album from these psychedelic sorceresses. And with the help of producer (and experimental electronica artist in his own right) Bobb Bruno from Polar Goldie Cats, they've really cooked up something special here. Dueling swells of wordless vocal hypnosis, all under the wing of brooding, trance inducing drones. We're reminded of Valet, but with dubby drum machine beats. The perfect balance between pop aesthetics, DIY urban groove and ominous, obscure psychedelia. Definitely new territory for these ladies, and for us. The cd comes beautifully packaged in a colorful digipak adorned with pictures of the band and the usual Not Not Fun collagey goodness. Pressed in an edition of 500, you know these will be gone in no time. Oh, and in addition to the 2 bonus tracks, there's also a music video you can play on your computer, that looks very much like it was made on someone's computer too.
Mac McCaughan is really one of indie rock's true heroes. First there was his band Superchunk that helped define indie rock and helped put Chapel Hill on the map in the '90s. Then there's the label he runs, Merge, who have put out incredibly influential records by everyone from Magnetic Fields to Neutral Milk Hotel to the Arcade Fire. And then there's his so-called side band Portastatic who actually have been more active and prolific then Superchunk have in recent years. In many ways Portastatic served as his outlet for sketches and stripped down songs that maybe weren't meant for Superchunk yet still had his trademark vocal and guitar sound. This two disc set compiles a slew of singles, b-sides, demos and covers. We have to say while it's sort of an uneven collection there are some total gems on here, especially the covers, hearing Mac do The Undertones "Teenage Kicks" and Hot Chip's "And I Was A Boy From School" makes it all worth it. And despite a few tracks that cold have been left in the vaults, there are some total classic sounding Portastatic jams making this a must have for all bigtime Mac fans.
Feels like it's been forever since Pram came out with a record, and while The Moving Frontier has been floating around Europe for the last year, it's finally getting its domestic release here in the States. Luckily they made the wait well worth it, as this is Pram at their most lush, vivid and cinematic. Sitting somewhere right between the melodic and bubbly elements of Broadcast and Stereolab and the moody elegance of Portishead, Pram have crafted a record that is much more concerned with creating an overall mood and sensation than it is being a vehicle for pop singles. In many ways Rosie Cuckston's breathtaking vocals serve as another layer to the rich instrumentation that shapes the record. And in fact a big portion of this record is instrumental. We can't help but think of what kind of dreamy and darkly whimsical film this could be the perfect score for. At times it would be the perfect soundtrack for some incredible underground version of a James Bond film directed by Jean-Luc Godard, other times its shimmering beauty and soft swirling psychedelia could be the perfect score for some lost Czech New Wave film of the '60s. As suspenseful and hypnotic as it is sophisticated and gorgeous, this is one of Pram's finest moments!
The first thing you notice about 726, the newest record from Proscriptor, drummer for Texan black metal alchemists Absu, is the cover. An homage to the classic Aphrodite's Child record 666, the numbers in a black square set on a field of red, the text in yellow. Aphrodite's Child for those who don't know was a Greek prog act, featuring a young Vangelis long before he would go on to become famous for his many film scores (Chariots Of Fire, Bladerunner, etc).
So what is a black metal drummer doing paying tribute to a strange, apocalyptic prog-psych record from the seventies? Well, loyal readers of the aQ list, will no doubt already know that Proscriptor is no normal drummer, and Absu was no normal black metal band. All of Proscriptor's solo recordings are far from black metal, more like some strange soundtrack music, fusing electronic music, New Age, dark ambience, but twisted and warped, either Proscriptor is just a really strange guy, or he has an insane sense of humor, or both. On past records he's covered The Flock Of Seagulls "I Ran", he's covered "Devil Woman", the Tubes "White Punks On Dope, and, wait a minute, an Aphrodite's Child song. It all starts to make sense now. Well, as much as anything having to do with Proscriptor can make sense.
So what exactly does 726 sound like? Past records have dabbled in crunchy Southern Rock with black metal vocals, strange female vocal-ed rock jams, haunting dronescapes, damaged new wave, but this is none of those. In fact we're a bit hard pressed to explain exactly what this is. The homage cover art is �the first hint. The record starts off with a sort of cheesy, New Age, eighties style jam, all processed drums, big reverby production, strange electronics, tangled distorted guitars, and washed out Steely Dan style keyboards. It sounds a bit like the end credit music for some eighties straight to video movie. The next track finds Proscriptor channeling Tangerine Dream, offering up a warm whirring dronescape, thick with effects and soft synths, and mysterious percussion, glistening shimmering chimes, very serene and meditative and New Age-y, until about halfway through when the synths get all rhythmic, and the sound again drifts back to some eighties sci-fi thriller, all propulsive synth grooves, and haunting minor key melodies. And so it goes, the rest of the record dabbles in both drawn out drone-y abstract new age, and creepy soundtracky new WAVE, falling somewhere between John Carpenter, Goblin, and yep, Vangelis. Dark and mysterious, creepy and drone-y, New Age-y AND new wave-y. Only the most adventurous Absu fans will dare tread, but folks into any of the above mentioned creatures of the night, or into more modern practitioners of the art a la Zombi, just might dig this a whole lot.
What kind of an album would feature on its back cover a still from "The Big Lebowski" with Jeff Bridges, Steve Buscemi, and John Goodman sitting at a bar in a bowling alley -- all wearing black metal corpse paint??!? And feature music that kinda actually *sounds* like that picture might sound?? One by the notorious Steven Schultz (of The History Of Vats, Stalin Claus Superstar!, Busuchan, and I Forgot To Get A Rap Name! infamy) and fellow musical mastermind/masturbator Jason Kocol, of course! "No One Will Ever Understand Our Genious" is a more than apt album title for this duo's output. Genious [sic] put to questionable use. Embarrassing but stoopid funny music nerd indulgence, with the boys' sick chops in metal, jazz, dance music and whatever else they choose to abuse making the likes of Mr. Bungle and Estradasphere and Frank Zappa seem like mere puppies next to these Puny Humans. A silly genre-shift every 1.5 seconds or so, with blasting metal giving way to kazoo blues interrupted by circus music then back to the metal but with tinkling bells and sampled interjections from Flava Flav and house beats and skits and the quiet storm etc. etc. etc. Good grief! The mind reels, the throat chortles. This is really over the top. There's skits (y'know, the producers talking like on a rap record) and they even stoop so low as to sample the Benny Hill Theme at one point. Yes, the dumb humor driving this is SO dumb and relentless that it might even be brilliant. I mean, can you argue with songs that actually live up to song titles like "Deicide At Their Mom's House", "Sweep-Picking The Flugelhorns", and "Wouldja Look At The Ass On That Mummy?". Nope, or at least you wouldn't want to waste your time. Of course, without the dumb humor this mighta been the best ridiculous meta-metal ever, like if they were Japanese or something and we didn't "get" the jokes. But with the humor, it still shows Mr. Bungle where to get off. We really can't help but like it despite ourselves. Trying too hard to be insane -- and succeeding!!
MPEG Download: "Thorax, Ho!" [/audio/punythorax.mp3]
MPEG Stream: "Thorax, Ho!" [/audio/punythorax.m3u]
Pop quiz! Quick: who's the "street poet" singer with no first name*, son of Mexican immigrants, born and raised in Detroit Michigan, whose debut album from 1970 sounded like a fuzz-soul-psych version of Bob Dylan and/or Donovan, and was an underground hit in South Africa of all places?? Duh, Rodriguez of course. It's about time his inexplicably obscure Cold Fact got the deluxe reissue treatment it deserves. Seriously, after listening to this for the first time, you'll feel like you just heard a bona fide '60s classic, and be amazed you had never heard these songs before. They ought to be all over "oldies" rock radio. It's ridiculous like that. Songs like "Sugar Man" and "I Wonder" seem like they should be fixtures of the baby boomer memory lane hit parade. It's so very of its era, "This Is Not A Song, It's An Outburst: Or, The Establishment Blues" is certainly a sixties song title, isn't it? Likewise "Rich Folks Hoax", "Hate Street Dialogue", and "Crucify Your Mind"... But, maybe he was just a little too freaky and right on, and (crucially) never got the right sort of record label support to become well known to the Woodstock Nation, though this album had some rather random, surprising success so far off in the Southern Hemisphere, in South Africa and Australia and New Zealand, which Rodriguez himself was unaware of for many years!
If left to his own devices, perhaps Rodriguez would have come off sounding a bit too much like Dylan. But Cold Fact was a "Theo-Coff" production, from the badass Motor City team of Mike Theodore and funk guitarist Dennis Coffey, and they helped accentuate the more underground and urban aspects of Rodriguez's sound. With his hip, Dylanesque poetry set amidst lush orchestration and gritty grooves, Rodriguez's Cold Fact is a super catchy, tripped out slice of street-level, soulful psychedelia, full of drug references and radical political critique. We alluded to "fuzz" above, but on the track "Only Good For Conversation" we mean FUZZ. That track's a stone(d) cold classic when it comes to heavy duty fuzz guitar crunch.
This reish comes in a nice digipack, with cover embossing and a big ol' cd booklet stuffed with text (liner notes, lyrics) and photos. One of the several cd booklet essays explains in part Rodriguez's unexpected appeal in South Africa - apparently, in that repressive society, it was due to the edgy, uncensored nature of his lyrics. "I Wonder", for instance, with its lines about "I wonder how many times you had sex / And I wonder do you know who'll be next" was considered so risque that if you were a teenager and wanted to be cool, you HAD to have this record. Apparently, many folks in South Africa thought of Rodriguez as being a star up there with the Beatles, and when they didn't hear more from him, all sorts of wild rumors spread that he'd died, been accidentally electrocuted, OD'd, or even committed suicide on stage! When, in fact, he simply had no idea how "big" he was in South Africa, and his recording career had stalled out elsewhere after his sophomore album, 1971's Coming From Reality (also soon to be reissued). Turns out he's still alive and well, today, and has actually gone to South African to pay arena (?!) shows in recent years.
In fact, when we've had album in the store before, it was only available on cd as an expensive import - from South Africa! So we're, again, super stoked that Light In The Attic put the effort in to do this long overdue, definitive domestic reissue.
*actually, his first name was Sixto, but he usually just went by Rodriguez.
Reign in Blood is one of the defining moments in metal. Specifically, pissed off technical thrash. Before Slayer, no one else was faster, more brutal, or controversial. Yet at the same time they managed to somehow translate their music into something commercially successful, which is as confusing as it is impressive. This, their seminal third album, produced by Rick Rubin in 1986, is what we think of when we think of Slayer. "Angel of Death," "Altar of Sacrifice," "Jesus Saves." If you're a metalhead - to any degree - you own this, or you need this. In fact, we're not going to go on too much about it because this shit makes its own case. For greater detail, you can always pick up a copy of the book about Reign in Blood from the 33 1/3 series. Slayer fucking rule, and this is one of their best records. Get on it!
A while back we reviewed a disc by a group called Flittermice Of Eld, a sort of abstract ambient drone homage to Darkthrone, in particular their classic track "As Flittermice as Satan's Spys", which of course ended up sounding nothing like Darkthrone at all, but kicked our asses nonetheless (and rest assured, we should be getting more of those soon!).
So what do these Flittermice do when they're not pulling apart black metal institutions and reshaping the bits into their own twisted little soundscapes?
Well, actually, sort of the same thing, just without the Darkthrone bits (although we can't say for sure there are no Darkthrone bits here). But Mr. Dave Smolen, he of the aforementioned Flittermice, here strikes out on his own, and the result is very similar to the sound on Flittermice, albeit a bit more minimal and electronic, a slow burning lowercase trawl through a soundworld of electronic crackle and minimal glitch and buzz, twenty minutes of drifting static discharge, bursts of high end shimmer and shift, layers of metallic reverberation drift through spacious expanses of whir and rumble, clouds of spacey FX swirl around disembodied shards of percussion and muted rhythms. Serene and ambient, but also dense and intense, like slithering through a lightning storm, or crawling through a field of electrically charged vibrating steel strings...
Weird and quite cool...
SUPER LIMITED!!! Of course, packaged in hand screened cardstock jackets housed in thick vinyl sleeves.
Record number two from Canadian black metal depressives Sombres Forets, whose debut, was definitely one of our favorite black metal records of last year. A gorgeous blown out miserablist wash of black buzz that definitely gave other aQ faves like Make A Change� Kill Yourself, Xasthur and Burzum, a run for their money.
This disc takes that frosty washed out black sound and pushes it even further out, buzzier, fuzzier, more distorted and even more dreamlike. The brief opener sets the stage, thick swirls of keyboards throb and swell, the sound so blown out the notes distort as if burning from within, a sweet sad melody, wreathed in distortion and reverb, that quickly gives way to he record proper, the guitars thick and buzz drenched, churning over a wash of melancholy keyboards, which soar dramatically like a chorus of angels, adding a strange Arvo Part-ish vibe to the proceedings. But even minus those keyboards, the songs here, much like on the last record, are so moody and melancholy, but still super intense and powerful. Some tracks feature acoustic guitar interludes, with the acoustic guitar continuing on into the song proper, winding itself in and around the loping buzz.
The production is strange, at once thick and heavy, but also a bit murky and gauzy, the effect being that the record seems a bit blurred, a little washed out, which only adds to the lonely dreamy quality. Strip away the vokills, and the distortion, and these songs would most likely reveal themselves as heartbreaking minimal folk ballads, or depressive pop gems, but dip them in filth, wrap them in distortion, and run them through with harsh howls, and suddenly, your wallowing in some epic, majestic, depressive blackness. The final track is quite strange as well, all acoustic, a simple strummed minor key progression, peppered with occasional flurries of floor tom, some cymbal shimmer, but for the most part, simple and stripped down and strangely striking.
Brand new release from Humboldt County's finest sons, the Starving Weirdos. And their very first tape release. LIMITED TO ONLY 100 COPIES, we got about 15, so we won't go into too much detail, as SW stuff generally flies out of here anyway, so odds are these will be gone in a flash.
As if to commemorate their first tape, the band offer up a whole new sound. Well not a -new- sound exactly, instead, they take the subtle free jazz filigree that infused many of their other releases and shove it kicking and screaming to center stage. On the opening track, the band unleash some seriously freaky out-jazz, as free and chaotic as it gets, wild squalls of horns, the drums in full on kit-down-the-stairs mode, a swirling whirling dervish of sound. Some seriously off kilter speaker shredding jazz fury for sure. But after that opening salvo, things settle down a bit and get back to a more recognizably ramshackle SW sound, long stretches of abstract percussion, disembodied fractured folk strum, high end shimmer, rumbling industrial drones, moaning minor key melodies, chaotic tangles of soaring strings, plenty of abstract ambience and druggy drone-y floorcore, but with echoes of that opening track surfacing here and there, bits of skronk, woozy horn harmonies, but all deftly woven into the constantly shifting and swirling back drop.
Beautifully packaged, pro pressed and printed red cassettes housed in super thick multi panel offset printed sleeves. And again, LIMITED TO ONLY 100 COPIES. We have 15 of those. You no doubt no what that means by now...
For once being a grim cult mystery, whose records were practically impossible to find, Striborg has turned into an actual 'band', releasing a record every year, sometimes more than one, guesting on other folks' records, touring with SUNNO))).... you think the glare of the spotlight would have gone to his head, but thankfully, the music of Striborg, aka Sin-Nanna, is as bleak and twisted and fucked up as ever. So fucked up in fact that we are well aware that Striborg is not every metalhead's cup of tea, a quick look at the reviews on the Encyclopedia Metallum website reveals that a whole lot of people don't dig it, or more accurately probably, don't get it.
But as far as we're concerned, what's not to get?! Striborg create truly evocative, lo-fi black metal, that is as idiosyncratic as it is true and grim. The production has remained the same for over a decade, if anything it's gotten progressively more low fidelity and damaged sounding, the music instead of getting tighter and more polished has wandered further and further from traditional black metal tropes, which is precisely why we love it so much. For those new to Striborg, there are 15 or so other reviews on the aQ site that go into great depth, but in brief, Striborg is Sin-Nanna, who lives in the middle of a rainforest in Tasmania, and who crafts some of the most damaged and demented and freaky black metal we've ever heard. Bands like Furze, or Necrofrost, sound like Metallica next to the madness that is Striborg. Okay, that may be a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much, and this latest, newest Striborg might even, as impossible as it might seem, manage to outweird the preceding 15 or so releases.
Some things have remained the same, the artwork is appropriately abstract, nothing but pictures and drawings of forests, pictures and drawings of Sin-Nanna himself (including a random glamour shot on the back cover where he sort of looks like a high school goth or New Romantic!), pictures of caves, rivers, the sky and the moon, and not a whole lot else, minimal liner notes, but it's the music�
Sin-Nanna implements a new arrangement this time, still leaning toward the loooong songs, but this time they are preceded by or separated by intros and intervals, most a minute or less, haunting keyboard ambience, bird calls and the sounds of the night forest, a strange sample from some film, laughing voices, male and female, melancholy marimba melodies, Bernard Hermann style strings, a child and a woman intoning some sort of incantation, reverb soaked piano, whirring shimmering cinematic drones, mournful horns, tinkling chimes, but as creepy and abstract as those are, they don't even hold a candle to the songs.
And the first proper song on The Foreboding Silence, "A Lonely Walk In A Desolate Cold Pine Forest", really might be the best (and most fucked) Striborg song EVER. Eleven minutes long, the track begins with an impossibly buzzy riff, that literally sounds like a swarm of insects, or a million kazoos, unfurling a chromatic wall of nearly static buzz, that shifts from note to note, creating a lurching jagged melody, over which totally dizzying atonal marimbas pulse and loop, sending the whole thing into a woozy sea sick spiral, the various melodies, far from complimentary, the whole thing sounding like it's gradually growing more dissonant, more out of tune, the drums stumbling in the background, the vocal a harsh shriek, it's so off kilter that with headphones on it will make your head spin. Eventually, the marimbas drop out, leaving the track to plod along doomily, the buzzing riff like the sound of a rainstorm on a tin roof, the song shifts tempos, slipping from plod to pound and back again, eventually locking into a repetitive outro, the drums simple, the guitars locked into a two note loop, punctuated by what sounds like thunder off in the distance, which gives the effect even more of the buzzing guitars becoming the sound of rainfall.
The title track is another tweaked masterpiece, the drums locked into an almost-groove, the guitar still in full insectoid buzz mode, underpinning the spewed demonic vox, and a strange gnarled almost Greg Ginn-ish guitar overdub. The drums are LOUD, way up in the mix, shifting from stumbling blast to relentless double kick, while the guitar buzz swirls and sways and slips back and forth right along with it. The biggest surprise here, besides the opener, is the closer, "Somnambulistic Nightmares Return", a lurching chunk of slow motion doom, with some serious guitar chug, and some simple drum pound, while beneath some sort of super intense reverberating low end drone surfaces and envelops the song, while over the top, some woozy clean guitar drifts in, offering up a mournful, mildly atonal counterpoint, resulting in one of the weirdest and strangely pretty Striborg songs yet.
What else needs to be said? If you have all of the other Striborg records, odds are you're a bit obsessed like us and probably need this one too, if you've yet to take the plunge, The Foreboding Silence is definitely a great place to start, and if you get hooked, or are feeling particularly daring, we have a bunch of other Striborg releases in stock, all twisted genius, all fucked and grim and fantastic, just ask...
This is the second pressing of A Strange Artifact which dates to 2004. The second edition, like the first, comes by the way of Darren Tate's own Fungal imprint, although he's vastly improved the artwork with reproductions of Tate's stain-and-ink drawings adorning the sleeve. Given the limited nature of the original edition, this one is certainly new to us; and for better or for worse, the second one will soon depart from these doors.
Darren Tate has been a regular fixture here at Aquarius with his self-produced constructs of eccentric droneworks, although he's best known for his impressionist compositions with Andrew Chalk and Colin Potter, in Ora and Monos respectively. A Strange Artifact is a suitable title for this album, which Tate composed as a fictional piece of automatic music through accordion, guitar, and field recordings. The accordion tentatively seesaws a quizzical arpeggiation that when brought up to speed sounds like a primitive variation of Phillip Glass's early work, but mostly is a slow meander through notes providing something eerily carnivalesque like a Svankmajer soundtrack. Spindly guitar plucks float amidst the accordion, and subterranean field recordings churn in the distant. Perhaps this is the least droning piece we've encountered from Darren Tate, certainly one of the weirdest, too. Limited to 100 copies.
Love her or hate her, Lydia Lunch will make an impression on you. Given her venomous poems, constant invectives, and perpetual bad attitude, it's pretty obvious that Lydia wants you to hate her. While she's not an artist without her charms, she'll probably hate you for loving her. She began a career of transgression and teeth-gnashing in the mid-'70s when she was a runaway teenager slumming around the crappiest parts of NYC and pissing off more people than not. Yet, she managed to sequester enough people to support her in Teenage Jesus and The Jerks - one of the seminal bands who defined No Wave. They were also one of the four bands who appeared on the highly influential No New York compilation, alongside James Chance & The Contortionists, Mars, and DNA. Teenage Jesus only lasted for three years, probably due to the fact that no one could tolerate the musical dictator that was Lydia Lunch. But the music itself probably did a fair share of damage upon the participants as Teenage Jesus produced hyper-abrasive, hyper-condensed songs through militant rhythmic stomps, screechingly atonal slide guitars, and Lydia's sharply barked vocals. James Chance was in fact one of the early members of the band, offering his blood-splattering sax as a suitable duet for Lydia's caterwauling.
While Teenage Jesus never managed a full-album (well, they barely managed to clock in a 20 minute live set!), there have been a number of collections of Teenage Jesus tracks. The 2008 compilation, Shut Up And Bleed, is unique by including tunes from Lydia Lunch's other band at the time Beirut Slump. Some of these tracks had appeared on another Lunch compendium, Hysterie, released way back in 1988, but they've never been on cd. In Beirut Slump, Lydia played the part of the lead guitarist, leaving the vocal rants to Bobby Berkowitz, whose growling and grunts were uncannily similar to those of Michael Gira on the early Swans records. With the dissonant organ stabs, scraped guitar noise, and jackbooted stomping, Beirut Slump must have been one of the unsung templates for Gira and Swans. Even 30 years later, this stuff is damn impressive.
We've been getting all riled up over some hot Afro-rock releases lately, first from those killer Nigerian comps put out by the Strut and Soundway labels and then The Peace's Black Power reissue. But the lo-fi fuzz that's really rocking our world is this gem from Chrissy Zebby Tembo & Ngozi family, 1974's My Ancestors. Though included on the Love Peace and Poetry African psych compilation, Chrissy Zebby Tembo may not be so memorable from that because their track was the one instrumental track from My Ancestors, and though it's great, it's not as good as the tracks where Tembo sings. Like an odd hybrid of Malcolm Mooney from Can and Sabbath-era Ozzy Osbourne, Tembo's English delivery over these fuzzed-out groovers is the reason to take notice. Hailing from Zambia, same as The Peace and The Witch (another Afro-rock group we'd like to see get more affordably reissued), Tembo wails over these rhythmically charged but largely western-style rock structures. The best being the Sabbath gone to South Africa "Trouble Maker". In constant rotation, since this first arrived a few weeks ago, we've finally managed to get enough to share with our customers. Don't hesitate, this whole record kills!
Slowly and oh so surely, more sludge oozes out... A couple weeks ago, we highlighted an album, Peasant, by this slow and low (and yet sometimes lovely) sludge-metal outfit from the swamps of Louisiana. Well, we had gotten THIS Thou in first, though, and after leapfrogging it to list the more recent Peasant we want to highlight Tyrant too. That's right, if you liked Peasant, you'll love Tyrant. Gilead Media is responsible for this cd, handsomely packaged in one of those miniature LP style gatefold sleeves, containing music originally released on (now out of print) vinyl last year by One Eye Records, plus two tracks that came as a tour-only bonus cd-r with that LP.
What we said about Peasant goes for its predecessor, too. Thou is ultra-doomic, super-gloomic all right, with crawling distorted riffage and wretched vokillz... they definitely share some DNA with neighboring NOLA sludgefathers Eyehategod, but there's also something warm and fuzzy about 'em too. Maybe that's not the intention (you wouldn't get that idea from their despairing, downer lyrics) but somehow their slabs of crunching, feedbacking heaviosity are infused with enough melody and softness and ambient quietude that the blanket of post-apocalyptic ash spewed by Thou is sorta snuggly, their brand of nuclear winter almost a cozy one. And that's what makes it such great doom, 'cause after all, what we're looking for in doom metal is the means to feel good about feeling bad. A pleasant fixin'-to-die dirge. Sharing the depression, rather than bottling it up, getting some kind of release even if it's the aural equivalent of slicing one's wrists and slowly bleeding away, or swallowing a bottle of pills and falling forever into deep deep sleep... doom metal is comfort metal, is one way of looking at it. Doom metal goes there so that you don't have to. Not that we're saying all doom metal fans are suicidally depressed, far from it. But we all have bummer days, and doom metal can take those feelings and turn 'em into something paradoxically positive. And that's what Thou do here, at least for us, with "life extinguishing elegance" as one of their songs puts it.
It's not just their sound, it's their songs. There's seven of 'em here, long ones, ranging from six and a half minutes to twice that long, lots of room for lots of interestin' twists and turns, albeit at a slow and steady pace. They fit plenty of post rock prettiness amidst their plodding and droning, along with faster parts and unexpectedly, trippingly melodic guitar lines. This is for fans of Jesu as much as Khanate, is what we're saying. Pelican and Isis too, but also Moss and Trees. And of course for all those who picked up Peasant from us already.
Best song title award of this list goes to track three here, "Fucking Chained To The Bottom Of The Ocean", by the way. And the song DOES live up to its title.
Tiny Vipers is a lone lady, Ms Jesy Fortino, a drowsy dark folk songstress whose voice bears a striking resemblance to both Diane Gluck and Kim Deal. Very shadowy and very affecting. The fourth track "Forest On Fire" might be our favorite on this 7-song cd as the relatively conventional structure of the song is allowed to sprawl and dissipate out into a droning noisescape. Very cool.
For her latest album, the Italian-Icelandic Ms Torrini reconfirms her lithe, limber voice's chameleon-like nature. She's shunned both her early personas -- the tweaked arty nymph persona a la Bjork and the smoldering chanteuse a la Portishead -- as well as her more recent Tori Amos-esque ivory-tickling songstress guise. No, you might've guessed we weren't fans of that turn of events! This time though she has opted for a much more swooning elegance a la Nina Persson and The Cardigans. Me And Armini offers an ultra dreamy, languidly groovy, and sleekly produced blend of late night pop and flowing folktronica that also brings to mind Beth Orton. That said, she takes a chance on an unexpected detour late in the album on the comparatively gritty song "Gun". Nevertheless consider it to be a minor bump in an otherwise lovely listen (and it's actually Allan's favorite track here, though it does stick out). Wonder where she'll go from here!
As early '80s electro pop and disco began their popular resurgence recently, it was only a matter of time before someone would find a way to pull it all together and create some sort of new synthesis. In fact, if you enjoyed any of the recent compilations we've carried of vintage French dark wave and post-punk, like Des Jeunes Gens Modernes, BIPP, or IVG, then we're pretty sure you'll like this as well, though it's music from the England of today. What's the difference? Overall, many of the tracks have the staccato, angular melancholy of those scenes, while retaining a more direct, propulsive, and dancey sort of momentum. There's also some definite space disco and hip-hop influence. Depth Charge presents a John Carpenter coming down on mushrooms epic that could be good friends with just about any Notwist song, then there's Kelpe with their skweee-ish take on the downtempo beats of groups like Boards of Canada. With sequenced live instrumentation, live bass, string sounds, and clean guitar riffs, The Oscillation later offer their Verve-like contribution - yes, as in the British pop band. All of the tracks on here have a sense of cohesion, but each project remains distinct enough, with ups and downs, to come across exactly how a good compilation should: a great mixtape. And sampler of sorts to the wares of the excellent DC Recordings label, the same folks who brought us the super cool Padded Cell and The Oscillation albums reviewed here recently, which you probably already realized. And most, maybe all, of the stuff here is previously unreleased, or remixed. Recommended.
Fuck Off. Fuck Off. Fuck Off... Sorry, we're just singing along with of the songs here. that's the title of one of the songs here. Kind of a novelty number by Slim Gaillard, recorded back in the forties, believe it or not. They never -quite- say "fuck off" in the song, well they do but it sounds like a clucking chicken or something each time. So they could get away with it. Heh heh heh. It's also known as "The Dirty Rooster".
So that's one good reason to buy this comp of old time boogie woogie rarities. There's 29 more cuts here, all of 'em lotsa fun and/or bluesy drinkin' music. If you liked the previous Dr. Boogie compilation on Sub Rosa, you'll dig this too. Listening to this, it's not too hard imagining yourself wandering into some roadhouse honky tonk down South, circa '46 or '52, grooving to the rough and ready sound of what wound up as rock n' roll not too long later.
The many artists found here include some well known names like electric blues guitarist Albert Collins, blues/jazz guitar great Lonnie Johnson, and pianist Champion Jack Dupree, along with plenty of amazing obscurities (the liner notes give what little information is available about some of these). From Bobo Jenkins to Guitar Slim Green, Ramblin Hi Harris to Papa George Lightfoot... they're all screaming 'n' crying about how life gets hard, it's a low down dirty shame, just can't understand it, she's taking all my money and I'm gonna kill that hen... and suchlike subjects.
Originally released as a series of SUPER limited split vinyl eps, a 7", a 10" and a 12", each teaming up bizarre mysterious French black metallers Malicious Secrets with some of their more well known countrymen: Antaeus, Mutiilation and Deathspell Omega. Holy shit! You might as well stop reading right now and order one of these as fast as you can. You shouldn't even need us to tell you how totally fucking mindblowing this comp is. Antaeus offer up a short buzzing blast of ultra grim blackness, a fuzzed out blur of droning black metal, downtuned guitars, blown out lightning fast blast beats, guttural growls, the whole thing a white hot lo-fi blast of utter brutality. Then of course there's Mutiilation, who not only offer up a reverb drenched burst of atmospheric blackened buzz, also super lo-fi, blasting and buzzing, and hauntingly creepy crawly like it was recorded in a cave or at the bottom of a well, but they also do a cover of Sinatra's "My Way"! But you wouldn't necessarily know it, the croonsome orginal becoms a harsh ptichfork to the head, dripping with thick droney guitars and shrieking black howls, although it does have a super cool, riffy sort of un-metal breakdown in the middle. Most of you will need this for the final track, a brand new, exclusive to this comp 20 minute epic from Deathspell Omega, rife with impossibly obtuse riffs, weird atonal guitar skree, super complex rhythms, haunting ambeint dronescapes, weird math-metal breakdowns, and of course some of the fiercest fucked up black metal ever. Woah.
As if that weren't enough, let's not forget the three tracks from Malicious Secrets, each of their three tracks from the splits are totally dizzying swirls of ultra fucked up, BIZARRE black metal, riffs are bent and twisted into impossible shapes, blasting drums are sprayed wildly all over the place, each song is a serpentine, non-linear sonic mindfuck, a huge spastic black churning whirlpool, with little bits of riff or little streaks of blast beat surfacing now and again, while over the whole thing the vocalist moans and groans, low and haunting, each syllable stretched into long drawn out bellows, sometimes breaking into hacking coughs or throat clearing before once again returning to an utterly agonizing wail. So totally fucked up and so totally amazing!
Smokin' collection of Spanish groovers and rockers from the '60s and '70s. The opener from Rudy Ventura could get any disco floor shaking, past or present, while the rest of the record goes more in a catchy pop/rock direction with healthy doses of soul, funk and garage, reminding us a lot of that great Sensacional Soul collection we went crazy for a few years back. Barely any of these artists were familiar to us before except for maybe Los Shakers and Los Rollers, which is fine with us, as it's always exciting to get turned on to all sorts of awesome Spanish sounds we weren't hip to. The price tag might be a bit hefty, but luckily the songs on this collection are well worth the price of admission!
This 3cd boxset is a fantastical document of parapsychological research throughout the 20th Century, with recordings of purported demonic possession, glossolalia, precognition, poltergeists, and the already well documented Electric Voice Phenomenon. The latter had been the subject of research by noted parapsychologists Raymond Cass and Freidrich Jurgensen, whose work was collected on several cds released on the Touch label, one of which was the AQ perennial favorite The Ghost Orchid. The first disc of this set focuses on voices spoken through a person, who may not be conscious of the spirits controlling their words. There are several examples of demon possessed children, and a particularly creepy recording of a spirit medium who has contacted those who died in a plane crash and weeping through the medium to "move on." The second disc concentrates on Xenoglossy (the articulation of a language not known to the speaker) and Glossolalia (also known as 'speaking in tongues'), with examples of an English girl who speaks in an arcane form of Egyptian. There's also a few examples of Aleister Crowley famously channeling the Enochian language which the 16th Century mystic John Dee had also been known to conjure up. The third disc documents the sounds left behind by the spirits themselves, including paranormal music (that which has been transcribed from a deceased composer into the hands of a receptive living musician), the rappings of poltergeists within the walls, and the aforementioned EVP. A good deal of these recordings suffer from poor recording qualities that exacerbate the mystery of these spirit communications. From a strictly aesthetic point of view, we have long extolled the virtues of scratchy 78s, tape hiss, and surface noise as a patina of remarkable beauty and sublime power. This rusted sound makes things seems haunted to begin with, and then add the recordings of demons, ghosts, and other spirits, and we've got one thoroughly creepy and amazing document.
Includes extensive liner notes in both German and English.
Back in print! And cheaper! First reviewed on list #182, four years ago, as follows:
This amazing record, previously LP only, finally gets the digital reissue from the until now primarily F/i oriented Lexicon Devil label. This one's for all you turntable-less folks and those of you who just may have missed out on this the first time around. But even those of you with the lp might have to pony up again, since there are 3 lengthy bonus tracks! Long, long, long pulsing drones, with strummed guitars, thrumming and warbling wind instruments and wheezing hurdy-gurdies. Classic Vibracathedral. At one point the mostly rhythmically free drone moves into a brief section that's surprisingly rocking for Vibracathedral Orchestra with drums beating out a steady 4/4 beat and lead by organ and electric guitar along with the usual saturation of droning accompaniment before settling back into a wash of gorgeously swelling drones once again. As always, totally mesmerising.
"Who taught who the cold hard facts of life?" is the chilling question at the heart of this bitter tale of betrayal and revenge between husband and wife. It's also the title track of this Porter Wagoner two-fer which combines two early seventies concept records, The Cold Hard Facts of Life and The Soul of The Convict, providing a narrative arc of love, sin, murder, redemption and salvation. We absolutely loved The Rubber Room (also put out by The Omni Recording Corporation), an anthology of Wagoner's less known Southern Gothic sides that painted a much darker picture of the kind of singer we thought he was. Now that the man is gone at the height of a career revival, we get a chance to hear some of his best full lengths, recorded at a time of deep personal anguish. On this two-fer (which shares only five tracks with The Rubber Room anthology), he sings plenty, first about the consequences of cheating and then sings plenty more about the consequences of killing. Includes a cover of "Folsom Prison Blues" and six extra single tracks. Porter shows us once again he's a man to be reckoned with in this life or the next. As he queries at the end of "The First Mrs. Jones", "Did my little song scare you?"
Yes, yes it did.
Rest in Peace, Porter!
Obscure, awesome 1971 krautrock proto-metal reissued! And they're called Weed. Need we say more? As always, we will say more, 'cause we've got to mention that the heavy electric organ bombast on this album is cranked out by none other than Ken Hensley of Uriah Heep fame, over in Germany on vacation or something. He appears here under the fairly transparent pseudonym of "Ken Lesley"! Having mentioned that, we realize we should probably review some actual Uriah Heep albums on our site one of these days, but this did just get reissued so we're writing about it now. (Sooner or later we will write up some Heep, but suffice to say that their first five albums RULE, circa '70-'73, though they go downhill pretty steeply after that. If you dig Deep Purple and haven't checked out the early Heep, you should.)
Anyway, back to Weed. Thanks to Hensley/Lesley, they DO sound a bit like Uriah Heep, especially on the killer opener "Sweet Morning Light". Despite (sarcastic?) lyrics about "sun shining bright, on everything in sight" and other seemingly positive things, the singer's depressed delivery and the downer dirginess of the heavy, groovy music creates a much darker, doomier mood! It's kinda brilliant, that contrast. Elsewhere, this album features the more mellow, melancholic acoustic balladry of "Loney Ship", one blues rocker, "Slowin' Down", and several other sorts of organ-ornate melodic kraut prog jams. It ends with another heavy highlight, the song "Weed" itself, the album's longest track at 7:14. And it's an instrumental. With a crunching, exceedingly Sabbathy main riff, or is it Led Zep? Kicks ass anyways. For the first and last tracks alone, this disc is something anyone interested in proto-doom should hear.
Also, Weed should get some sort of award as one of the earliest overt "stoner rock" bands ever, just based on their name, right? Them and Leafhound.
Werewolf are a mysterious Polish horde who specialize in murky, brittle, lo fi grimness a la their countrymen Graveland. Huge guitars swirl and buzz, the rhythms veer from seasick waltzes to buzzing blackened blasts, thick walls of guitarfuzz and swirls of chaotic ambience create a dense foresty murk, where drums pulse and throb way down in the mix, like tribal war chants barely heard drifting like the stench of death on the wind. The vocals are a growling gargle, another layer of buzz in Werewolf's chaotic sonic squall, the cymbals splash and shimmer like acid rain eating away at everything it touches. This is more of that glorious loping buzzy droning black metal we can never seem to get enough of. The mix is so thick and overblown that the riffs eventually blur and smear, the whole record becoming a super buzzy trancelike drone. Awesome.
Every month, like clockwork, the UK's premier magazine devoted mainly to the sort of music we love cranks out another informative issue. Here it is again, with techno maven Richie Hawtin on the cover, along with the likes of Lucky Dragons, Benge, Runhild Gammelsaeter (of Thorr's Hammer and Khlyst), Ingrid Laubrock, and more. David Grubbs has the "Epiphanies" essay in the back, and Kawabata Makoto from Acid Mothers Temple does the "Invisible Jukebox" with Alan Cummings playing him the records. Pretty interesting. He spots Stockhausen and Gong straight off, taking more time with Ohkami No Jikan and Terry Riley, among others... Cummings stumps him with a tricky Afrirampo track. And there's a Helsinki scene report of special interest to certain AQ customers, since it's all about our favorite new musical movement, SKWEEE! Plus all the usual reviews and stuff.
Making this ish even more of a must buy than usual, it also comes with a free covermounted cd sampler, with stuff on it ranging from Grails to Moha!, cool.
The last we heard from Wolfskull was a super limited cd-r on Campbell Kneale's avant metal label Battlecruiser, a stumbling slab of Jandekian doom metal drone. Since then, there's been a split with Polish (by way of Texas) black folk ensemble Wolfmangler, and not much else... until now.
Tannasg is the latest installment from this New Zealand based outfit (we're thinking there's a distinct possibility that Wolfskull is in fact either PseudoArcana's Anthony Milton, or BCM's Campbell Kneale...) and begins like a page out of SUNN)))'s doomdrone playbook. A very Black Boned slow motion downtuned riff-fuck, glacial and thick, huge moaning notes and chords crumbling into black rumbles...
Track two though harkens back to the Battlecruiser release, with shuffling abstract percussion, wide open reverby room sound, simple acoustic guitar strum, a sort of super super mellow Dead C jangle jam, that never really goes anywhere, just sort of drifts and eventually fades out.
But that's the only calm in this storm, the rest of the tracks are variations on a crushing minimal sludge theme. From muted throbbing pulses, to hissy lo-fi Skullfower guitarscapes over practice space drums, to the 16 minute sludge pummel of "Shred Your Axe", with pounding drums, shrieking feedback, all over a fuzzy rumbling riff so distorted it almost sounds like a streak of blacknoise, to the final 4 minute finale, a blown out guitar drone, muter feedback, twisted into stuttering rhythms and throbbing pulses. Some seriously heavy shit for sure. Essential listening for the doomdronedeathdirge obsessive among you...
LIMITED TO 79 COPIES!!!
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Oh, how we wish sometimes that we had more time to spend with some of the records we review. In some cases, it's an hour or two, maybe 2 or 3 times through an album, sometimes, unfortunately, it's even less than that. With so many records, it's not always possible to totally immerse yourself, and some music requires that sort of immersion, for it to be fully appreciated, for the sounds to open up, the layers to peel back, revealing the music's beating heart. Such is the case with the music of David Eugene Edwards, formerly of 16 Horsepower, now spreading his dark apocalyptic folk gospel via Woven Hand.
The music of Woven Hand, as is evidenced by past aQ reviews (3 of the past 4 WH albums, well, now 4 out of 5, were aQ Records Of The Week, and when we try to figure out why the other one wasn't, for the life of us, we just can't), is the rare music that moves and inspires, sends shivers down our spines, gives us goosebumps, brings us to the edge of tears, a music powerful and personal, and so so intense. The sounds of Woven Hand, while gorgeous, are also ominous and haunting, the message even moreso. Edwards' lyrics deal almost exclusively with death and damnation, sin and salvation. He, more than any modern performer is the rock equivalent of a revivalist preacher, testifying like his life depended on it, and perhaps it does. The music backing up Edwards' passionate vocals, is a dark swirl of backwoods folk, of gothic rock (not to be confused with goth-rock), sweeping cinematic soundscapes, old time blues, lush and almost orchestrated, strings moan, sweet sad melodies are plucked out on old pianos, or unfurled from wheezing harmoniums. Woven Hand is the sound of some old dusty ghost town, or some strange traveling minstrel, set up on the back of a rickety old wagon, playing for coal miners, and forest folk, lit from below by flickering firelight, shadows dancing behind the band like some sort of mysterious back up band of spirits.
Ten Stones remains true to the first few books in the Gospel of the Woven Hand, from the first few notes, this could be nothing else, Edwards' super dramatic rich velvety croon, the tone of the guitars, those melodies, minor key yet shot through with some sort of hopeful warmth, some ineffable otherworldly glow, the one thing that is different, is just how rocking some of this is, almost heavy at points, the guitars thick and growling, the drums pounding and frenzied, strings singing, but all kept in check by Edwards' vocals. This new found heaviness is not a new direction, just another arrow in Edwards' musical quiver, as many of the songs still slither and crawl through those lost backwoods of tarnished souls and wasted lives, the twang left to drift in wide open spaces as often as it's wrapped around the heft of crunch and bluster. The record does manage to move in unexpected directions, the accordion driven filthy blues jam that is "White Knuckle Grip", or the moody torch song shimmer of "Quite Nights Of Quiet Stars", the pounding bluegrass buzz of "Kicking Bird", but even those anomalous excursions, somehow fit perfectly into the long winding musical road of Ten Stones. The last three tracks finish off things about as perfectly as possible, "Kingdom Of Ice" is total apocalyptic drama, the twang of banjo beneath a buzzing drone, Edwards's spitting fire, "His Loyal Love", a swoonsome, murky drift of soft smeared guitar buzz, shuffled percussion, and haunting reverb drenched vocals, the entire song wreathed in a swirling gauzy fog, and finally the untitled closer, a deep whizzing, nearly static drone, long tones slowly shifting, thick distorted guitar rumble and sweet soft tones, shimmering and spread out into a kaleidoscopic soft focus blur.
Another stirring apocalyptic missive, from one of the few, true remaining musical prophets, and even if your soul doesn't need saving, Ten Stones will have you wishing it did.
Musical salvation is at hand!
Record number two from these Louisville sluggers (sorry), another slab of churning, bass heavy, noisy, groovy riff rock, landing somewhere between the Jesus Lizard and Karp, Harvey Milk and Caustic Resin, Lubricated Goat and Drive Like Jehu. In fact these guys sound like they were spawned from an AmRep Mom and a Touch And Go Dad, which is absolutely not a bad thing. Opener "Took A Turn" has one of the sickest bass sounds EVER, a roiling, crumbling super distorted groove that goes on and on and on, beneath the weary mush mouthed vocals, building tension like crazy, until he sings "Drums..." and then the drums come in, the bass still grinding away, and then finally the guitar drops, a thick blanket of melody over that near static bassline. "Old Skin" has a killer riff, a sort of downtuned Iron Maiden sort of thing, that is totally mesmerizing, and continues on though most of the song, even when the band is furiously pounding away. In fact, most of these songs consist of no more than two parts, but that's all it takes, this is blown out, heavy as fuck, sweaty, live and loud, with a definite nod to Bleach�era Nirvana.
This stuff definitely sound killer on record, but it's easy to tell these guys must destroy live, even moreso, knowing that these tracks were actually recorded at various locations, studios, practice spaces, live shows (on those you can sometimes hear the crowd), but they're not meant to sound live, just to sound LIVE, cuz most bands do play and sound better in front of a crowd, so the final tracks were culled from all of those recordings and performances, and the results speak for themselves, loud, heavy, intense and definitely live sounding. Anyone into the above mentioned bands will definitely dig this big time.
And wow, the packaging, super intense, multi folded, 8 panels, of varying length, all overlapping to form different versions of the cover image, hard to explain, you just gotta see it, super striking!
