Another bad ass live set, equal parts weirdo mash up, speaker rattling dubstep and dancehall, pounding old school jungle, abstract hip hop, all wound into an action packed hour long ass shaking, bass heavy, big beat blow out. Courtesy of our pals at Lo Dubs, who brought us the atmospheric dubstep of Clubroot, the bad ass Starkey mix from a while back, as well as a mess of killer 12"s. This live set is packed with tons of unreleased dubplates, mixed with a handful of classics. Dismiss the opening chunk of Rush's "Tom Sawyer", at least until it gets all tangled up with some rad jungle beats and we're off, Ice Cube, Ninja Man, Shabba Ranks, Cutty Ranks, Mobb Deep, Capleton, Dread Foxx, Pharoahe Monch and more, but even the tracks we recognize are all chopped up and slung over different beats, records are stuttered and stopped, rewound and played again, over a different beat, or a different vocal, classic hip hop gets all dubbed out, toasting, drill and bass, classic jungle, all wrapped around wild flows, the beats are big, the bass thick and wobbly, when the mix slips into dubstep, it's some of the heaviest sickest shit you've heard, skittery, stuttery and downright heavy, woven into old school dub, or pulled apart into super spaced out minimal pulses, wild and totally all over the map, but heavy on the bass, and the big beats, the dubstep and the DUB. Easily one of the coolest mixes we've heard lately. And CRAZY LIMITED, pressed up for a tour, we have a handful of copies, but odds are these will be the last ones we see...
This has gone in and out of print a few times since its initial release in 2003, but it's been repressed yet again. A good thing too, since it's a pretty cool record. Also a smart thing, since the Animal Collective is soooooo popular these days, and while Campfire Songs was first billed as a separate incarnation of that group, there is no need now to carry on with such distinctions! Here's what we wrote about it way back on list #160:
A really nice surprise from the mysteriously monickered Campfire Songs. Featuring members of Avey Tare And Panda Bear and the Animal Collective to which they apparently belong. Unlike the fractured electronic glitchery and damaged pop of Avey Tare and the costume rock buffoonery of many of their contemporaries, Campfire Songs is more akin to the murky Fahey-on-qualuudes of World (Of Dreams) reviewed way back on list #81, or the dreamy, strummy ambient blur of Scott Tuma, but with a way more washed out, late night free-folk feel. Which makes sense since this was recorded late at night, live to three minidiscs, on a screened in porch in rural Maryland. Very repetitive and hypnotic, with lots of Sunroof!-ish shimmer and plaintive vocals, rhythmic strumming, and field recordings of the surrounding forest. Equal parts sixties hippy folk, nineties ambient free noise and deconstructed indie rock twang. Good stuff.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
We really weren't sure what to expect from a band called Author & Punisher, or why they would merit a dvd (actually dvd-r) release. The label sent us a clip from the dvd, and we immediately understood. Author & Punisher is a guy called Tristan Shone, an engineer/artist who fabricates incredible noise making machines, huge metal MACHINES, gorgeous in their construction, a massive 300 pound rotating disc, a strange handheld chain driven slider, a control panel with big airplane like controllers, all of which do more than look impressive, they control sounds. HEAVY SOUNDS. The massive disc spins, and Shone, using both hands, changes the speed of the disc and thus the tone of the bass; the handle, with the chain, slides along two metal cylinders, and controls the rhythms, a super primitive, yet ultra advanced drum controller. The handles control yet MORE low end, with motors built into the handles so when Shone is pulling the levers, to trigger the bass, the harder he pulls, the more the levers resist, in order to FEEL the bass. And the thing is, it doesn't just LOOK cool, it sounds amazing, like some sort of SUNNO))) / Godflesh dirge, but more alien, the way the bass can be controlled, stuttering, slowing down almost like a turntable, and the rhythms, crushing and massive, when Shone locks into a groove, it out-heavies even the heaviest of proper-instrumented bands. Not to mention, that after seeing this guy with the giant disc and the weird tank-like chained handle, regular old guitars and amps, will just look and sound wimpy in comparison. It's hard to describe just how amazing this stuff is to see and hear, but if you're anything like us, you'll watch 30 seconds of this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=blXgFQxpTkc
and be totally sold. So goddamn incredible. And it's not just the machines and the sound they make, it's that Shone uses them like a one-man band to make doom-drone pieces as good as any from our favorite full bands in the genre.
There's a chance, A&P might be coming to San Francisco, in which case you can expect some serious sonic Author & Punisher punishment right here in the shop, but until then, grab one of these while you can. Limited to 50 copies. Each one numbered, we have a dozen or so, they come in super swank dvd styled, printed chipboard fold over sleeves, with printed vellum inserts (and if for some reason dvds aren't your thing, we'll be getting some A&P cds one of these days as well!).
The latest from the always impressive, and always prolific Aidan Baker, who creates thick wall of sound doomgaze in the duo Nadja, and much more personal, hushed drone music under his own name, but more and more has been expanding his scope with various collaborations and large ensembles. This might be the biggest ensemble he's worked with, 8 players, all contributing vocals, three guitars, two drummers, violin and two cellos. And it does sound like what you might imagine, a sort of Aidan Baker drone record / chamber music hybrid, long languid tones, plenty of cymbal shimmer, the strings moan and sing, the sounds ebb and flow, swelling ominously, building to swirling crescendos, before slipping back into something more minimal and contemplative, "Liminoid" is split into 4 movements, and is about as close to classical music as Baker has come, at least in the first part, the second part shifts gears dramatically, transforming into something more jazzy and propulsive, a sort of krautrock thing, but with a jazzy slow shifting Necks vibe, eventually building to a dense tribal workout, before slipping into part 3, all shimmery blissy drift, soft focus and sun dappled, the drums an understated slowcore shuffle, leading up to the 15 minute final movement, where the vocalists team up for a haunting bit of choral drama, which explodes into full on free jazz freakout wall of sound, finishing off with a long form spaced out drone jam, that definitely reminds us of a super stripped down White Hills, psychedelic and washed out and very hypnotic.
The second piece, the nearly 30 minute "Lifeforms" is a smaller ensemble, Baker on guitar, with violin, cello and 'amplified metal works', the metal works had us expecting something clangy and bombastic, but instead, it's almost all warm whirling ambient shimmer, much more in keeping with Baker's solo sounds, near the end, the sounds shift, and the strings move to the fore, weaving dramatic melodies over the slow burning drone underneath, the result very cinematic. Quite nice.
They had us at DOOM BAND, NO STRINGS. Just drums, sax, and TUBA. That's IT. FUCKING tuba and sax, seriously, no guitar, no bass, just two horns and a drum kit, and these guys kick up a sound that dwarfs plenty of bands with axes to spare. Bellows is the perfect name for these guys, cuz the lungs on these guys must be like bellows, the horns moan and howl, the sax especially, the lead instrument, is wrapped in effects, and essential lays down some wailing, FX drenched, leads, that squeal and howl, the bands lock into killer lurching groove, the tuba, letting loose with an elephant roar low end, the sax just as often laying down a weird sheet of hiss or washed out drone, sometimes so effected it sounds like some fucked up synthesizer. And the drums, heavy and chaotic and mathy, the band locked into lurching lumbering dirges, post rocky workouts, and full on noise rock freakouts. It's a little like a marching band gone over to the darkside, some sinister assembly held in the deepest recesses of hell. The vocals are also bellowed, distorted and growled, venomous and malevolent, giving the sound a distinctly nineties East Coast noise rock Cop Shoot Cop sort of vibe. There's always a groove, but it's typically a woozy doomic one, the drums driving the sound big time, but those horns are just insane, some of the sounds they get out of 'em, on "Haunts" it's all drums and tuba, while the sax unfurls a creepy minor key melody, over and over, so hypnotic, before the track breaks down, and the low end is transformed into what sounds like a choir of throat singers, while the sax bleats and trills, and the drums just bludgeon.
There are moments, where the sound borders on jazzy, it's sort of unavoidable, but we're talking face melting Brotzmann style jazz, and that jazziness is inevitably all filtered through some crusty, creepy, blown out super distorted space doom filter, that makes these guys sound absolutely like no one else, and just as often as it gets jazzy, it gets something else, "Story Of A Giant" is all spaced out and almost waltzy, and there's no way you could tell the instrumentation, the sax unfurling shimmery psychedelic clouds of tangled melody, the tuba a thick bass throb, all wrapped in a druggy haze, and on the record closer, "Half-Life", the sax is super processed and becomes some fractured angular noisemaking machine, leading the group into an extended drone-out, all long tones, chanted vocals, swirling effects, total psych drone trip out, before finally slipping into a woozy jazzy outro, and finally a crushing chugging closing burst of ultra distorted crunch.
Fuck yeah. Came close to making this a fourth Record Of The Week!
Cold winds hardly ever blow in the sunny climes of San Diego, California; but that city is the home to the goth-cult, dirge-punk duo Blessure Grave whose grim, icy moods certainly match any of their contemporaries like Zola Jesus, Former Ghosts, Blank Dogs, or any of the more grim tones pushed forward by Wierd Records. It's true that many of the current crop of post-punk and minimal wave revivalists are triangulating their sounds through very specific references. Zola Jesus' operatics harken to Diamanda Galas but with a very DIY grit about her arrangements; and Blank Dogs really enjoy a good Joy Division bassline, and who could find fault with that? But it took a while to place the exact references that Blessure Grave evoke. Alien 8 offers Killing Joke, Death In June, and The Cure, all of which are close, but not quite familar enough with Blessure Grave's dungeon claustrophobia and dour expressionism. To us, Blessure Grave suggests a Frankensteinian construct of the grim and twisted. On one side, there's the glum goth-punk band Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, and on the other there's Michael Allen from the early '80s when he founded the quixotic post-punk bands Rema Rema, Mass, and The Wolfgang Press.
Judged By Twelve, Carried By Six is the debut album for Blessure Grave, following an acclaimed 12" for Captured Tracks, a split 7" with Cold Cave & Crocodiles, and a couple of tiny edition cassettes, creating quite an underground buzz around this band. All of Blessure Grave's songs are skeletal in nature, built around rumbling basslines, moody synths, minor key guitar melodies, booming vocals, and tons of chorus & reverb. The vocals from T.Grave on "Stop Breathing" bellow and chant in an untrained, art-punk manner, that pretty much follows the mannerisms of Mick Allen in his early days. And those drum machinations of the band do recall the Lorries, guiding the darkened, claustrophobic tunes along a militant lockstep. "Open Or Shut" is a bit more expansive through the slower plod that the band takes and the expressive guitars that alternate between an anxiety provoking drone and languid moping."A Thousand Drums" is downright frantic in all of those drum machine pulses sputtering behind the barked vocals and excessive reverb. "Hope For The Worse" is probably the closest that Blessure Grave come to anything off of Unknown Pleasures with the spiked guitar lines and galloping rhythms, although Martin Hannett would have made such a track sound completely different... and not the lo-fi, naked expressionism and sometimes atonally brutish constructs found here. This homecrafted grimness is certainly one of Blessure Grave's many strengths; and we're already eager to hear more!
Colin Potter and Paul Bradley have been collaborating over the past eight or nine years, between Potter's ongoing involvement in Nurse With Wound. On previous releases, Potter and Bradley have mustered monolithic, clinical studies in tectonic low-end rumblings and unsettled drone vibration work. The drone is still the principle sound element for The Simple Plan; but, here the two set out to record in real-time with synths, guitars, and a bunch of effects. The five extended renderings are dreamy driftscapes that certainly harken to the '70s mantras of psychedelic ambience touched with phased guitar dissonance, glistening surfaces of reflecting-pool ambience, and meditative looping jams. The massive 18 minute "Gloaming" is the center piece of the album with sitar-like harmonic overtones arching out of a pastoral set of interwoven loops with smaller glistens, shivers, and sparkles glowing from the underbelly of this cinematically expansive piece of psychedelidronemusik. Certainly, those Eno collaborations with Cluster and Robert Fripp come to mind (especially Evening Star); but even the recent crop of psychedelic dreamscapers like Emeralds, Celer, and William Fowler Collins draw comparisons to this nice piece of work. Lovely!
The first 135 copies of The Simple Plan also come with a bonus disc with solo reworkings of this material from both artists.
These guys have to be the dumbest, most brilliantly demented and damaged metal band ever. Which we know, is saying a lot, cuz as a genre, you'd be hard pressed to find a more concentrated selection of dumbness and ridiculousness, but then there is Breathilizor, tangentially linked to Midwestern retardo punks Sockeye, these guys first came to our attention via a split single with the legendary, and legendarily silly Faxed Head, the Breathilizor side was basically an epic metal intro played over and over and over and over. Every time, just when you thought the song was about to kick in, they'd play the intro again. And again. Sounds annoying, and it sort of was, but it was also funny as fuck, and the thing was, the metal was AWESOME.
It didn't even occur to us that they might still be a band, but the man behind black metal weirdos Cloak Of Displacement decided to put us in touch with them and are we ever glad they did. Apparently, they've released an lp, and a clutch of cd-r's, but this here, is their latest, the ridiculously titled Metal Dump Of Outer Space's Confusion AKA Hamburglar's Toast. And it rules. And it's totally dumb.
Let us count the ways we love Breathilizor.
One: They change the spelling of their name seemingly arbitrarily from Breathilizor to Breathilizer and back again, whenever.
Two: Every song is called "Something OF Something Else". Every song. On every record. This time around it's "Creatures Of Prehistoric", "Pirate Ship Of U.F.O.", "Monster Of Loch Ness", Count Chocula Of Blood", "Demon Of Ice", "Ghost Of Cowboy", "Gnome Of Entrapment" and "SLC Of Death Metal".
Three: The music rules. They lay down some killer classic sounding metal, chugging hooky riffs, wild leads, pounding drums, somewhere between slowed down death metal and classic New Wave Of British Heavy Metal.
Four: That classic timeless metal is balanced by totally goofy insane and ridiculous vocals, a whiney nasally Venom-y voice that more speaks than sings, cramming way too many words into each line, and spitting out some of the most ridiculous shit ever. Tales of monsters and demons and space and aliens and basically anything they think of.
We could go on, but by now, you know if you need this or not. The dumb factor is through the roof, but goddamn it's funny, and the songs rule, and there are lyrics too so you can follow along, which only makes it that much funnier and stupidly brilliant.
We don't know how they do it. Black magic presumably. If you thought that Sweden's Witchcraft were eerily able to conjure the spirit of early '70s proto-metal doom rock a la Black Sabbath and Pentagram (which they are) and you want MORE (of course you do), well, you're in luck. We've discovered that Witchcraft have some friends, another Swedish band called Burning Saviours who ALSO possess this arcane ability, incredibly enough! You've gotta hear 'em. Burning Saviours are pretty much dead ringers for Witchcraft, which means that they are equally inspired by Pentagram (heck, they're named after a Pentagram song, "Burning Saviour"), Sabbath, Witchfinder General and all sorts of decades-past, metal-prog-psych heaviness. Their songs have got all the bellbottomed basslines, laidback soloing, gentle folky melodies, Ozzy-sincere vocals, and doomful riffs needed to make for an authentic-sounding escape to that mystic, misty, downer domain that we (and bands like Burning Saviours and Witchcraft) like to imagine the '70s to be...long-haired lads worshipping pagan gods with guitars and amplifiers and flutes -- yes, flutes, much to Andee's approval (Andee's been taking flute lessons for a few months now, in a bit do become even MORE prog, and he knows how to play four whole notes already!). Burning Saviours wield flute with aplomb on two tracks, "Spread Your Wings" and "Trees And Stones", which will doubtless garner 'em comparisions to Jethro Tull, although we doubt they go in for the one-legged flute pose, and besides there were lots of other '70s heavy psych/prog acts that utilized the flute -- Murphy Blend, Gravy Train, Clear Blue Sky, Mammut, Los Dug Dugs, Out Of Focus, McChurch Soundroom, Nosferatu, Alrune Rod, Culpeper's Orchard and plenty more obscure acts who were probably more inspirational to Burning Saviours, not that we're knocking Tull. And let's not forget that Tony Iommi of Black Sabbath was known to set aside his guitar and pick up the flute upon occasion -- once, famously, in concert when we was so stoned that he spent, like, two minutes with his eyes closed, holding the flute nowhere near his lips, while blowing directly into the microphone as bandmates Ozzy, Bill and Geezer looked on and tried to restrain their mirth. Or so the story goes. ANYWAY, our point is sort of that if any of those bands mean anything to you, and/or you also dig Black Sabbath, then this should be right up your alley! We only wish this album was longer than the relatively lean 34 minutes that it is. But if you've been lovin' Witchcraft's recent Firewood, you'll be happy to have this -- indeed, it might even be BETTER than Witchcraft. We're not sure yet. And that by itself is about as high a recommendation as we can give!!
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Latest blast of skull caving psychedelia from this constantly shifting collective, on this 2 track lp shifting from 5 members to 9, from two guitarists to FOUR guitarists and two drummers, not to mention a xylophonist!!! But none of that is as important as the monstrous sounds these guys and gals conjure up, and it is MONSTROUS.
The A side is a riffy sprawl of blown out bong smoke psych sludge crush, chaotic, relentless rehearsal space drumming, churning, chugging riffage, wild tangled chaotic leads, totally burnt out (of course) and endlessly hypnotic, definitely sounds like this was a 20 minute chunk extracted from an all day, all night drug fueled orgy of psychedelic excess, which of course means FUCK YEAH, and WE WANT MORE.
All you have to do is flip it over, and voila, more. WAY more. The flipside is slower and dirgier, almost doomy, a swirly mass of garbled psych-drone freakout, crashing speaker punishing drum damage, total free for all pound and skree, like the A side, epic and endless, and no doubt part of a massive whole that had Burnt Hills' entire neighborhood, stuffing cotton in their ears and pushing furniture against the doors and windows.
This is about as heavy and druggy and noisy as improv space rock gets these days, and we LOVE it.
LIMITED TO ONLY 99 COPIES! Each one hand numbered, in cool paste on sleeves, got very few of these, so be warned.
The return of Cave In. Or maybe more accurately, ANOTHER return of Cave In. We might be some of the only folks who never stopped loving this band. From their crushing metallic early years, to their epic pop prog Radiohead style flirtation with major label years, to their return to indie label / heaviness, to Cave In front man Stephen Brodsky's curious but totally compelling jangly psych pop solo records, and now this, another return that sounds a lot like the under appreciated Perfect Pitch Black record from a while back, the band melding their two disparate sides, the poppy polished side, and the chugging metal side. And fuck if it doesn't still sound great. In fact, it's the sort of thing that could, or maybe SHOULD find it's way on to commercial radio. As the climate is way more accepting of metal, and heaviness in general, and Cave In have a sort of Muse only more metal thing going on, with the right push, as we've said before, these guys cold be huge.
"Cayman Tongue" opens up with some soaring guitars, big stadium drums, and Brodsky's soaring croon, and some serious chug. We're definitely hearing some Muse, but with that distinct Cave In vibe and way with melodies, before it gets seriously crunchy and the gruff vocals come out, and things get mathy and gloriously chaotic, and then for MINUTES, the band get all spaced out and doomy, letting their guitars feedback and buzz, interrupting the tangled guitar gnarl every few seconds with a big metallic crush, before a seriously grinding intense Coalesce-style outro.
"Retina Sees Rewind" has a killer main riff, all tangled Maiden-y squiggles and crunchy chug, wild psychedelic leads, and a chorus that sounds a bit like Torche meets Rush meets Queens Of The Stone Age. "The Redtrail" is all frantic punk rock with shrieked vox and tangled guitars, Greg Ginn-ish riffage and a total old school punk rock breakdown right in the middle. And "Air Escapes" finishes things off with another perfect blend of mathy metallic heaviness and quirky psych pop, Brodsky's nimble vocals draped over angular guitars and tribal drumming, that gets more and more Voivod-ish as the track progresses which is never a bad thing.
We still love these guys, hard to understand why everyone doesn't. One of the few bands as adept at pummeling metal as they are at crafting epic arena pop, and the fact that they can somehow do both at once, only makes them that much more special.
Incredible packaging as with most Hydra Head stuff, gorgeous metallic printing on the jacket and on the inside sleeve, pressed on ultra thick vinyl, and most likely very very limited.
The arrival of a new Andrew Chalk album is always a cause for celebration, doubly so when it's one of his scarce productions on vinyl. Mr. Chalk has long stood as one of our favorite drone composers over the years, beginning with his early contributions to the more placid Organum recordings, through his exemplary collaborative work in Mirror and Ora, and onto his near perfect catalogue of solo recording self-released through his Faraway Press. Through the more recent recordings Goldfall and Time Of Hayfield, the timbre of Chalk's work has brightened a bit, even as that brightening occurs between the spectrum of shadowy grey to sodden blue. Like Goldfall, The Cable House is an album sourced from piano; but where the notes on that earlier album loosely trailed amidst a gossamer web of bleary dronings, The Cable House has a considerably more purposeful set of melodic structures, pushing Chalk's work much closer into the realm of Satie's Furniture Music than ever before. Nonetheless, Chalk is masterful at extracting soft ringings of echo, restrained attack, and muted reverberations from his piano. It would be hard to imagine even someone like Eno or Basinski being able to craft something more elegant, more shimmering, more beautiful.
The artwork features hand printed woodblock prints, rendering each piece just slightly different from one another. As a result of the laborious printing process, Chalk has only made 300 copies.
Originally released as an insanely limited cassette tape to coincide with a tour, this collaborative recording is now available as a spiffy, and still limited, lp, and includes a bonus track NOT on the original tape.
What might one expect from this match up, some cool cold wave grooves with howling noise drenched vocals, or better yet some heavy harsh noise shot through with dark moody melodies, and cold synths? Well, the weird thing is, this doesn't sound like either band, together or separate. Instead, this is swirling psychedelic synth space drone ambience, a little blissed out, a little brooding and ominous, all starry shimmer and blackly abstract, but plenty dark and definitely a little malevolent. Huge expanses of muted feedback, processed rumbles and whirs, buried melodies, all softly heaving in deep black swells, shot through with ever shifting textures. The B-side though gets downright poppy, still space-y and abstract, but infused with some seriously shoegazey shimmer, melodies much closer to the surface, glimmery and gauzey, with a distant rhythms, skittery and hushed, that over the course of the side, builds to a fairly aggressive industrial pound, while the sounds around it grow more and more bleak and caustic.
And then there's the extra track, which is easily the poppiest of the bunch, a soft focus M83 / Nadja / Jesu bit of blissy pop ambient drift, swirly and abstract, with wordless vocals adding to soft space-y psychedelia until some super strange vocals come in, a little harsh, heavily processed, distorted and menacing, wrapped around distant grinding guitars, and for a few moments it suddenly does sound very much like we imagined it would.
And of course, EXTREMELY LIMITED.
We've been so focused on the Paysage D'Hiver reissues lately, that we've barely had time to dig into the other releases on Cold Dimensions and Kunsthall, but there are at least two that we definitely need to highlight, the latest Trist, which we'll review soon, and this one right here. Melancholie2, from German one man band Coldworld, quite possibly, one of the best depressive black metal records we've ever heard. Although defining Melancholie2 as a depressive BM record might be a bit reductive. It will make more sense, read on...
A dizzying mix of lilting melancholia, furious blackened blasts, epic morose arrangements, awesome drumming (a definite shortcoming in most bands), kick ass and ridiculously catchy riffing, and most importantly, incredibly evocative atmosphere and ambience, even when a song is buzzing along frantically, beneath the surface there is always some sort of drifting crystalline melody, or whirring drone, or chant like vocal line, it sounds a bit confusing, but the mix is magical.
The sound on Melancholie2 is so dynamic, so majestic and heavy, no lo-fi boom box recording here, the guitars are massive, thick and crunchy and buzzy, the vocals raw and primal, the keyboards and synths lush and shimmery, the drums somehow perfectly audible amidst all the buzz. And as with most black metal records, buzz is a key component, and here that buzz is all encompassing, warm and expansive, coating everything in its warm embrace.
The slower tracks are definitely Burzumic, the lumbering riff, the plodding rhythm, underpinned by a gorgeous keyboard melody, the midtempo tracks are like a less weird Lifelover, the music hooky, and weirdly poppy, but still grim and black, slipping from melodic lilt to intense speaker shredding blowout, rare that a band, or man as the case may be is equally adept and crafting doomy dismal blackness AND intense blasting black metal. The ambient tracks are surprisingly effective, moving and lovely, most black metal bands use cheesy synth sounds, but here, those parts sound like antique music boxes, or the soundtrack to a soft snowfall in some forgotten forest, dark, and haunting, but definitely beautiful and breathtaking, only moreso when they lead directly into another intense burst of blackness.
Some of the tracks are dangerously poppy, but the band manages to pull it off, channelling the sweeping sound of Katatonia, but adds some truly bizarre, almost robotic sounding vocals, which definitely sounds goofy, but in fact, the effect is anything but. It's more some sort of abstract alien doom, that is truly creepy and otherworldly. A few of the tracks are gorgeous sprawls of washed out sorrowful doom, but at least one shifts part way through into a strange pounding bit of minor key midtempo black metal, before slipping back into that depressive plod.
It's really hard to do this music justice. It's at once so familiar, embodying so much of what we already love about this sort of music, at the same time, it manages to sound unlike anything we've heard before, every song manages to be both heavy and wistful, depressive, but weirdly rocking, as a whole it's an incredible, expansive song suite, culminating in the final track, a skittery glitched out ambient landscape, bits of static and hiss drift between simpler percussion, and a shuffling rhythm, moody minimal guitar, slightly twangy, all draped over a swoonsome bit of minor key drone, with a crunchy metallic middle, before slipping back into more skittery melancholic drift. So goddamn good.
Quite possibly one of our new favorite records, black metal or otherwise!
Easily one of the most freaked out and fantastical outsider free jazz records EVER. And yeah, that sounds like hyperbole, but wait until you get a load of this. Start with the cover, an image of Coomans, a Belgian jazzman of some sort, with some crazy goggles on and some sort of mask strapped to his face, attached to a machine on his belt, an aerosol device he used to treat his asthma, which he SINGS THROUGH. He also sings through a harmonica, attaches vacuum cleaners to saxophones, or just mics em up to create clouds of strange hum and buzz, or submerges horns and plays underwater, in a half filled bathtub in his basement. Sound weird? It is. But it's also amazing.
The opening track is the one where he sings through his weird aerosol asthma device, the result is otherworldly, like processed Tuvan throat singing, hypnotic and alien, warm and whirry and a little monk-like, we sort of wish he made a whole aerosol/asthma record!
But then we wouldn't have heard the next track, an extended anti-jam, more space than sound, with strange bleats and burbling, the aforementioned submerged saxophones, underwater moaning, bursts of watery sploosh as the sounds break the surface, but plenty of strange vocalizing, also underwater we would assume, metallic and reverby, distant conversations, foot steps, like some freaky field recordings of some basement free jazz ritual, which it essentially is.
The flipside begins as a melancholy, long toned almost funereal dirge, warm and washed out and melodic, before slipping into something WAY more frantic, a wild bit of rapid fire phrasing, chaotic, notes tumbling over other notes, relentless and intense, but somehow still weirdly pretty, until finally the sax is joined by a hissing whirring drone, which we can only assume is the vacuum cleaner. After that there's a short voice / harmonica jam that goes from warm swirls of chordal wheeze, to mysterious harmonically enhanced vocalizing, until finally, the record finishes with a totally damaged, and mostly unrecognizable sax / piano / vacuum cleaner / tape recorder cover of "Louie Louie". A stumbling, gloriously WTF mess until the piano and female vocals finally start to sound like the original, other than the fact that the vocals and piano are matched beat for beat by bursts of glitched out, and we assume either tape recorder or vacuum cleaner derived, static crunch. Holy shit. Weirdest free jazz record ever? Most definitely a contender.
LIMITED TO 300 COPIES.
Had this been issued on Vinyl On Demand as something from some terminally obscure tape label from East Germany circa 1983, we wouldn't have batted an eye. All of the trappings of quintessentially bleak industrial music alluding to the best of SPK (i.e. Information Overload Unit), The New Blockaders, and everything on Broken Flag way back when (i.e. Ramleh, Mauthausen Orchestra, Toll); and with very little discernible digital effects (including a 'direct to cassette' citation in the liner notes!), this doesn't sound like a contemporary noise project at all. Everything is overblown but with the attack of the high end blunted into static distortion and the low end snarled into a morass of tape rumbling. These caustic noises are not the end result, but the toxic patina which is applied to some fine synthpunk / industrial culture dirges. Baltimore's Copper Glove fortunately has been listening to all of those aforementioned projects quite a bit, and has done a great job of synthesizing noise, drum machine rhythm, urban malaise, and detached resentment into this exemplary tape only release from the ever consistent Monorail Trespassing. Twenty-six minutes and limited to 125 copies.
This new duo from New York have us totally hooked, with just these two killer tracks, their debut on Captured Tracks. Rare is the band that can pull that off.
These two songs are dripping with a chic and sensual haze that we can't get enough of. Lo-fi synths, woozy lysergic vocals, and a stripped down DIY aesthetic that makes the Cosmetics' sonic silver clouds sound that much better. It's like they took the most rudimentary elements of early Gina X, Grace Jones, Eurythmics and Ruth, stripped away the gloss and shiny big production and brought it all into a seedy basement in the wee hours of the morning after a drug fueled wild night. In lots of ways its like a less glossy and more smoldery version of the Italians Do It Better groups (Chromatics, Glass Candy, etc.). Fans of all things minimal wave will definitely want to check this out!
Everything about this 7" works perfectly. Their name, the silver chromatic cover, all the visuals complement the two hypnotizing slow burners inside. We've been playing this over and over in the shop nonstop. We have a hunch that probably won't change any time soon. A sizzling debut for sure!
Long overdue release of Canadian death metal murk from legendary horde Cremation, the brainchild of J. Reed, who would later go on to play in Axis Of Advance, Conqueror, Arkhon Infaustus and of course the mighty Revenge!
Black Death Cult is a collection of various tracks from early nineties demos, and is a glorious, raw, lo-fi, muddy and murky blackened death metal blow out. The guitars are tuned way down, the vocals are gurgles and grunts, the drums are chaotic and splattery, the arrangements seriously off kilter, no long stretches of droning blasts, or doomy plods, instead, the band lurch and lumber, from brief flurries of high speed thrash, to woozy warped chugging stumble, to freaked out grinding blast, to meandering metallic drift, these songs are bizarre and twisted and convoluted and brilliant. Reminds us a lot of the recent Impetuous Ritual, the same sort of Morbid-Angel-slow-parts-all-strung-together vibe, and the same sort of dipped in tar sound, but with a slightly more trad death metal feel, but only very VERY slightly. This stuff is so fractured and fucked up, that it will more likely appeal to folks into weirder, outsider metal, Wold, Portal, that sort of thing, at some points it almost sounds like Gorguts' Obscura playing at 16rpm, super technical, but grinding and pounding through a druggy syrupy haze. Awesome. One of the coolest, weirdest metal reissues in recent memory.
Epic blackened doom metal from this intercontinental combo, three members in Canada, one in Sweden. The four have never been in a studio together, and one of the guys has never even met the other three, but that hasn't kept them from crafting some seriously epic, dismal doooooom. Sludge-y, crusty, grim and blackened, the guitars are huge slabs of frosty crunch, the drums pound and pound, the vocals a raspy wintery howl, the tracks lengthy and mantra-like, some weird blend of Khanate's ultra funeral crawl, the post Sabbath sludge of Electric Wizard, the epic slow builds of Neurosis, old school death doom like Winter, all wound into something much more modern sounding. The vocals especially, not really black shrieks or doomy growls, instead they're some sort of super distorted harsh hellish howl, almost industrial sounding, but it suits the music, which slips from almost post rock drift, to seriously dense downtuned crush, to spaced out almost psychedelia, to churning, grinding sludge, often exploding into epic, majestic doom psych blowouts, or locking into seemingly endless chugscapes, oozing with black atmosphere, and always seemingly on the edge of total collapse, a plodding metallic deathmarch that resolves in a cloud of glitched out low end buzz. Cool. And killer diecut digipackaging to boot...
Even if we hadn't already heard, and liked (though not listed) this Portland, Oregon true metal trio's earlier ep The Barbarian's Hammer, we'd have been curious about this, their debut full-length, 'cause it bears a blurb on the front recommending this "if you dig early Lord Weird Slough Feg and Thin Lizzy"! Dunno what about DarkBlack other than their Maiden-y twin guitar attack makes 'em cite Slough Feg in particular (early or otherwise) but whatever, it's true anyone into Slough Feg's typical epic dual axe action and ought to check this out, though really they don't sound TOO much alike. Probably it's just that DarkBlack are fans of Slough Feg, though we'll guess they grew up listening to Maiden albums, not Slough Feg ones, unless they're even younger than we think.
Actually, if we were writing the blurb, we'd have suggested it say "if you dig The Fucking Champs, but wonder what they'd sound like if they really went for it and got a real wailing higher-pitched heavy metal singer"! Just listen to the guitars at beginning of "Icy Tomb Of Time"... that sounds SO MUCH like The Champs, it coulda fooled us!
There's nine songs here, all about ancient epic battle fantasy concepts it seems. And they're a real rollercoaster of rippage, with galloping rhythms, shredding leads, and of course those great dual guitar harmonies. DarkBlack's music is heavy and hectic, tightly wound, choppy but fluid too, giving the singer something slaying over which to soar.
Bracingly triumphant and underground, DarkBlack are another "throwback" '80s-ish power metal band that sounds fully alive and kickass right NOW. So, for fans of Slough Feg, sure, not so much Thin Lizzy really but Iron Maiden yeah, and The Champs like we said, plus Bible Of The Devil, The Sword (but less stoner, more shreddy), Cauldron, Enforcer, and of course all sorts of classic NWOBHM stuff.
Limited to 500 numbered copies, going fast...
More good headbanging readin' here, from the always entertaining and informative Decibel mag... On the cover, Fear Factory (ho hum), all CGI-ed out in the picture like wanna be Terminators. But inside, lots of much more interesting stuff: Sigh, Harvey Milk, Hellhammer (an excerpt from Tom G. Warrior's upcoming book), Sacrifice, Holy Grail, and other rad bands we like... plus lots of reviews, funny columns, news bits, etc.
AND, this issue sees the classic Saint Vitus album Born Too Late inducted into the Decibel Hall Of Fame! Just in time for their reunion tour, of course.
Though we haven't polled everyone, the general consensus around here seems to be that Demontage is a cool name for a heavy metal band. But is Demontage also in fact a cool heavy metal band? Yeah, they are, or we wouldn't have ordered a bunch to highlight! They're a fairly eccentric outfit from up in Toronto, Canada, a peculiar but exceedingly powerful power trio comprised of Abominable Reverend (drums), Perverted Priest (bass), and Spatilomantis (guitars/vocals), playing an off-the-rails mix of old school and more modern extreme metal styles with frenzied abandon and plenty of idiosyncratically Satanic spirit, more metal than thou, no doubt. The Principal Extinction is their 2nd full length (but first real cd, as their previous album Sacrilege 'n Miscreancy was but a cd-r release), consisting of six tracks that we can barely describe 'cause these guys are insane. The songs aren't short (in the 6-10 minute range) and boy do they cram a lot into 'em, from NWOBHM gallop to black metallic fuzz to proggy synth sizzle to majestic epicness to utterly doomy crush, always with aggressive riffs, ripping leads, thrashy drums, and (obviously) a LOT of twists and turns. Somehow it all flows beautifully, like blood from a demon's maw. Heck, Demontage is an appropriate name for them on account of how they mash together so much in their crazy compositions, which sound like, we dunno, Saviours on a lot of drugs? Danava doing an advanced version of Venom? Brocas Helm in a hellish hot tub with Celtic Frost? The vocals don't help us to pin 'em down either, as they're mostly gruff, but spiced with occasional high pitched screams, and there's melodic & manly cleanly sung parts too.
Certainly Demontage remind us a bit of the sort of anything-goes metal played by the diverse likes of Root, Dragonauta, and Sigh. But with much more of a denim and leather '80s beer drinking vibe, if you can imagine. Headbanging catchiness is a priority, in other words, but that doesn't get in the way of 'em being weird as well (& as hell). We wish more bands were willing to be both this darn metal AND this out-there original. Cool stuff, quite recommended.
One of FOUR new Captured Tracks 7"s on this week's list: Hanoi Janes, Cosmetics and Wetdog, all reviewed nearbly, but this one is from a UK outfit called weirdly Dignan Porch, whose sound is total summery feel good, lo-fi, jangly garage pop, with effects heavy guitars, rebverby lilting melancholic sad boy vocals, shuffly drums, very lo-fi but still in its own way a bit lush. Hazy, washed out, shuffly and slouchy and crazy catchy.
The B-side is way more stripped down, with acoustic guitars, and a vibe that's a bit more dour and gothy, kind of like some cold wave groove mashed into a Sebadoh / Guided By Voices chunk of jangle pop. So catchy and fun, and definitely reminiscent of that era in the nineties, when this sort of thing filled our every mix tape! Another winner for sure.
Holy shit, were these guys seemingly made just for aQ. They're called Doomhawk for one, but more importantly, they play self described "Fantasy Calliope Metal with a heavy love for late night techno radio", and what it really sounds like is epic lo-fi power metal, meshed with a sort of Morricone-ish twang, like a more cinematic Slough Feg, mixed with some Finntroll, but way more DIY and punk, recorded on a 4-track, with wild prog keyboards all over the place. Oh and did we mention flute? How about tuba? Yep, these ladies and gents are like psychedelic space metal troubadours, their songs have a distinctly gypsy / folk vibe, but all tangled up with "Final Countdown" synthesizers and ridiculous fantasy lyrics. Wild chaotic drumming, soaring majestic arrangements, growled, howled, shrieked vocals, acoustic guitars, long stretched out ambient drones, super convoluted rock opera like arrangements...
Not to mention, the members are named Castropho, Sleet, Aumbleplex and Space-Time, and the drummer plays flute!!! Not sure it Doomhawk are still a band, if so, it seems like they'd probably be fucking awesome live, but for the time being, let these lengthy epic prog metal folk drone gypsy jams transport you to whatever bizarre otherworld these weirdos call home.
Even cooler is that every record is hand painted, the clawed Doomhawk logo, spray painted on thrift store records, with not only the Doomhawk record inside, but also the original lp that goes with the old sleeve (the one we grabbed is Chubby Plays Polkas!), includes a printed insert with liner notes, and most importantly lyrics!!! Totally recommended!
BACK IN STOCK!
Palace Of Mind is the 2000 recording collaboration between John Duncan and Giuliana Stefani. Mr. Duncan has long been one of AQ's favorite experimentalists, having started things out back in the '70s LA performance art community only to quit the US to pursue his own intense psychological research into sound, projection, installation, photography, and the like. Stefani is a mathematician by training and became acquainted with Duncan through a collaborative project they began in Amsterdam in 1996. For this album, the two sifted through digital treatments of shortwave transmissions, wire-tapped data streams, and voice. In turn, they work the album into labyrinthine composition that can hold any number of potent metaphors: the neural synapses of the human brain, the schematics of a computer, or simply an architectural set of overlapping resonant spaces. Rareified tones set with motoric vibrations transition through the fluttering of (or rather the lack there of, as this sounds like the empty spaces between the bands marked by a mechanoid oily hiss) and onto slashing digital drone. Here, one can think to Duncan's exceptional field recordings made at the Stanford Linear Accelerator in the early '90s. Within the movement from an irritable data-stream purity to the gossamer haze of shortwave distortion to gaping drones of treated vocal vibrato, Duncan and Stefani have set a trajectory deep into the heart of their sonic architecture, with each 'room' saturated with an anxiousness for what may be on the other side of the door. You won't find Duncan firing a gun at your head (seriously, he did that as performance piece called Scare back in the late '70s, using blanks mind you), but Palace Of Mind revels in an interlocking network of chambers that resonate and breathe with a profound beauty. Highly recommended!
Following in the footsteps of Phill Niblock and Jim O'Rourke, the Brooklyn based composer Kyle Bobby Dunn presents his own Young Person's Guide into an immersive arena of fluid minimalist gestures and post-classical ambience. Dunn sources his compositions from guitar, brass, and strings, some of which have been extracted from sessions with small ensembles of classically trained musicians; and everything is worked out in the digital studio, with the swells of a violin and timbre of a trombone elongated into introspective, somber compositions of elegant dronescaping. While this process does appear similar to Niblock's approach with his source material, Dunn is far more poetic and much more of a romantic than Mr. Niblock and presents bleary mirages revel in impressionistic images of cinematic landscapes. Tranquil organic tones manifest through gaseous shimmers, occasionally graced by a repetitive half-melodic interlude or a deep-end reverberant rumble. Much of Dunn's work could easily nestle next to one of Rhys Chatham's more placid guitar symphonies, or any of the cinematic soundscapists that Type has been championing for many years now, or the compositions of John Luther Adams, or even the narcoleptic mood engineering of Stars Of The Lid. Really beautiful stuff. Unfortunately, we only have limited stock on this title!
The Editors' An End Has A Start album was probably my (Andee!) most listened to record when it came out, and hell, even still, a totally epic and bombastic brooding gloom pop record, every song spectacular, catchy, dark, haunting, rocking, it was the band's finest moment, a rare record that never wore out its welcome, but it was inevitable, that I would start itching for a new record, but who would have thought, on the heels of what some would consider a practically perfect record, the band would throw it all away and start from scratch, but that's exactly what they did. To be more precise, the band ditched the guitars, the bass (maybe even the drums? hard to tell if the beats are programmed or not) and chose to create their new record entirely on synthesizers. Just keyboards, synths, no stringed instruments at all. Bold move, some might even suggest unwise, we were definitely skeptical, but just check out the opening track, a dark blackened synth pop gem, droning, and hypnotic, the vocals murky and ominous, the synths muddy and blurred, the sound hypnotic, repetitive, minor key, mysterious, sad and depressive, but so great.
And then there's the single, "Papillon", whose core sound is so Depeche Mode it's almost criminal, but those vocals, the melody, unmistakably the Editors, darkly propulsive, new wave, totally mesmerizing. As is the whole record. It does take some getting used to, but if you dug the other Editors records, no reason you won't dig this one. Plus any record with a grinding muted bit of looped synth prog murk with the title "Eat Raw Meat = Blood Drool" has to be good. It's a grower, but the more we listen, the harder it is to stop...
This is the US version and includes FIVE bonus tracks.
Kollaps. The first album from Einsturzende Neubauten, released back in 1981, found the band as a trio with the wild-throated frontman Blixa Bargeld buttressed by the anarcho-rhythmicists N.U. Unruh and F.M. Einheit. The band photo of Neubauten on Kollaps is quite telling, as a it parodies Pink Floyd's grand collection of instruments that emblazoned the back cover of Ummagumma. Instead of the marching band sized collection of drums and mallets, there's an assortment of hammers, pipes, a couple of drills, a cheap looking synth, an ax (yeah, there is a guitar, but there's also an ax!), and sheet metal twisted in the shape of drumheads. These are the instruments that Neubauten uses in the hyper-primitive, industrial-punk tracks found on Kollaps. Neubauten's amplified junkyard was a clearly a bold statement of DIY primitivism, this trio was not without their structural prowess, crafting anthemic blasts out of their rhythmic churns, bristling with sparkplug noise and rabid distortion. "Tanz Debil" is curiously catchy in its amplified shopping cart bashing which Unruh & Einheit hammer out to accompany the demon-then-zombie vocal delivery from Blixa Bargeld. The title track is a 8 minute monochord mantra, and the band actually pulls off an instrumental cover of Serge Gainsbourg's "Je T'Aime." Very rough around the edges, but there is a serious-minded, infernal poetry of pain, anger, and rage focused through these scrap metal arrangements. It's great to have this in stock, as Kollaps is a tremendous record.
Yet another great tape from the Los Angeles imprint Monorail Trespassing; and as with many of the MT releases of late, the noise has been reduced in favor of narcotizing tone-float. Emuul is the nom de plume of Seattle's Kyle Iman, operating in the friendlier confines of ambient composition which enjoys the company of Celer, Stars of the Lid, and of course the man Brian Eno. On The Origins Of Motion sets forth a series of warm, enveloping driftscapes upon which slight melodic phrases, night-time / deep-thought droning, and shoegazingly distorted guitars demarcate the ambient soundscapes. Pure lulling music is to be found within this fine 28 minute cassette, which is the first that we've encountered from Emuul, even though he's released some cassettes via Digitalis, Stunned, and Blackest Rainbow. Limited to 100 copies.
Killer power violence tag team, in one corner, newbies The Endless Blockade, who more than almost any current band embody the sound and spirit of classic power violence, and in the other, the grandfathers, and direct descendants of the genre's namesake, Bastard Noise, who have returned to the sound of their Man Is The Bastard antecedents, while still incorporating plenty of twisted Bastard noise noise.
We haven't heard Bastard Noise sound this fierce and heavy in years, throbbing low slung bass, pounding caveman drums, howled feral vox, wild screeches, tangled riffs, all woven into tightly wound tarpit grind jams, lurching and stuttering, stop start, freaked out blasts of furious thrash bookended by lumbering doomy crush, all shot through with streaks of electronic skree, clouds of glitched out FX, in fact, if anything this sounds like the perfect mix of classic Man Is The Bastard and another aQ fave MITB offshoot, Geronimo: rhythmic, hypnotic, cyclical. There are some moments of droned out Bastard Noise electronics, but those moments usually end up exploding into shards of hyper rhythmic pound and chug. So awesome. This would be worth it alone for the Bastard Noise side, but we haven't even gotten to the best part of this split...
Which is "Advanced Directive", an Endless Blockade remix by legendary academic electronic pioneer Noah Creshevsky (we had a killer retrospective of his work on Japanese label EM!), that is a total skittery, stuttery, psychedelic plunderphonic freakout. Riffs and vocals chopped and looped and pitch shifted and reassembled into a weirdly hiccupping experimental power violence mash up, reminds us a little bit of the recent Record Of The Week by Whourkr, with its impossibly complex and head spinning heaviness. Wow. The fourteen minute track that precedes it is a killer too, pummeling, pounding doomic heaviness, that slips into a strange electronic flecked trip out breakdown, and then a super in-the-red grinding buzz drenched feedback slathered noise freakout, before lurching back into some riffy crunch to finish things off.
There is one more track, a remix by noisemaker The Rita, but that one is for the TRUE noise lovers only, 15 minutes of crumbling, blown out, earshredding Merzbowian digicrunch.
We first discovered Epileptinomicon years ago, when some mysterious cd-r's showed up in the mail, all handmade, with very little info, but how could we not be intrigued by a band called Epileptinomicon? So we threw it on and were totally blown away, dark, and droney, heavy and dense, spaced out and psychedelic, a little krautrocky, lo-fi, but definitely well crafted, some seriously blackened ambient dronemusic for sure.
So we tried to get in touch with this Epileptinomicon, but had no luck, emailed went unreturned, no trace on the web, Google searches turned up two mentions on the aQuarius site. So we assumed the worst, and gave up. The at last year's aQuarius / WFMU South By Southwest showcase, who should show up, but none other than Epileptinomicon, so we hung out, agreed to keep in touch, and arranged for us to order a bunch of records for the shop. Well, then what do you know? The mysterious Epileptinomicon disappears again, no word, no sign, no nothing.
But finally, the connection has been made, via of all people, recent aQ thrash faves Speedwolf, who live in the same town as E-con, and are weirdly enough touring together with 'em, so we now have a limited selection of two different Epileptinomicon cd-r's the first one, titled II, that we initially heard years ago, and a more recent tour disc, both of them awesome. And unfortunately, both extremely limited...
Changeling House Summer is the more recent of the two E-con discs, and shows a whole new side to what we remember as more of a drone / doom / ambient sound, that stuff is still present, loads of low end, thick rumbles, and dense shimmers, but there seems to be more of a focus on rhythm, from simple minimal pulses, to strange skeletal skitters. Reminding us of current synth drone outfits like Oneohtrix Point Never, Emeralds, Pulse Emitter, Emaciator and the like, but more slow and low and blackened.
"Changeling House" is sprawling field of murky drones, and muted melodies, that seems to be peppered with bits of glitch and crackle, until those glitches and crackles coalesce into a strange rhythm, brittle and almost techno like, the sound reminding us of a much more raw, blackened Chain Reaction, the 'beat' looped and hypnotic, over a churning sea of crumbling distortion, and swirling fragmented melodies. Some sort of murky alien dancemusic perhaps, or more accurately, some minimal rhythmic space doom. The pulses spread further and further out, the background noise grows considerable smoother, and suddenly, the track has returned to its initial dronestate, where it hovers before blinking out.
"Summer House" is more obviously recorded live, and begins with a scraped rhythm, and what sounds like a fucked up human beatbox, before both are joined by thick throbbing bass, so dense and blown out it nearly swallows the rest of the sounds whole. And so it remains for the remainder of the track, that rhythm locked solid, looped endlessly, while all around it the low end rumbles grow more and more aggressive, as well as bursts of crackle and hiss, muted feedback squeals, all in a never ending tangle, constantly shifting and mutating, before dissipating in a burst of super distorted buzz.
Finally, there's the 22 minute closer "Perfect Hell", another sprawling expanse of whirling layered low end, grinding guitar buzz, shards of feedback, but with much more melody this time, a glacial tarpit dirge, but infused with all manner of subtle melody. The second half of the track finds an extra element introduced, a groaning, creaking drone, wreathed in effects, that slips from hushed rumble to strangely gnarled slow motion squiggle, underpinned by a glitch driven rhythm, subtle, simple, and weirdly haunting.
CRAZY LIMITED, we got a bunch of these, but not sure how long they'll last, in cool hand stamped xerox sleeves, the discs themselves also stamped.
We first discovered Epileptinomicon years ago, when some mysterious cd-r's showed up in the mail, all handmade, with very little info, but how could we not be intrigued by a band called Epileptinomicon? So we threw it on and were totally blown away, dark, and droney, heavy and dense, spaced out and psychedelic, a little krautrocky, lo-fi, but definitely well crafted, some seriously blackened ambient dronemusic for sure.
So we tried to get in touch with this Epileptinomicon, but had no luck, emailed went unreturned, no trace on the web, Google searches turned up two mentions on the aQuarius site. So we assumed the worst, and gave up. The at last year's aQuarius / WFMU South By Southwest showcase, who should show up, but none other than Epileptinomicon, so we hung out, agreed to keep in touch, and arranged for us to order a bunch of records for the shop. Well, then what do you know? The mysterious Epileptinomicon disappears again, no word, no sign, no nothing.
But finally, the connection has been made, via of all people, recent aQ thrash faves Speedwolf, who live in the same town as E-con, and are weirdly enough touring together with 'em, so we now have a limited selection of two different Epileptinomicon cd-r's the first one, titled II, that we initially heard years ago, and a more recent tour disc, both of them awesome. And unfortunately, both extremely limited...
II was the very same disc that just showed up in the mail, the one that originally got us so psyched on these guys (this guy), it ended up getting played all the time in the shop, and even on Andee's radio show, after a loooong while, it was weird to return to this, in some ways if felt like we had already listed it, when in fact, we never got enough to review until now.
The sound here is a sort of abstract minimal drone drift, with a bit of lo-fi dub going on. Slow smeared tones, layered over one another, a strange muted pulse way off in the distance, all beneath slow wheezing barely there melodies, and a strange reverbed dubby little percussive thump, that seems in its own way to drive the whole track. Headphones help, an immersive sound world, of drift and shimmer and throb, ambient for sure, space-y as well, but weirdly (and very subtly) propulsive. The sound is murky and muddy and muted, until about halfway through when a shimmering crystalline guitar surfaces, a simple strummed chord that is dosed in delay, sent echoing into the ether, adding a distinctly pop element to what was otherwise something black and bare, and only minimally melodic.
The second track, the 17 minute "Lunar Menagerie", begins again as a hushed, stuttery underwater sounding bass pulse, and for the first 7 or 8 minutes remains underwater, or perhaps it's meant to emulate the sounds on the surface of the moon, either way, it's a gloriously rumbly, soft swirling sea of tangled synaptic misfires and heartbeat pulses, launched into the cosmos and allowed to reflect and refract starlight into gorgeous prismatic pulses. The second half of the track gets way more psychedelic, with a guitar unleashing strange squalls of swirling notes, wailing streaks of high end sound, like some classic psych rock guitar solo, removed from its track, untangled and unfurled into the weightlessness of space, where it floats and tumbles, spinning out bits of melody and warmly textured fragments, and inadvertently channeling other psych drone explorers like Expo 70. Gorgeous stuff.
As me mentioned, EXTREMELY LIMITED, two versions, one in a hand made paper sleeve, the other in a dvd style case, they're both essentially the same, it's random which one you'll get, and odds are we'll be out of both before you know it.
** MISSISSIPPI RECORDS ALERT **
** MISSISSIPPI RECORDS ALERT **
** MISSISSIPPI RECORDS ALERT **
Okay, as always, that's just for the Mississippi obsessed out there, which we know, is a LOT of you, so you need not read further, just add one of these to your cart, and move on, but for the rest of us, please read on, we're so psyched to finally write up and list what is probably our favorite Ex record ever.
For Scrabbling At The Lock, Dutch aggro punks The Ex teamed up with NY cellist Tom Cora, a downtown scene veteran, who played with John Zorn and the usual suspects, and sadly passed away in 1998 at the age of 44.
The Ex, as much as we always wanted to dig them, were often a little to frantic and spiky for our tastes, a relentless barrage of bristly cacophony and tangled manic melodies, but somehow, teamed with Cora, the mix was magical, his fluid melodies, perfectly complimented the Ex's excesses, often taking a back seat, locking into propulsive laid back rhythms, and letting Cora's cello sing. It's been years since we've heard this (the cd now goes for crazy $$), but it sounds as amazing, as vibrant and emotional and dramatic as it ever did.
The Ex, for those who have not heard them, play a sort of wild punk rock gypsy folk, angular and sinewy, wild and free, very rhythmic, shouted vocals, intense percussion, one of the longest running DIY musical outfits still going, always pushing boundaries, most recently collaborating with Ethiopian musicians, bringing many of them to Europe to perform outside of Ethiopia for the first time ever. They have tons of records, and people love them, and we've definitely dug a few of them, but this is the one, it's magical and timeless and transcendent, super rocking, heavy, groovy, angular, but the sharpest edges, the ones that often poked us in the wrong way, are perfectly dulled by Cora's cello, often transforming the Ex's agit punk into something almost Klezmer. Some of our favorite include the gorgeous "Hidegen Fujnak a Szelek" a reinterpretation of a Hungarian folk song, with soaring female vocals perfectly complimenting the chugging percussive cello. And "State Of Shock" which is probably the heaviest track on the record, starting out all haunting and gypsy, before the band explodes in a squall of howling guitars, and pounding percussion, the cello anchoring the track letting the other instruments go wild.
So goddamn good. As powerful and emotional as ever. If you've resisted the Ex in the past, this might be the ONE Ex record you need, and it's of course an incredible tribute to the memory of Cora and his musical legacy.
We'd been hearing about these guys for ages, a trio from Santa Cruz who were apparently mixing raw thrashing black buzz a la Bone Awl with sprawling epic arrangements, as in songs going on 20, sometimes 30 minutes.
So here we have their debut full length, a two song lp, two tracks, each filling up an entire side, one nearly 19 minutes, the other more than 21 minutes, and right out of the gate they explode into a frenzy of blasting beats and blurred insectoid riffing, growled demonic vocalizing, but over the course of these songs, the band explore all sorts of variations, slipping into loping mathy post rock, soaring epic Norwegian style majesty, doomic d-beat pounding, lurching stop / start breakdowns, long stretches of ominous ambience, lumbering Burzumic crush, slow burning distortion drenched drift, all held together with consistent elements that lead one part to another, streaks of buzz, minimal mysterious guitar figures, the sound of rain, droning bits of serpentine guitar. It's more than just long songs created by glomming shorter songs together. These tracks are expertly arranged and composed, the move with mood and purpose, melodies disappear only to resurface later, parts shift and twist and become repurposed, there are refrains, but there are also parts that appear once and are gone.
The B-side starts out like some sort of black drone record, heaving sheets of crumbling distorted buzz, woozy and wavery, before the band explodes into yet another flurry of soaring guitars and pounding rhythms, this time though it's all tension and no release, like the most dramatic part of some Godspeed epic translated into epic blackness, until the band finally slip into something more classically BM, but only just, this song/side too is a convoluted path, serpentine and impossible to predict, with some incredible surprisingly un-BM at times drumming, amazing catchy riffs, and the ambience this time relegated to near the end of the track, the furious blasting giving way to some haunting spectral drift, taking forever to fade out completely, instead, blasting at a barely audible level, just below the seemingly tranquil surface, eventually disappearing completely, leaving the track to wind down gently, with a languid, darkly pretty final few minutes. So awesome. Fell Voices are definitely a band folks into Weakling and Wolves In The Throne Room and Fauna and all that sort of sprawling epic blackness should check out. A new favorite of the black hordes around here for sure...
What better current singer to tackle texts by reclusively prolific American poet Emily Dickinson than the elusive Josephine Foster? Translating 26 out of the thousands of poems Dickinson wrote into the gentlest of song forms, many matching the brevity of the originals, must have been a daunting task. Poems do not translate into songs as easily as one might think, just as songs don't always translate into poetry. But not really since Aaron Copland in 1950 has anyone really delved so deeply into the idea. And Foster is largely successful. The arrangements on guitar or ukulele are very minimal and while her lilting delivery can be a little same-y, each song on its own, unearths a tiny jewel of intimate beauty that is quite something to behold. The material may be too rich for one sitting (unless your knitting on a rainy Sunday perhaps), but we think this might be the perfect sublime ephemera for the shuffle feature on your iPod.
Wow, we haven't been this impressed with a Four Tet full length in a long time, though truth be told it has been awhile since Kieran Hebden has released one. He has spent the greater parts of the last four or five years concentrating on remixes and with three solo collaborations with jazz drummer Steve Reid, leaving only one sole ep (Ringer) in between this release and his last, Everything Ecstatic. While that last record displayed an erratic and harder edged tendency to shake off the "folktronica" tag that has dogged him early on, it also seemed like he was trying too hard. On There is Love In You, Hebden is back to his strengths, keeping the compositions economic, but also beautiful, well-crafted and at moments truly sublime. Our excitement mounted when we heard the first single, "Love Cry", late last year. That nine minute minimal house opus as well as the awesome Joy Orbison remix was for some of us the single of the year! Though the bulk of the record is not as dancefloor oriented as the single, his masterful use of warmth, texture and editing make this an exciting listen all the way through, sounding at times like Cluster and Dif Juz filtered through Carl Craig and Flying Lotus. Recommended!
With so many stories circulated about legendary LA-based weirdo (many, including the man himself, might say "asshole") Kim Fowley, it can be easy to overlook the reality that he was, if nothing else, ridiculously prolific as a songwriter and producer. The amount of songs Fowley is responsible for is staggering and quite impressive. He appears to be of that rare breed that could crank out songs with ease and completely forget their existence by the time he had moved on to the next project. Even while many of these songs were probably viewed by Fowley himself as disposable pop fodder and a quick paycheck, they are incredibly enjoyable pieces of quirky '60s pop, stupid in the best way and just plain fun. Nostalgic in the most snarky way possible, a good portion of the songs concern themselves with teenage '50s high school themes (like the outrageous "Memories Of A High School Bride" by The Players (Vol. II), a programmatic soap opera saga complete with a tape-manipulated gossip chorus!), or swingin' sixties turn on, tune in, drop out freekdom, tongue seemingly in cheek, like Althea And The Memories' "Worst Record Ever Made" (Vol. I). There's plenty of just plain WTF weirdness too, like Donnie And The Outkasts' "Big Fat Alaskan" (also Vol. I).
A bunch of Fowley-sung numbers crop up, delivered with a snotty awareness that makes them among the best tunes on here. Looking at the pictures within, the gangly Fowley sticks out like a sore thumb among the wide eyed bands and, ahem, teenage girls, who probably felt they were going to make it all the way to the top. Little were they aware of the madness that would see them ending up on these awesome compilations so many years later. Good stuff, both volumes equally recommended, get 'em both!
With so many stories circulated about legendary LA-based weirdo (many, including the man himself, might say "asshole") Kim Fowley, it can be easy to overlook the reality that he was, if nothing else, ridiculously prolific as a songwriter and producer. The amount of songs Fowley is responsible for is staggering and quite impressive. He appears to be of that rare breed that could crank out songs with ease and completely forget their existence by the time he had moved on to the next project. Even while many of these songs were probably viewed by Fowley himself as disposable pop fodder and a quick paycheck, they are incredibly enjoyable pieces of quirky '60s pop, stupid in the best way and just plain fun. Nostalgic in the most snarky way possible, a good portion of the songs concern themselves with teenage '50s high school themes (like the outrageous "Memories Of A High School Bride" by The Players (Vol. II), a programmatic soap opera saga complete with a tape-manipulated gossip chorus!), or swingin' sixties turn on, tune in, drop out freekdom, tongue seemingly in cheek, like Althea And The Memories' "Worst Record Ever Made" (Vol. I). There's plenty of just plain WTF weirdness too, like Donnie And The Outkasts' "Big Fat Alaskan" (also Vol. I).
A bunch of Fowley-sung numbers crop up, delivered with a snotty awareness that makes them among the best tunes on here. Looking at the pictures within, the gangly Fowley sticks out like a sore thumb among the wide eyed bands and, ahem, teenage girls, who probably felt they were going to make it all the way to the top. Little were they aware of the madness that would see them ending up on these awesome compilations so many years later. Good stuff, both volumes equally recommended, get 'em both!
Total slice and dice, chop and loop, skitter and stutter, bleep and bloop, head spinning, dancefloor destroying, 8-bit, video game. electro pop sonic mayhem, not that you'd be able to tell from the first couple tracks, a gently swirling bit of dreamy shimmer, with muted buried rhythms, slowly building to a poppy playful bit of processed skitter, that almost sounds like a Hello Kitty version of Venetian Snares. The same sort of rhythmic drill and bass, but way cuter and poppier, lots of video game sounds, little snippets of voices, bits of glitch and crunch, for all it's density and complexity, it's also pretty dang hooky, reminding us a lot of Aphex Twin's classic "Girl / Boy".
The rest of the record is a non stop barrage of hyperspeed jungle beats, buzzing synths, woozy warped melodies, twisted samples, big beats, pounding techno rhythms, bits of throbbing dubstep, tangled electronic squiggles, all wound into super fun, and funky, booty shaking, rib cage rattling, high energy electro spazz groove. The record finishes the way it began, all washed out and dreamy, electronic ambient pop drift and shimmer, but between those two tranquil bookends, is a nonstop Technicolor explosion of tangled and twisted freaked out sounds and spastic beats!!
Alrighty all you good people who swooned to this Norwegian duo's debut (released in late 2008) which we just recently reviewed, let's keep the love flowin', shall we? Yes, we shall because we've got more of Fredrik's glorious sounds in stock now. We are getting ourselves all properly caught up with this, their sophomore full length... and such a fine album it is!
With their softly shadowed faery folk choral passages, gentle clattering percussion and sighing brass, Fredrik's intricately patchworked and multi-layered songs conjure visions of moonlit meadows and enchanted forests. We imagine them to be sort of the aural counterpart to the mesmerizing and darkly fanciful animated filmworks of the Brothers Quay. When they bring in more electronic instrumentation as on the song "Ava" they draw closer in line to the heartfelt dream pop of Postal Service or The Notwist. And on particular standout numbers such as "Milo", Fredrik Hultin's hushed dewy-eyed vocals are quite reminiscent of Kings Of Convenience's Erlend Oye and Notwist's Markus Acher. You know, that charming murmur that sounds like it has a sweetheart secret to tell only you! But that said, the overall lasting impression of Trilogi is far more otherworldly. Glistening, lovely and artfully crafted... yes, we recommend it! (By the way, we should forewarn you that the songs that make up this album were originally released on three very very limited edition cdeps titled Holm, Ava and Ner - hence the title - but they were gone in a wink of an eye. So chances are you missed them like we did, but happily you can get them compiled on one disc now!)
Yes! The cd debut of this fantastic Finnish four-track project... We actually meant to list this, like, a month ago, but unfortunately the original review we wrote of it was lost in one of our several recent arggh-inducing komputoor crashes, but actually that's a good thing, 'cause it gave everybody here at AQ more time to listen to this, over and over, at home and in the store, and have us all decide that this HAD to be a Record Of The Week. So we ordered more copies from Finland, and re-wrote the review (which, in our memory, was actually probably better written the first time, so trust us on this) and here we go!
Ah, Finland. We've said it before, we'll say it again. So many of our favorite bands hail from Finland, from the hypnotic NWOFHM space rock of Circle to the the funereral doom of Skepticism, with all the freaky forest folk of Kemialliset Ystavat, et. al. in between. And now Fricara Pacchu, solo project from a member of such underground Finnish acts as Avarus, Anaksimandros, Maniacs Dream, and yes Kemialliset Ystavat.
Hopefully you remember our review of the Fricara Pacchu 7" and accompanying art/collage booklet that the Fonal label put out not too long ago (we may still have a few of those babies in stock, if you act fast). Both Allan and Andee accidentally wrote separate gushing reviews of it, that's how much we all liked it! That 7" left us eager to hear a full-length, and now here it is, courtesy of Lal Lal Lal. 12 wigged out instrumental tracks of Fricara Pacchu's undefinable, eccentric, psychedelic weirdness. We had compared the 7" to everything from the Boredoms to Oliva Tremor Control, and that goes too for the all-instrumental music on this cd, to which we can add such other disparate references as Neu! and When and Fuck Buttons. Fricara Pacchu's music is part techno, part noise, part pop... all awesome.
Recording at home on a four-track, Pacchu creates a woozy, rhythmic soundworld filled with distortion and delight. A world of magical gnomes with chugging machines spewing colorful clouds... clouds of mysterious, maybe illegal substances that coalesce in pretty patterns you can hear, as well as kaleidoscopically see. There's dense, druggy layers of guitar feedback with electro beats; lo-fi fuzzy loops, gurgly computer bleeps and sci-fi sound FX swooshes; throbbing pound and gentle ambience. Fricara Pacchu produces fragile music box melodies that exist amidst exploding minefields of noise, like the detonations of distortion that rhythmically obliterate parts of "Four Seasons Of Violins". Noise that is taken to an extreme with the utter, surging distorto-destruction of "Sky Helicopter"...
Whew! Wow. Maybe if the glorious synthscapes of fellow Finns Shogun Kunitoki were way grittier and guitar-ier, done more D.I.Y., and wrapped in steel wool and played backwards on a cheap cassette, that would sound something like the quirky and compelling music of Fricara Pacchu. By which we mean, this is great!
Who would have thought Fucked Up would turn out to be the IT band. They're basically a punk rock band. A killer punk rock band, but it still seemed a bit surprising that they blew up the way they did. For some of the reasons behind that, check out the review of Fucked Up's The Chemistry Of Common Life elsewhere on the aQ site, penned by aQ pal Forrest, for an in depth analysis of just what it is about Fucked Up that has everyone in a tizzy.
Before their debut album though, the band had released a whole mess of 7"s, all of them pretty bad ass. Fucked Up worked it like it was still the nineties, fuck MySpace, and downloads and all that shit, they were a 7" machine, pounding out winner after winner, understanding the magic of 7"s, a super inexpensive way for kids to hear your music, and thus, why wouldn't you put your best songs on those singles, well Fucked Up would and did.
Their move to Matador did nothing to stem the tide of Fucked Up 7"s, and this TWO DISC compilation collects a bunch of singles, from their debut in 2002 all the way up to now, they don't seem to be arranged in chronological order, and we've read a bunch about how Couple Tracks doesn't flow like an album and is stylistically all over the map, but fuck it, it's a SINGLES COMPILATION, it's not supposed to play like an album, it's more like a bad ass mixtape, with all songs by the same band. And bad ass this collection is, once again demonstrating that Fucked Up have a way of infusing seriously aggro punk rock, with some incredible pop hooks, and vice versa, taking what basically sounds like a heavy pop song, and adding loads of guitars and vocalist Pink Eyes' wailing bellow.
We could go through the record song by song, but by now you should know what Fucked Up sound like, if not, listen to the tracks below, needless to say, these guys rule, and this is heavy, hooky, catchy, aggressive, headbangable certainly if you're so inclined, definitely moshable too, but even if you're just sitting there with a pair of headphones strapped on, these sounds work that way too.
Includes photos of all the various singles sleeves, as well as some super funny, and super snarky notes on each song...
The daughter of Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin, recording an album written and produced by Beck. The sum of those parts makes for some pretty irresistible and seductive sounds. Of course it's not fair to identify Charlotte Gainsbourg just by her famous parents, as she has established herself as a multitalented force over the years, as a model, a singer and an actress. Her performances in films such as Michel Gondry's The Science Of Sleep, Todd Hayne's I'm Not There, and most recently the latest disturbing offering from Lars Von Trier, Antichrist, has definitely demonstrated the range and intensity that Gainsbourg is capable of bringing as an actress. We won't go too much into it, but if you haven't seen Antichrist, its one of the most intense and disturbing performances we've ever seen on the big screen. We mention all these acting roles because Gainsbourg's role in music in so many ways is as a vessel. Transporting someone else's vision and production and making it her own.
On her last album 5:55, she teamed up with Air who wrote and produced, the end result dreamy and blissed out sensuality. It somehow makes perfect sense that now Beck has taken the reins, as he no doubt been strongly influenced by Charlotte's lineage, as much of his music, stylistic breadth, and fashion choices over the years are undeniably heavily influenced by the legacy of Serge Gainsbourg.
While Beck's trademark sound can be heard quite prominently throughout the record, especially on the tracks on which his vocals dominate, it's the more languid and moody tracks that shine, where Gainsbourg really takes center stage and makes the record her own. There is something both dark and soothing about her aura and vocal delivery. With full and lush arrangements as a bed for her entrancing voice, Gainsbourg once again proves she is an enigmatic chanteuse who has carved out an identity that is all her own.
Geist are a German black metal horde that features the rhythm section of another BM band we reviewed a while back, Funeral Procession, and Geist, much like FP, offer up the same sort of classic Nordic sounding grim black buzz, right out of the gate, their cold atmospheric black metal reminding us of Satyricon, the production tight and slick, but the band have a definite flair for the ambience, creating dark creepy intros and outros, but unlike the usual wolves or wind or rain, it sounds like a seaside, or a harbor, the sound of lapping water, distant foghorns, deem rumbling tones, laid over what sound like field recordings, evoking some serious haunting dread before exploding in a frenzy of lurching super dynamic, mathy start / stop black blasting. Other tracks introduce what sounds like recordings from beneath the surface, a gurgling shimmer wrapped around rumbling pianos, and distant drones, again leading directly into some amazing blasting blackness, tight and heavy and epic, as much as we love raw and primitive and lo-fi, hearing a band this fast and furious sound this tight and heavy never gets old, and these guys DESTROY. Total depressive melodic black buzz majesty.
The record finishes off with a 16 minute sprawl of awesomely complex, gnarled, drone laced doomic black metal, that shifts from lurching crunch and stutter, to loping almost sea sick waltz, peppered with mysterious samples, totally intense and mysterious, eventually drifting into a soundscape of creaking ropes, plucked steel strings, the sound of waves and wind, a mournful seaside lament, the haunting sounds of sea and sky and storm.
One hails from the rust belt of Michigan, fostering all sorts of sick tones through his Chondritic Sound imprint; and the other inflicts an acerbic noise through his internationally acclaimed No Fun Festival and the accompanying label No Fun Productions. Together, Hive Mind and Giffoni join forces for a rather misanthropic, grim, oppressive set of crunched noises and radioscopic synth throb.
Both tracks incrementally build up lurches of distortion that push out oozing rumbles of low-end and bristling amplifications of electrical static. Heavy synth with an industrial / power electronic mindset that's exactly where you expect Giffoni and Hive Mind to meet. Also see Broken Flag era Ramleh, Whitehouse, and Wolf Eyes. As with all Ultra Eczema titles, this sports a very nicely silkscreened cover. Only 300 copies in print. We will probably not be able to restock this!!!
One of things we love most about local boys Girls, is their celebration and appreciation of THE SONG, and specifically THE SINGLE. They first caught our attention with the life affirming single Hellhole Ratrace, and after the release of their amazing full length here's another killer single, with a brand new song as the B-side. This time out "Laura" from the album gets singled out, which is great cuz we already loved that song, so it was the B-side we were anxious to hear and "Oh Boy" is one of the dreamiest, warm and warbly Girls songs yet! Like My Bloody Valentine doing a '60s heartache girl group broken hearted lament.
It continues to blow our mind that every time we hear a new song from Girls it makes us fall in love with them all over again. It's just a few days away from Valentines Day when Girls will be playing here and we can't think of a better band to celebrate hearts on sleeves and broken hearts that still beat brightly than an evening with Girls.
While usually we wouldn't say a pressing of one thousand 7"s is all that limited, with the massive popularity of these Girls in the last year odds are these are sure to disappear pretty quick.
Heard about this on Tom Lax's Siltblog, which is funny 'cause this band is from right here in our backyard, and are also not exactly shitgaze or whatever other noisy underground rock aesthetic we thought Siltbreeze was all about. Lax mentioned classic heavy psych/metal peeps for the ages like Deep Purple, Hawkwind, and Monster Magnet in his review and yep, all present and accounted for (if inebriated and high as fuck, no surprise) in GW's sound, to some extent. Super stoner retro rockin' here, well with retro sounds but not sounding like any actual old band that's for sure, A-side "Black Lotus" starts off all full of gobblin' space synth soundz, then begins pounding down the riffs like Sleep or something a bit later on, while on the flip, "Witch's Limbo", they keep on rockin', no not like Dokken but more like Danava (w/ all them synths) and Priestess and other current bands creating the past anew. Interestingly, the other tracks we've heard from 'em, on their MySpace, are way more overtly garagey punky, in a ? and the Mysterians, Lyres, mebbe even Stooges style, but here it seems they're heavy metalling it (the magazine and the music) a bit more. So, two cool tunes, and now we're put on notice to go see these glittering wizzes next time they play, we're especially curious to see if they get all glammed up live to go with their name. (AQ staffer Jon has seen 'em and sez they do!)
Second record we've had from Godheadscope, whose last release was on God Is Myth, and found this one man band attempting to conjure up a mysterious classical black ambience, described by the label as "Arvo Part conducting and arranging a performance by Corrupted", which was not all that far off the mark. This latest disc, however, is less heavy, and more atmospheric, with vocals, male and female, soaring strings, delicate piano, all woven into the minimal black ambient background, which makes for a delicate sort of blackened chamber music, quite cinematic, mournful and melancholy, hushed and expansive, long tones drift over lush strings and synths, the vocals dramatic, yet minimal, bass throbs dot the soundscape, streaks of glitch and electronic shimmer wrapped tenderly around sweetly sorrowful melodies, pointillist piano, there are some intense and brooding movements, but the record never explodes, instead opting to pulse and throb and smolder, and while the vocals do occasionally tread perilously close to cloying, dipping into some ethereal 4AD goth territory, they tend to be more hushed and whispered, adding an ominous element to a sound already haunting and otherworldly.
Originally released as a download only, we managed to get a small handful of the "Poet's Edition", which is a cd-r, bundled with an oversized hand assembled, numbered and signed book, featuring liner notes and, obviously, poems.
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The one thing about The Tapeworm label, is that while you never know exactly what you're gonna get, you do know more than likely it's definitely something you want to hear, whether you realized it or not. One of two new tapes from The Tapeworm this time out, this one from Berlin electronic producer Stefan Goldmann, who also runs the Macro Recordings label, but don't be expecting any sort of beats or techno here, instead, it's a gorgeously dark record of solo guitar. Goldmann describes himself as a mediocre guitarist, but a versatile engineer, so for his Tapeworm contribution, he recorded a whole bunch of little guitar bits, softly struck harmonics, simply strummed chords, pizzicato notes, plenty of clicks and scrapes, even his barely audible breathing as he hunched over the guitar, and cut and chopped and spliced and diced the various elements into 5 tracks, two different versions. The result though is not some sort of rapidfire plunderphonic workout, instead, it's delicate, and sublime, lots of space and subtle melody, warm little chordal tangles drift over softly shimmering expanses of space, strange plucks and thumps are built into barely there rhythms, one track does coalesce into something almost propulsive, but somehow remains minimal and abstract, even what sound like mistakes, mis-hits, muted notes, get reworked into the slow shifting anti-folk, free jazz dark drift tapestry Goldmann creates. Each side contains the same program, but different versions, so using the reverse function on your tape deck, you can further loop and tangle and reassemble the original tracks into different arrangements. So cool.
As always, LIMITED TO 250 COPIES...
Latest disc from these mysterious slowcore black doom drifters, whose last disc on Eichenwald was a big time favorite around these parts. If anything this new one takes the first record and pushes it into even darker, creepier, more minimal directions.
The self-titled debut was a strange blackened blend of Bohren Und Der Club Of Gore and Low, lots of low end, muted guitar strum, delicate skeletal melodies, barely there percussion, slow burning and darkly evocative, a gorgeous almost jazzy minimal black crawl.
On II, all of those elements are still present, even the haunting spoken vocals, delivered in gruff German, rumbling and ominous, here, sprawl over a delicate web of intertwined guitar melodies, crystalline and shimmery, when the drums come in, the sound takes on a strange power, a smoldering black energy, right below the surface, eventually, the band launches into full scale rocking, a loping mathy groove, the guitars more clean and chiming, than downtuned and distorted.
Other tracks find the vocals slipping into proper singing, a creepy operatic croon, over the same sort of muted soft drone and drift, the vibe commanding and Teutonic, the music spidery and surprisingly Slint like, most of the record never moving past a glacial drift, at its most propulsive, burring that one burst of heaviness, the record lopes, bathed in greys and browns, super dynamic, with tons of space, the band letting the sounds breathe, ring out, dissipate, creating expansive, slow and low, minimal dark jazz doom epics. Amazing stuff. Definitely recommended to fans of Bohren, Angels Of Light, KLV, and other practitioners of the dark (and slow) arts...
