Take turntablist Christian Marclay, Swiss percussionist Gunter Muller, Sonic Youth guitarist Lee Ranaldo, and legendary NY via NZ experimental guitarist / bagpiper David Watson, armed with their weapons of choice: turntables, percussion, minidisks, electronics, guitars and bagpipes, and let them loose. And you'll get pretty much what you might expect. Not some mish mash hodge podge improv bullshit, these guys are masters, and these six tracks demonstrate that mastery bigtime. Lush and textured, dense and detailed, moody and evocative. Marclay's turntables are magic, a bank of primitive analog samplers, spitting out fractured rhythms, mysterious melodies, various snippets and samples, the perfect framework for the others to use as a jumping off point. But each player is perfectly capable of taking the helm, while knowing when to let someone else take over.
Lush ambient dronescapes peppered with twisted melodic fragments, all sorts of overlapping and layered rhythms, constantly shifting, changing shapes, transforming before our very ears, some tracks brood and lope, others soar and howl, all of them dizzying and elaborate. The soundfield is constantly expansive and in flux.
Lots of improv is way more fun to play than to listen to, but this stuff is totally engrossing, even for the listener with no interest in "improv", so musical, some of it in fact sounds so good it's impossible to believe these guys were making it up as they went along.
Hypnotic, enthralling, confusional in places, intense in others, hushed and haunting in still others, a wide weird world of sound that begs for deep listening, and invites the listener to let go, to become totally and utterly lost in the sound.
Pressed on super thick vinyl, and housed in really swank, heavy full color gatefold sleeves, 3 sided set, the fourth side sports a cool scribbly etching by Lee Ranaldo. LIMITED TO 500 COPIES.
Holy shit, does Arkha Sva just keep getting weirder and weirder and better and better! These Japanese black metal freaks begin this latest assault with a tripped out swirly psychedelic intro, before the band launch into some super twisted POST-black metal, a loping super dramatic almost cabaret sounding avant metal, with super over the top crooned clean vocals, the guitars washed out and buzzy, the only hint of troo blackness are the occasional flurries of double kick, until finally those insane Arkha Sva vocals swoop in, impossibly high and totally operatic, a little eighties metal, soaring and shrieking, the band following suit, blasting into some filthy pounding blackness. The track's twisted and gnarled, and totally epic, with those vocals, easily the most amazing in BM, and this song is most definitely the best thing we've heard from these guys which is saying A LOT.
Woods Of Infinity counter with their own take on twisted dramatic blackness, super melodic metal with lots of synths, totally catchy, but all over the map, the vocals freaked out and manic, slipping from nearly spoken to crooned to shrieked, while the music soars majestically in the background, from midtempo Lifelover style black pop to almost symphonic sounding black metal, all the while the vocals never letting up. The second WoI track is a creepy abstract drift, all acoustic guitars, monk-like chanting, and more of those dramatic vocals, haunting and freaky, dark and mysterious and really cool.
Packaged in a super swank gatefold 7" sleeve, LIMITED TO 666 COPIES (of course), each one hand numbered...
Wow! We haven't been this smitten with a debut release in quite a while. Didn't know much about this Baltimore duo but we do know, the second this record we laid ears on this the first time, we were immediately seduced by the glorious sounds within. Hazy, daydreaming pop with equal parts magic, mystery and dreamy darkness, all drenched in beautiful melodies and sincere sensuality. Kind of made us think of Broadcast taking a warm bubble bath with Coco Rosie. Lights out, candles burning, bubbles floating, reverb dripping. There is a timelessness in these songs that is so evocative, Warhol's factory, a summer twilight in Southern California in the '70s, an abandoned art studio in the UK. You can never quite put your finger on exactly where these songs are drawn from but in the end it's music truly unique and wonderful. A mysterious voice, a haunting presence and songs carry you off, eyes closed, to somewhere much more enchanting then wherever you really are. So nice!
A brand new record, the third since 2007 (not counting the split with Celestiial, whose awesome new record is also reviewed this list), from these doom metal / postrock / black metal / doomfolk / black ambient alchemists, the same folks who explore the darker regions of the spirit with their black ambient project Ruhr Hunter, although it's hard to imagine there's any place darker than whatever strange world Blood Of The Black Owl draw inspiration from. The opening movement of this single 41 minute epic (separated into 4 parts) finds the band spinning a black web of grim churning low end, softly roiling, like staring into a black hole, a bottomless abyss, dotted with dying stars, while over the top a guitar is strummed, unfurling a crystalline arrangement of glimmering notes, hovering above the inky blackness, a strange unearthly black folk, nearly static, mesmerizing and trancelike, eventually drums come in and the sound shifts dramatically, to something much more abstract and rhythmic, a sort of spaced out doomic skitter, which grows more and more ethereal, the bass buzzing, and a fluttering flute, marking a folky segue into the second movement, a much heavier downtuned dirge, a churning riffy crunch, that quickly dissipates into a cloud of chiming tones, disembodied voices and blackened shimmer before flitting back to that riffy pound although this time accompanied by some new age-sounding synth.
The third movement explodes in a burst of blinding feedback, only to dissolve into a washed out, ambient doom plod, the drums a distant pound, the sounds hazy and druggy, a lysergic sprawl of blackened psychedelia, that gives way to the final movement, a dark, low slung, almost Bohren like stretch of slowcore crawl, all whispered vocals, softly strummed guitar, barely there effects, a hushed drift that slowly builds to a fierce pounding electronic flecked shoegazey dirge, with growled vox, tribal drumming, a glorious crescendo, emotional and intense, finally dropping out, leaving a single voice to call out, then silence.
Incredible as always, and totally recommended for anyone into avant emotional heaviness and mysterious sonic darkness.
On her eighth album, Ms Kath Bloom proved she still has many stories to sing from her thick songbook with many pages still to be filled. As always, her voice and words are steeped with raw nerve honesty and open hearted emotion. Often Bloom's delivery wavers precariously on the edge of despair. Clearly it's a voice that's lived through the thick and the thin, but that has not lost all hope. Hers is utterly unadorned folk of the most fragile kind, but there is a palpable resolve that underscores the seemingly frail proceedings. As intimate and tenderly true blue as ever, Thin Thin Line is sure to please her loyal fans! Released on Mark Kozelek's Caldo Verde label... yes, a man with good taste!
Debut record from these Greek avant black metal warriors, oddly named after a redwoods retreat near here that should be familiar to the conspiracy-minded, whose sound is equal parts midtempo Burzumic buzz, furious blackened blast and gnarled experimental blackness, which means, awesome!
Five long tracks that slip from pounding primitive crush to insectoid frenzy and back again, with a sound that definitely harkens back to the Norwegian elite, the riffs epic and majestic, the vocals a gravelly demonic howl, the drumming crushing and intricate, the band deftly balancing their two sides. Pounding away relentlessly, before launching into a blazing blast at the drop of a dime, only to screech to a halt, and lurch right back into the pound, often shifting gears even more, slipping into some seriously doomy plod, or sprawling out into some weirdly melodic post-BM meander, but always finding their way back to the trancelike buzz.
The record finishes with the Deathspell-ish
"Drowning In The Roar Of A Sinking World", a 12+ minute, post rock, black metal hybrid, loping and lurching, the riffs angular and atonal, the song a woozy waltz, the band spitting out intense little squalls of rapid fire double kick and grinding buzz, the track slows down even further eventually, becoming downright doomy, the vocals getting full on Popeye / Immortal, a hellish croak, the guitars getting more and more seasick and psychedelic, until they launch into an epic, blasting, midtempo, melodic outro.
Super swank packaging, 6 panel black on gold digipak, featuring super creepy evil artwork from Justin Bartlett, who among other things, designed an aQ t-shirt not too long ago. LIMITED TO 1000 copies.
A new Burning Star Core record, but not exactly a NEW record, more like a NEW record made out of OLD records, as in 4 loooong tracks, assembled and edited from 66 live recordings from the years 1997-2008, a pretty cool idea for sure and it definitely suits BSC, their songs are long anyway, but here they're transformed into epic space drone collages, a plunderphonic chunk of psychedelia.
The first part is a dense chaotic sprawl of total space rock, the drums wild and blown out and frantic, all of the other instruments in a frenzy of swirling effects and in-the-red freakout, which gives way to some glistening upper register ur-drone, like Sunroof! or Pelt, or heck, even Burning Star Core. The second half of the first part is yet more abstract drift, dense layered sound, streaked and blurred and smeared into giant swells of fuzzed out rumbles, peppered with bits of percussion and electronic glitch, finally finishing up with some murky industrial thump.
Part two explodes with some super distorted psychrone freakout, the drums so in the red they distort and change shape, the violin and/or guitar grind and scrape and squeal and howl and shriek, the drums a chaotic cacophony, like a dozen free jazz bands battling it out in an empty swimming pool, before things get a bit more mellow, the band slipping into something a little more Dead C, a meandering dirgey noise rock stumble, that works its way through still more space rock, and several clouds of crunch and clatter and creak.
Part three begins with some garbled processed sort of beatbox vocals, which gradually get more and more effected before things get noisy again, bleats and skronks, quickly subsumed by a thick wall of crumbling buzz, a thick skull rattling thrum, that dissolves into still more abstract free noise damage and haunting ambient drift.
The final part opens up with some whirring drones beneath creaks and clatters, deep bass pulses, which slowly build into some sort-of-free-jazz, which in turn transforms into some blown out industrial rumble, only to finally finish up in a blurred buzzy tangle of spidery violins and groaning low end drones. Phew. Pretty intense stuff, and while you can't necessarily HEAR the 66 source tapes, these tracks do feel dense, as if you can FEEL the fact that 66 tracks were somehow cut up and crammed and layered into just 4.
Heavy, heady, trippy, noisy and psychedelic, a cool way to experience the last 11 years of Burning Star Core in just 66 minutes...
A gloriously shambolic, stumbling and clattery lo-fi chunk of strum and clang from Graham Lambkin, pre-Shadow Ring, and it definitely sounds like Shadow Ring, but WAY more low fidelity, like if maybe Shadow Ring put out a cassette on Shrimper way back in the day. Which is not at all a bad thing. Monotonous, detuned guitar strum, THOSE vocals, laid back and weary, deep and heavily accented, spoken, but a little bit song songy, heavily distorted in places, weirdly distant sounding in others, the rhythms sound like pipes hitting other pipes, someone pounding on a cardboard box, or thumping on a table top, it's all very Jandekian, but even more skeletal and haunting, woozy, warped, warbly, plenty of tape hiss and dropouts, all woven together into a strangely ghostly bit of spaced out psychedelic minimal drug folk, or something. Dark and gloomy and creepy and cool, fans of the Shadow Ring will definitely want this, but even folks who just like cool weird dark creepiness, might definitely dig this, and find yet another band to obsess over.
Full length number two from this Minnesotan funeral doomlord, long anticipated around here considering how much we loved the last one, Desolate North, and this is another sprawling oozing missive from the dark forest, an epic chunk of woodland doom, similar to how the new wave of Cascadian black metal bands find inspiration from their surroundings, Celestiial look to the woods, the the water, the the world that surrounds them.
The record opens with a dense swirl of black buzz, nearly motionless, a thick heady drone, laced with feedback, and grinding industrial grit, 4+ minutes of heaving whirling blacknoize, that gives way to a field recording of a trickling stream, complete with birdsong, wind, what could be thunder, the perfect introduction to the record's 30+ minute centerpiece, "Great Storms Carry My Sadness", a gorgeous, minor key, ultra doom lament, as slow and low as any of the other doom outfits, but somehow the sound is warmer, more lush, it manages to glow with some sort of warmth, while remaining appropriately dark and dense, the song plods along dreamily, and then fades out, leaving still more sounds of the forest, running water, birds chirping, all underpinned by deep barely there metallic shimmers, super haunting and otherworldly, like wandering through the forest at dusk, eventually the doom swoops back in, and if anything it's even prettier and more minimal than before the break.
After a brief bit of lovely acoustic guitar, set to burbling brook and bird song, the record's other long track, another epic doom sprawl creeps into motion, laced with harp and hooting owls, another strange track in that it manages to be washed out and dreamlike, but also dark, and dense and heavy, but not like Bunkur or Moss, this is something way more ethereal, a hazy heaviness that leaves plenty of space for nature to intrude, birds and wind and rustling branches, all as much a part of the sound as guitar and drums and vocals. After another brief delicate bit of soft focus shimmer, of forest sounds and glistening acoustic guitar, the journey is over.
Where Life Springs Eternal is that rare funereal doom record, a collection of songs that are as beautiful as they are heavy, and like the record that came before, easily some of the most blissful and dreamy doooooom you'll ever hear.
Another band of NY lo-fi new wave noiseniks, the Chinese Restaurants dip one toe into gothy, gloomy, retro wave, and another into something distinctly more angular and punk rock, with muted muddied riffing, pounding minimal drums, and whiney, dramatic vocals, reminding us of groups like the Electric Eels, until all of a sudden, out of nowhere, Barack Obama begins to speak, a sample of a speech maybe, but it's SO random, the band keep chugging along, it almost sounds like you're listening to two different radio stations at once, the best part is the fact that as he speaks, his remarks are peppered with strange moans and groans from the singer, which makes the whole thing seem weirdly warped and whatthefuck.
The flipside is sample-free, and is gorgeously gothic and dirgey, the guitars syrupy and swaddled in crumbling distortion, the main melody, warped and minor key, the whole thing laced with strange swooshes and unexpected bursts of noise and static and glitchy effects, the vocals still frantic and dramatic, the second track ups the energy, pounding a bit harder, getting more punk rock, but still staying plenty snotty and new wave and lo-fi. These guys definitely dwell on the fringe of the current retro cold / new wave resurgence, but fans of releases on Sacred Bones and Captured tracks will probably dig these guys as well...
We've said it before, we'll say it again, pretty much all good things come from Finland. Okay, maybe that's us being all hyperbolic again, but c'mon, Finland blows our minds, STILL! Especially with music. Let us count the ways: Skepticism, Mieskuoro Huutajat, Vladislav Delay, Thergothon, Tiermes, Circle, Pharaoh Overlord, Shape Of Despair, Kiila, Children Of Bodom, Es, Hanoi Rocks, Smack, Kroko, Kemialliset Ystavat, Anaksimandros, Avarus, Uton, Doktor Kettu, Islaja, Clandestine Blaze, Horna, Ride For Revenge, Baptizm, Cleaning Women, Paavoharju, Stumm, Chainsmoker, Tivol, Reverend Bizarre, Dead Reptile Shrine, Loinen, Magyar Posse, Itavayla, Exordium, Aaviko... Phew! We could go on and on, but what other region has produced so much weird and wonderful music, from damaged outsider black metal to dreamy foresty folk, to clattery free noise to droning sludge rock and pretty much every strange stop in between.�
But even amidst this veritable who's who of AQ faves, this lineup of damaged and demented, dreamy and brilliant and beautiful music makers, another Finnish band still manages to stand out.�Circle Of Ouroborus. Ostensibly a black metal band, but the more we hear and with every successive record, we begin to wonder why any one ever considered them a metal band at all. But that only makes us love them all the more.�
As we've mentioned in the past, it takes some serious weirdness to share a split with the buzz croon blackness of Urfaust, but CoO pulled it off easy, even managing to outweird the already impossibly weird Urfaust pretty much across the board. Their debut full length was a ramshackle stumbling blackened mess, all atonal guitars, and haphazard percussion, wailed, crooned and spoken vocals, detuned acoustic guitars, some black buzz, but for the most part it was some strange slightly metallic mix of Jandek and the Fall, the vocals constantly switching from Mark E. Smith whine to Jandek drawl, the music beneath following suit, going from fractured folk to hyperkinetic almost new wave black pop. And we dug it. A lot. It was difficult listening certainly, but it grew on us like crazy and became a daily listen.�
So we've been waiting and waiting for the new record. We were warned by the band that it was really strange and that there was some seriously not-metal-at-all moments, so we were pretty excited, but damn if it isn't weirder and way better than we expected.�
On Shores, the band sounded constantly on the verge of falling apart, blasting was an iffy proposition as they sounded like they might derail at any moment, the vocals were definitely tough to listen to at moments, and the guitars were tangled and mangled in gloriously messy clumps. And while some of that remains on streams, it's almost like a different band. The vocals are so much better, still weird and haunting and not always in key, but stronger, and more evocative, more emotional, often buried amidst buzzing guitars or crashing drums, allowed to croon and howl and the results make them sound like a real band. But what sort of real band is the real question. Certainly not a black metal band, although a few songs do have brief blasts of buzzing blackness, instead, they seem to have taken that Fall like sound and stretched it out into some weird gnarled gothy doom pop, at some points they sound like�damaged atonal psych pop like Times New Viking maybe, but most of the time, they sound a bit like a�super lo-fi live recording of Joy Division or Crispy Ambulance, albeit slightly blacker, or maybe some buzzy gothy modern doppelganger of Alien Sex Fiend or Specimen. Sounds weird, and it definitely is, but it's also pretty awesome. It's the sort of not entirely black, black metal record that will definitely appeal to folks just looking for something dark and moody and buzzy and far out. That said, the sound of Streams is about as black metal as CoO have ever gotten, some serious blasting buzz and some grimly buzzing blackness. But that blackness is always muted or smeared into shades of grey, draped over and amidst a collection of haunting and mysterious songs that while strangely connected and cohesive, range from the gloomy fuzzy drama of "Streams Of Depression" to the gorgeous acoustic Sentridoh-like "Anonym".
Definitely for fans of Urfaust, Nuit Noire, Lifelover and all of those peripherally black musical experimentalists...
Super striking and bizarre cover art, black and white pencil drawings of an old man's bald head sporting the CoO ouroborus symbol, the snake eating its own tail, as well as cool pencil sketches of the two band members inside, detailed down to one guy's Isengard t-shirt!
Latest disc ov blasting lo-fi fucked up blackness from this Northwestern one man horde, another super limited self released jam (the last one was limited to 24 copies, which all came to us and all disappeared pretty much immediately). So fair warning, if you want to get your hands on this sick shit, be quick, or be very very disappointed.
No idea what F.D.K.L.S.O.M.F. stands for, but this is some super intense, super pummeling, buzz drenched, grim, kvlt, frosty, lo-fi, raw and primitive black metal skree.
Stumbling, mostly midtempo, the guitars buzz frantically, the vocals shriek wildly, the drums are chaotic and confusional, the songs don't really blast or plod, instead they seem to veer wildly, and druggily from tempo to tempo, slowing down, speeding up, this is about as raw as it gets, mostly brittle high end, guessing it's just drums and guitar, if there is a bass, it follows in the long tradition of inaudible black metal bass, but it hardly matters, this is all about the riff, and the atmosphere, and both are stellar, the riffs destroy, dense and angular and atonal, the atmosphere is definitely primitive and basement / practice space / dungeon / cave, lots of echo and reverb, and at its most frenzied it's a white noise squall, the vocals especially, but when it's not so in-the-red, it's like listening to some weird lost classic outsider black metal demo, which is pretty much what this is.
ULTRA LIMITED AGAIN, home brewed packaging, a weird little devil deer insert, all the cds in very generic, and entirely UNmetal primary colored paper sleeves. GRIM!
The quietly menacing, and curiously mesmeric, NYC trio Coconuts (that's plural, not to be confused with SF band Coconut, singular... nor should it be confused with what you probably THINK a band called Coconuts might sound like, either!) offer up what we'll assume to be their debut, on the always interestin' No Quarter label (home to Burning Star Core, Circle, Psychic Paramount, and many other faves). This self-titled disc comprises 5 tracks, mostly all but one of 'em pretty long (but not in the double digits or anything), 34 minutes or so total. When it's on, though, you'll sink pretty deep into their sounds, that it'll seem like it would take much longer to swim back to the surface, helplessly drifting with the wave-action of their heavy plodding rhythms, Coconuts' semi-skronked, but not un-melodic, keening guitars like the plaintive calls of homeless, strung-out whales...
We noticed they thank Blues Control, we can see how they'd fit in with those guys, this has got an abstract, similarly droned-out vibe, darker though, and more spare, maybe like void-travelling Moon Duo, stripped down and spooky, a downer-dosed slo-mo krauty psych groove, spacey and druggy. The vocals are hushed moans, drafty exhalations to go with the droney murk and mope of the music, which slowly throbs and buzzes, the percussion an echoing thud, the electric guitar an avant acid blues wash... The confusional element of all this is perhaps accentuated by the digipak packaging, which is oriented with the spine on the longer side, what's normally the top, or bottom... some of us here (ok, it was Allan) griped that this means when you file it on a standard cd shelf, you won't be able to fit it there with the spine facing out, you'll have to have it facing either up or down, so the name of the cd won't be visible, which is normally one of the functions of the spine, but whatever, not a big deal, at least it fits on a cd shelf at all unlike a lot of other cd packaging options. In any case, it's a cool disc!
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.
High On Fire On The Cover (looking maybe just a little uncomfortable, posing draped in snakes on account of their new album, Snakes For The Divine... why'd it have to be snakes... shoulda said snacks!).
Also this ish: Ludicra, The Wounded Kings, Teitanblood, Bastard Noise, Daughters, Priestess, Abscess, Ihsahn, Landmine Marathon, Finntroll (vs. Troll), Dark Tranquillity (being inducted into the Hall Of Fame for The Gallery), Nachtmystium (studio report), and more, including of course all the usual news, tons o' reviews, and funny columns, John Darnielle's South Pole Dispatch being particularly amusing this time 'round.
Been trying to get some Drunkdriver into the store before South By Southwest, as these guys are gonna be playing our showcase, and here we go, finally, their first (?) 7", and it's a fist in the face, ice pick in the ear doozy. It sounds exactly what you might imagine a Drunkdriver might sound like, if instead of getting behind the wheel, they got up on stage with a pile of amps and a beat up old drum it, a super chaotic, unhinged, wildly careening, ultra distorted in the red chunk of drugged out, FX drenched noise rock damage. Churning riffage, wild proggy drumming, feral throat shredding vox, but the sound is surprisingly dynamic, lurching start stops, catchy melodies, weirdly hooky riffs, the A side, "Knife Day" could be some sort of noise rock anthem.
The B side takes care of that right quick, even noisier, the band lock into a stuttery lurch, a controlled stumble, all crunch and crumble, the vocals unhinged and hysterical, with a killer, almost classic metal sounding breakdown, some more seriously hooky riffage, all kinds of good stuff buried beneath the blackened avalanche of skin peeling rooooaaaaar.
White vinyl!
In anticipation of their Sub Pop debut, our current favorite fuzz-inflected girl group unleash this monster single. "Jail La La" sees the girls riffing on New Order's "Age of Consent" through a much lower-fi but still boisterous exotica a la Stereolab's "Cybele's Reverie". A pop stunner that we'll be playing repeatedly for sure! The B-side flips the coin in tempo and mood offering a slow-motion burn version of The Rolling Stones' "Play With Fire".
Sure, it's an oft-covered song, but in the Dum Dum Girls' capable hands, it's a girl group dirge that cuts so deep. Killer!
We couldn't be more stoked that Egyptian legend Hamza El Din's first two records have finally been made available to us on cd. His music has had such a lasting impact on such a wide range of artists. You can hear hints of his exquisite playing in the work of everyone from Sandy Bull (who he lived with for a bit while in the states) and John Fahey, to The Grateful Dead (who toured Egypt thanks to his help), to Ali Farka Toure, Tinariwen, James Blackshaw, Debashish Bhattacharya, etc. The way he used his oud to make such resonating and soulful sounds transcends language, culture or geography. Even with his soulful vocals, it doesn't matter if you don't understand the words because it's the rich emotional tone of his voice that taps into something greater then letters, words or language.
Al Oud was his second album, released in 1965, billed as a record of instrumental and vocal music from Nubia. What haunting yet majestic and soul piercing sounds. No doubt about it, El Din belongs in that special class of transcendent musicians like Alice Coltrane, Ali Farka Toure, Ravi Shankar, and Ali Akbar Khan. Totally essential!
We couldn't be more stoked that Egyptian legend Hamza El Din's first two records have finally been made available to us on cd. His music has had such a lasting impact on such a wide range of artists. You can hear hints of his exquisite playing in the work of everyone from Sandy Bull (who he lived with for a bit while in the states) and John Fahey, to The Grateful Dead (who toured Egypt thanks to his help), to Ali Farka Toure, Tinariwen, James Blackshaw, Debashish Bhattacharya, etc. The way he used his oud to make such resonating and soulful sounds transcends language, culture or geography. Even with his soulful vocals, it doesn't matter if you don't understand the words because it's the rich emotional tone of his voice that taps into something greater then letters, words or language.
Music Of Nubia was El Din's debut album, released in 1964, this really was one of the first records from Africa to breakthrough and find a wider audience in the western world, and for great reason! What haunting yet majestic and soul piercing sounds! No doubt about it, El Din belongs in that special class of transcendent musicians like Alice Coltrane, Ali Farka Toure, Ravi Shankar, and Ali Akbar Khan. Totally essential!
Oh man, is this gorgeous! Eluvium's follow-up to 2007's somber soundscape Copia continues along a similar solemn path, but embraces some new elements into the fold - namely male vocals and understated percussion. They add a fresh dimension that works perfectly. Actually at times Similes draws comparisons to the desolate beauty of early Black Heart Procession. We like very much! The withered murmurs from mainman Matthew Cooper melt into the enveloping reverbed sea of velvety organ drones and creeping piano melodies. A shimmering and glimmering journey into the shadows of the most heavy hearted.
The return of one of our favorite mysterious black hordes, Emit, although not technically a return as the band is defunct and have already re-emerged as the similarly named Hammemit, instead, this is the second posthumous collection from these bizarre black alchemists, gathering up two old recordings, The Dark Bleeding ep from 2003 and the The Dark Gods demo from 2004. The cool thing about Emit was they were never really black metal, but their sound was blacker than many of their buzzier / blastier compatriots. They trafficked in a raw sort of primitive free black noise, more like Abruptum really, with clouds of noxious distorted guitars, howling anguished processed vocals, and often no drums to speak of at all.
The Dark Bleeding is the group at their rawest. Distorted tangles of free form guitar, drenched in reverb, vocals grunting and growling, some actual riffage for sure, but buried beneath dense slabs of crumbling distortion, and heaving low end rumble, the final of the four tracks features some awesomely distorted church organ, resulting in a super creepy, ultra noisy chunk of circusy black drone-noise.
The Dark Gods is a bit more song oriented, but only a bit, still plenty abstract, spaced out swells, melodic and downright pretty, give way to creeping black riffage, and warped and warbly low end, sick vocals, garbled and processed, drums show up, but instead of blasting or pounding, they are totally abstract, another element to drift and meander and get all tangled up in the ever swirling morass of blackened sound. Near the end, the drums do make their presence more known, giving the sound a distinctly doomy vibe, but still totally unhinged and chaotic and fractured and gloriously fucked up.
Like WOLD meets Abruptum meets Circle Of Ouroborus, noisy, heavy, abstract, weirdly pretty, totally and completely damaged, and thus WAY recommended.
Rad! Eternal Tapestry, Portland's badass psych super-group, take a step back in time and offer up this heavy duty reissue of a 2007 classic, Altar of Grass. And wow, what a stony trip it is! On this cd-r we find the band jamming with their old bass player, Bob Jones, and without their newly added sax player, but needless to say, the boys still knew how to kick out a lysergic dose of head-trippy, fuzzed out amplifier destruction. Ooooozing walls of blasting fuzz guitar, head-nodding grooves covered in tar and filth, not too be missed by any fan of the group's whirlwind brand of in-the-red punk psych. These pacific North Westerners don't fool around, the riffs are heavy with a dash of Hawkwind flavor, the drums are relentless and thrashing, and its all woven together into a hypnotic wash that sounds more like three proto-metal bands jamming in the same room, very sweet. A nice document of the early E-Tap sound, a bit more free and loose then the newer stuff, but much more raw and spaced-the-heck out!�Really killer stuff, not sure how limited these are, but they ARE limited, and chances are we won't get more, so be quick!�On the same Greek label that brought us the killer black metal of Bohemian Grove also reviewed this list, by the way!
To begin with, there's already something special about bands from New Zealand, whether they're making eccentric indie pop or droned-out experimental noise, we like ourselves a lot of NZ music! So this band Evil Ocean, from Auckland, already has that going for them. But then add in the fact that they're flat-out obsessed with music from another of our favorite locales, Finland, specifically what our friends in Circle like to call NWOFHM, and what do you get? A really, really awesome and unclassifiable album indeed. Krauty confusional garagey distorted DIY doom metal new wave soundtrack music? Maybe we can call it NWONZHM??
Apart from several interludes of eerie, abstract weirdness, the disc mostly consists of some fairly blown-out, rockin' songs, which are ALSO weird as all heck though. These tracks are full of thick fuzz guitar, churning riffage riding the rinky-dink ticky-tock of the manic, machine-sounding percussion. Other ingredients include dramatic female vocals and gnarlier, sneering male vox (rising into a falsetto at times), plenty of effects and sci-fi synth sounds everywhere, tons o' fuzz (we mentioned that already), spooky suspenseful bits, metallic gallop, industrial clank, seasick keyboards, and more... There's ritualistic stuff that sounds like Sylvester Anfang, propulsive parts a la Circle, and heads-down Hawkwindy hypno-rock. The mood can get genuinely intense and disturbing, yet Evil Oceans also obviously display a bizarre, even nerdy sense of humor, heck there's a track here called "Rise Of The Administration Daleks", complete with hysterical Dalek voices... but also Spaghetti Western whistling... what does it all mean?? It's art, or arty (several of the members are apparently successful painters) but most importantly it rocks in a quite entertaining WTF? fashion.
Recommended to anyone into so-called NWOFHM stuff (Circle, Pharaoh Overlord, Steel Mammoth, etc.), also White Hills, Brain Donor, and other gritty post-Stooges space rockers and post-punk derelicts. Released on pro-printed cd-r, packaged in a in a full-color ecopak with photos and artwork celebrating both the epic New Zealand landscape, and Charles Darwin.
Our '70s Japanese psychedelia section just keeps getting bigger and better, in part thanks to the UK reissue label Phoenix, who brought us Brast Burn last list, also recently Karuna Khyal, Far Out, and another Far East Family Band album, Nipponjin. That one was their second, from 1975, and if you liked it you'll like this, Parallel World being its 1976 follow up, boasting one of the most perfect cover paintings ever, showing the band sitting in a wooden boat, in space, flying through the colorful cosmos. (The guy with the headphones and shades is so cool!)
Once again produced by kosmiche electronics master Klaus Schulze (with Gunter Schickert as recording assistant), this proved to be the band's final album, but it's a fantastic one, that deserves honorary krautrock classic status even though the band are Japanese. It's certainly a space rock classic at any rate, beginning with "Metempsychosis", a trippy intro full of spooky synth squiggle and snip-snip-snip drumming that accelerates into a blissed out shimmer, a combo that they take to extended extremes on the next track, the 16 minutes of "Entering/Times", full of buzz and gurgle, propulsive rhythmic scatter-clatter, and grandiose prog moves... it sounds somewhere betwixt Acid Mothers Temple and Zombi, really!
Vocals make an appearance on "Kokoro", a mostly gentle, lovely sort of dreamy ballad, but one that also features some searing, soaring electric guitar action to bow down and worship. And THEN there's the title track, a suite, 30 minutes long! It's a doozy, encompassing funky wah guitars, thick synth fuzz, electronic tinkering tingling tinkling, even some dubbiness... At times it's urgently rhythmic, but that can give way to calm, spaced out drone, it's got parts that remind us of Can, parts that could be Funkadelic circa their most lysergic effort Free Your Mind... And Your Ass Will Follow, and parts that sound like Augustus Pablo. If every druggy hippy jam sounded like this, we'd be living in a Parallel World indeed!
Obligatory Japrocksampler chart position citation: Julian Cope put this at number FOUR in his top 50. We don't always agree with his rankings, but it's definitely worthy of being up there. And it's in Phoenix's usual "wallet" (whatever) packaging, limited to 1000 numbered copies.
More 'hypnogogic pop' from ex-Skaters soundscaper James Ferraro, whose latest album remains rooted in the off kilter whatthefuck (heavy on the lost late night eighties vibe), visually, with a bizarre Best Buy / pick up truck / parking lot / alien robot / Fox Sports graphic collaged cover art, and a lyric sheet / manifesto packed with references to Judge Judy, Costco, Beverly Hills, energy drinks, lost highways, tongue rings, gladiators, batteries, 'no fear', etc, as well as sonically, continuing to mine a fantastically bastardized John Carpenter soundtrack / late night cable sort of warped dronepop melodicism.
The A side here is definitely and immediately recognizable as Ferraro, but unlike past jams which occasionally tended toward the dense and layered, this sidelong track is stripped way down and laid way back, a simple pulsing rhythm, skeletal and minimal, laid out under a glimmery smear of sun dappled synth, over which, still more synths add haunting melodies, would around warm guitar figures, all hazy and washed out and lysergic, the loops warped but subtly so, woven into the perfect fusion of new age shimmer, and retro futurist kosmiche drift, and hell it still sounds like it could have been lifted straight from some lost Argento or Carpenter flick, which is in no way a bad thing.
The flipside is another warbly dreamjam, new age-y and soft focus, gentle tangles of melody tumble frame by frame over a motorik synth pulse, wreathed in hiss, and glistening streaks of reverb and delay, notes ring out, chiming, synths soar and sing, total sun dappled free energy divine sonic bliss for sure. Halfway through, the track shifts gears, and suddenly it's a full on raga, with warped sitar buzz, loping tarpit synth basslines, and lots and lots of space, a sound like looking at the sun, through some glowing alien crystalline structure, reflective and prismatic, with strange bursts of organ warble, swirling clouds of barely there tape hiss, all blurred and smeared into a meditative drift, that gradually gains momentum, transforming into a weirdly propulsive, but still totally laid back new age groove, peppered with cool/weird drop outs, and skipping samples, which only add to the track's mysterious home brewed charm.
Another gorgeous inner space excursion from Ferraro, comes with a download code, and is most likely very limited.
We're surprised it took this long for these two avant guitarists to join forces, Final, aka Justin Broadrick, aka the man behind Godflesh, Jesu, Grey Machine, Techno Animal etc, and Fear Falls Burning, aka Dirk Serries. In some ways both have a similar approach to the guitar, both able to sculpt sprawling expanses of layered drone music, transforming six strings into something much more, a sound generator capable of conjuring heaving, roiling dronescapes as well as hushed ambient drifts.
The opening track seems more influenced by later period Broadrick, as it sounds a lot like a washed out, minimalized Jesu track, a slow, warm, lugubrious riff, looped over and over, poppy and melodic, but slowed down enough that it becomes trancelike, with Serries (we assume) adding a sky full of tangled and layered high end contrails, adding a dark tension, and a mysterious beauty to the melancholic main riff, the whole thing wreathed in a gauzy dreamlike production.
The second track is more static, less riff based, and more wide open, a blackened landscape of rumbling low end string buzz, and singing high end skree, the skree muted so instead of being piercing, it's more smoldering, a glowing buzz, that pulses and throbs, the guitars constantly shifting, the layers overlapping and intertwining, gorgeous but still tense and dramatic, easily could have been extended to fill up a whole record and we definitely would not have complained.
The flipside begins with a smokey bit of folk flecked darkness, that definitely reminds us of groups like Earth or Barn Owl, a tiny bit of twang, a subtle choral vibe, warm and washed out, melancholy and minor key, the guitar unfurling skeletal melodies that blossom lazily, and then seem to fade into the background, just in time for more to take their place, a subtly active twangscape of muted buzz and almost country sounding drones, again, drifting ghostlike through a sepia toned haze.
The record closes with a gorgeous, thick bit of dronemusic, the background a sitar like buzz gives the track a definite raga like vibe, while in the foreground, another guitar moans, unleashing warped low end melodic tangles, delivered in slow motion, mimicking the sound of a horn almost, a muted bleat, but pulled into strange alien melodies, mirrored by the ever shifting, and highly melodic background buzz. This one definitely could have been stretched out forever, absolutely mesmerizing, the sort of drone you never ever want to end.
Gorgeous packaging, a black on black sleeve, with a very subtle die cut, revealing yet more black from the sleeve within. LIMITED TO 500 COPIES.
Flower Man is the work of Chris Bush from the Kentucky based electron revivalist ensemble Caboladies. While we've failed to hear any of his work from that outfit, the constant comparisons to Emeralds and Oneohtrix Point Never was more than enough to pique our interest. As Flower Man, Bush doesn't stray too far from what we would assume Caboladies to sound like, squiggling and squirming around his analogue synths and some pretty murky tape production that triangulates his sound somewhere between Grouper, a really druggy Bruce Haack, and a happy-go-lucky Omit. With its clunky Ikue Mori-styled drum-kit leaden dance around the rhythm, the opening track laces itself around two harmonized '80s / sci-fi melodies that fragment into squelchy percolations and lazer beam vibrations. The next batch of tracks could easily originate in any number of BBC Radiophonic projects with playful yet somewhat detached bleepity-blooping interwoven with some of those spooky synth sounds that Richard D. James mustered on his really early Aphex Twin tracks from Selected Ambient Works Vol. 1. Bush slows everything down to a turgid crawl of introspection through a lonesome, moping piece of bedroom electronics on the suitably titled track "Swirling" coming across as Delia Derbyshire on Quaaludes; and then makes a quick turnabout with some spasmodic electroid flashes which dissipate into nothingness as if sucked in various directions into outer space.
It makes perfect sense that Daniel Lopatin (aka Oneohtrix Point Never) would release this on his newly launched CD-R imprint Upstairs. Limited to 75 copies, and already sold out at the label!
It was only a matter of time. If Forest Swords hadn't done it, someone definitely would have, but hard to imagine it could have sounded as good as this. DRONESTEP. That's what they call it. A fusion of dark post-rock ambient drone music and skittery spaced out dubstep. Warm languid guitars, brooding atmospheres, and laid back downtempo grooves. In the wrong hands it definitely could have been lame, but Forest Swords nailed it, the result so organic and warm and mesmerizing, odds are the last thing you'll be thinking about is what to call it. Instead you can just sit back, and let these lush droned out grooves carry you off.
Had this not been on Olde English Spelling Bee, it certainly wouldn't have been out of place on some upstart dubstep 12" label, it definitely has the same sort of lugubrious soporific feel as Burial or Kode9, murky, washed out, muted, muddy and bass heavy, but instead of being sample based, guitars unwind, spidery melodies all tangled up in clouds of hazy reverb, vocals drift in and out all spectral and ethereal, in fact if anything, it's like some awesome, nineties slowcore jam, Codeine, or Seam, or someone like that, remixed by Portishead, transformed into a different kind of slowcore, a bleak, moonlit, forest dancefloor slowcore, everything bathed in dark blues and soft blacks, smokey and gauzy, the beats skeletal and minimal, the guitars chiming, glistening and glimmering, the bass, rumbling and throbbing, a rib cage rattling hum, samples woven into the mix, but doused in effects, so vocals becomes little swirling clouds of truncated melody, and melodies drift heavenward like wisps of grey smoke. Every track here is a smoldering late night blur, a bleary ear-ed slither and skitter through some soft focus soundscape, dreamlike and hypnotic.
Gorgeously dark, otherworldly, warmly mysterious, and darn close to being our favorite new record this year...
Comes with a download coupon as well...
What happens when the dooooom takes hold of experimental jazzzz? Good For Cows' latest mooooozzzzzic. Heh Heh. On Audumla drummer Ches Smith (Secret Chiefs 3, Xiu Xiu, John Zorn among others) and bassist Devin Hoff (formerly of Xiu Xiu) churn and rumble their way through nine instrumental jams. We can't say for sure if these sounds are beneficial for cattle, and we doubt we'll be hearing this cd played out in a pasture anytime soon to find out. The bass is a deep sludge-y boiled ooze, the drums are all rhythmic angularities. Electronics and effects provide additional atmospheric texture and unexpected shocks of lightning and sheets of rain in this aural thunderstorm. Some passages definitely brings to mind horror movie soundtracks from the '70s. Ultra ominous and heavy.
We've never seen this movie but if it's anything like the soundtrack, boy do we want to see it. It must be INSANE. And very, very groovy. 'Cause this is one trippy record, guitarist/composer Billy Green's psychedelic soundtrack to the 1974 biker flick Stone, today a cult classic (we hear it's out now on dvd, gotta find it!). It's from Australia, one of the early precursors to Mad Max in the so-called "Ozpolitation" genre (about which there's been a recent documentary that we also have to see!), doubtless full of violence, stunts, bikes, and girls.
We don't know much about the plot except that it involves the badass Gravediggers motorcycle gang (who, while as shaggy and dirty as any Hell's Angels, ride fancy new Japanese pocket rockets instead of the Harleys you might expect), characters with names like Dr. Death, Stone, Toad, Undertaker, Captain Midnight, most of whom get their own distinctive cues on the soundtrack. Beyond that, the liner notes mention acid trips and something about a political assassination, and well if you know what happens don't tell us 'cause we don't want to spoil anything for when/if we do see the film, we'll just enjoy the music for now!
Track one, the six minute, 35 second long "Eco Blue/Toadstrip" really dumps listeners in at the deep end, being a dark and unsettling musique concrete composition consisting of noisy electronic Moog synth bbrrzapp, and didgeridoo drone (ordinarily we detest the didge, but this IS an Australian movie), like a drug fuelled jam between aliens and aborigines. If you survive that (rather than report to the tent for those who ate the bad acid), the next track shifts mood considerably, being a funky freaky instrumental called "Race", full of wah-wah guitar and more electronic embellishments. Yep, just two tracks in and it's already totally awesome! As the disc continues, you'll get to hear all sorts of other strange and groovy sounds, including short interludes of sound effects and chanting ("Pigs"), lush, melancholic orchestration ("Cosmic Funeral"), bluegrass pickin' ("Septic"), classical strings and splashing cymbals ("Amanda"), Hendrix-y fuzzed fusion ("Stone"), mellow hippie blues-bliss ("Smoke"), heavy prog plus free jazz freakout ("Gravediggers"), and loads more that's either super groovy or super wacked, or both. Sometimes it sounds like a 'proper' film soundtrack, with the usual sort of suspenseful or sentimental cinematic stylings, but mostly it's all about sleazy, krautrocky chaos!
It's mostly instrumental, except for the bonus tracks, one which consists of dialogue from the film ("Hip's Rap"), one being a kinda cheesy soul-fuzz number ("Cosmic Flash"), and also two portentous versions of "Do Not Go Gentle (Rage)", a song based on the Dylan Thomas poem, set to music by Billy Green - we prefer the second one, sung by Jeannie Lewis, which was probably very important to the emotional impact of some crucial scene in the movie but here just seems awesomely over the top and incongruous.
The final bonus track is the audio from the original theatrical trailer for the movie, which starts off with someone screaming "SATAN!!!!!" followed by a dead pan voiceover intoning "Stone is a trip", and reciting further selling points, backed by a collage of sound effects and funky hard rock vamping, all snippets from the soundtrack. Again, it makes us want to see it... except, in a way, maybe we're realizing it's better to have the film exist (for us) only in our imaginations, 'cause the soundtrack is so far out it seems likely that the actual film couldn't possibly live up to it, could it? In any event, the soundtrack certainly stands by itself as a sizzlingly lysergic slice of '70s rock/electronic weirdness, part Bobby Beausoleil, part Amon Duul, a little bit Sly Stone, a little bit Sir Lord Baltimore... and altogether Stone(d).
Now, if you search on such keywords as "motorcycle gang", "fuzz", and "soundtrack" on our website, besides this you'll find our rave review of another Satanic motorcycle gang movie soundtrack that we ALSO made a Record Of The Week once upon a time, that'd be the music by John Cameron and session band Frog from the 1972 zombie biker flick Psychomania, reissued by Trunk some years back, and now sadly out of print again. Billy Green's Stone soundtrack is obviously the only thing that comes close. You could definitely file 'em together, Stone being a worthy successor (with a song called "Toad" instead of one called "The Frog"). It'd be a great double feature.
Also, remember that unusual series of Aussie psychedelic sixties/seventies surf movie soundtracks from the Japanese label EM, we listed a while back? The ones by Farm, Peter Martin & Finch, Tamam Shud, etc.? Though this is inspired by wheels rather than waves, and ain't so sunshiney, still fits in with the best of those.
As usual with B-Music / Finders Keepers productions, this is a labor of love, and the cd booklet reflects that, its many pages stuffed full of full-color film stills and poster artwork, along with a lengthy and knowledgeable essay by DJ Andy Votel. Before delving into the story of Stone, Votel talks a bit about the history of '60s / '70s B-movie biker cinema, citing the aforementioned Psychomania as an important forerunner to this film and its soundtrack.
Like we said, we've never seen Stone, though we want to. However, we've been fans of this soundtrack for some time. There was a previous, Australia-only compact disc reissue of this back in 1999, on the occasion of the film's 25th anniversary (which was celebrated with a 35,000 strong biker rally!). We were never really able to get any to stock though, so it's awesome to have this now, and it's been further expanded with additional bonus tracks, as well as nicely packaged, including a slipcover. When we heard it was coming out again, we immediately thought, Record Of The Week. Finally folks everywhere will get a chance to hear this, and ride with Stone and the Gravediggers!
We made a huge deal about the recent double disc reissue of this gnarled, noiserock classic from these Australian misanthropes, and lucky for you vinyl freaks, one of our distributors discovered a stash of the original lp release in their warehouse. So grab one while you can...
Grong Grong was born on a whim, named for a small Australian town, that one of the members just happened to be passing through, when he got home, he decided he had to start a band, and it had to be called Grong Grong. And apparently the simple approach of asking folks "Do you want to be in a band called Grong Grong?" was enough, and soon, Grong Grong were playing shows and making records. Or at least a record, and what a record, filthy, grimey, noisy, raw, primitive, pounding, chaotic, punk as fuck, a little post punk, a little new wave, crunchy angular guitars, throbbing low slung bass, wild drumming, and big bellowed vocals drenched in reverb, the band locking into a single riff, and working it and pounding away, the guitar spiraling off into weird little tangles while the bass and drums stayed locked into their groove, and the vocals swooped all over the place, the delay sending the grunts and growls careening from speaker to speaker. Not sure how these guys ended up on AT (well, Jello was a big fan), seems like they might have been just as at home on AmRep, where most of the other bands from this scene ended up.
Hardly matters, this is some awesome classic Aussie weirdo noise punk, and it sounds as good as it ever did, and listening to this now, it's shocking how many young bands are aping these guys big time, whether they realized it or not. Swampy, bluesy, woozy, psychedelic, lurching, lumbering, sloppy and loose, but so goddamn good, and those vocals, totally pushing all those same Killdozer buttons, but these guys were way more minimal, all about mood and texture and vibe, not parts, not verses and choruses, they sort of just launched into a song and kept going until it ground to a halt, or the band collapsed into a heap only to stumble into the next track. This is THEE shit.
Now this is what we're talkin' about. The return of France's Gunslingers, not too long after their amazing No More Invention album and the cd release of frontman Gregory Raimo's equally awesome solo endeavor as GR & Full-Blown Expansion. How does one go about describing a band like this? If you had to simplify things, you might call them a psychedelic punk band with krauty inclinations. It is also interesting to note that the rhythm section is comprised of dudes from black metal behemoths Diamatregon and weirdo occultic post rockers Aluk Todolo, not that this sounds anything like either. Gunslingers possess plenty of what we all know and love - crazy psych-surf riffing, a frantic rhythm section that manages to be both tight and sort of drunk sounding, and GR's unhinged vocals, which we accurately described as a cross between Johnny Rotten and Mark E. Smith, or better yet, the Trashmen's singer on the infamous "Surfing Bird". But the truth is, Gunslingers don't fit so easily into any categories. They are a crazy sounding bunch, capable of whipping up songs that are frenzied and totally demented, but also catchy and fun. And unlike many bands attempting this type of thing, Gunslingers avoid falling into the "retro" category, sounding, if anything, more like the true extension of the wild sounds of the late '60s/early '70s. So if this band HAD existed 40 years ago, you wouldn't be too surprised, but Gunslingers sound so self-aware that they seem to exist out of time, a quality we always appreciate.
The band kicks in right away with "The Spectre's Sinister Commandment," a firebreathing number that lurches forward menacingly with awesome sounding bass, melodic riffing, and some ride heavy drumming as GR's crazed vocals will make you wonder what the hell is going on in France these days. Without really letting up, Gunslingers go right into their strange world once again with "Coupe-George", a dense hurricane of fucked up biker psych mayhem heavy on the treble. "Stub Of Fortune" is another monster with super distorted guitars that seem to recall SST's glory days, all twisted, atonal, and jagged but strangely melodic at the same time. The album ends on a sort of upbeat note with the winding riffage of "Condor's Radiant Spawn", with the drums providing a super tight bounce that will make you feel like your heart will explode at any second. In a good way, of course.
Manifesto Zero is another highly welcome entry from a band we simply can't get enough of, which is why some of us will be heading down to the Hemlock tonight to check this shit out in the flesh if we can get done with the list in time! (That's right, they're on a US tour right now, go see 'em!!)
The easiest way to describe Hayaino Daisuki is like this: they're the band we always wished existed. Imagine classic eighties metal but about 100 times as fast and furious, or maybe a blasting grind version of power metal, or Iron Maiden crossed with Discordance Axis. That last one being particularly appropriate, seeing as Hayaino Daisuki is the new band of former DA screamer Jon Chang, even though the band do everything in their power to disguise who is in fact in the band, the first record purported to be a bunch of teenage metal girls, this one has a huge booklet with comics and interviews and lyrics, but very little actually band info.
But it hardly matters, once you lay ears on this stuff, you'll be totally and utterly obsessed, it may be only 12 minutes, but if you play it ten times in a row it's 120 minutes, and we DARE you to try to just listen to this once. Music this heavy and fast and furious and brutal should not be this catchy. The riffs are incredible, the drumming insane, the vocals of course are untouchable, and the wild leads and constant shredding harmonies is what pushes this over the top. What more do you need to know than 'Iron Maiden meets Discordance Axis'? Absolutely nothing. But if you're looking for something that totally shred and slays, is crazy catchy, you'd be hard pressed to find something more perfect than this. It's either the most melodic and hook filled shredding grind record ever, or the most blasting brutal grinding power metal record ever. Either way, this totally destroys, and is quickly becoming our favorite 12 minutes of music this year. Now 24 minutes. Now 36 minutes. Now 48 minutes...
Wow, is this really album #6 for Mr. Sean Hayes? Yes, indeedie it is! Shucks, we kinda knew there was something special 'bout this fine gent waaay back in 2003 when we heard the first few tunes off of his engaging debut album Alabama Chicken which he hand-delivered to us. Now, seven years later he's still tending kindly to the grass roots, self-releasing his music, and personally presenting it to us. We're happy to report that Run Wolves Run is splendid, and sure to please his ever growing legions of fans. While the heart of this Bay Area troubadour's music is unmistakably rooted in folk Americana, he's open to venturing beyond the genre's boundaries and welcoming fresh possibilities while steering clear of current trends. This time we sense that he's injected a bit more rock and funkiness into the proceedings. The results are perhaps a bit more upbeat that his past recordings, but they still maintain a sound that's wonderfully soulful and warmly familiar. Recommended!
Hellvete is the work of one of the members of Belgian funeral folk collective Sylvester Anfang, and while in many ways, the two outfits are similar, Hellvete takes the loose abstraction, and stumbling freeform mystery of SA, and tightens it up, into epic slow burning pieces that sound and feel more composed, majestic one moment, haunting and hushed the next, strings and subtle percussion, buzzing steel string guitar and thick undulating drones, a sprawling epic soundtrack to an imaginary film, flickering images of some forgotten world, a time lapse exploration of the birth and death of the black forest.
Long drawn out, almost sitar like buzz, drifts beneath ethereal female vocals, super minimal Eastern sounding percussion underpins some skeletal folky twang, a slow building bit of dronemusic, like Godspeed gone black Appalachia. Strings swoop in, upping the cinematic vibe, minor key, tense, dramatic, echoey vocals wrap around buzzing steel strings, transforming into thick raga like drones, laced with druggy space rock pulses, a sort of Spacemen 3 vibe, buried beneath the smoldering black shimmer. Tinkling chimes dapple the soaring strings, all wound into bursts of Sunroof! like skree.
Abstract free drumming hurls out swirling clouds of cymbal shimmer, fields of speckled skitter, way off in the distance, wordless voices moan and chant and hum, eventually swallowed up by thick grinding sheets of coruscating guitar buzz, a furious explosive crescendo, slipping back into that black Appalachia, before finishing off with a muted, but still intense burst of full on swirling psychedelic drug rock. Awesome stuff. In many ways even better than the Sylvester Anfang jams that came before, as if SA had somehow evolved, the sounds and compositions grown more lush, more expansive, while at the same time, gotten even darker, heavier, and more epic. WAY recommended.
Latest Teutonic slab of colossal crunch from these slow motion UK sludge lords, and since we've last heard them, they have appended their already odd monicker with the even more confusional "And The Van Halen Time Capsule". But don't expect any drastic changes, or anything remotely Van Halen like, right out of the gate these guys throw down hard, demonstrating again, that even though they still tend to slip beneath most folks' radar, they might be one of the best slow and low heavy bands happening these days.
A boiling cauldron of sonic black tar is upended and so begins the first track, as the black sludge oooooozes from the speakers, glacial riffage, weird looped samples, crushing 16rpm black hole drum plod, all sorts of gnarled glitchy distortion and buzz, which gives way to something weirdly dramatic, vocals clean and crooned one second, processed and garbled the next, while the music gets downright pretty, before spiraling into jagged shards of hiss and howl, the rest of the band stumbling back to a funereal crawl, and that's just the first song.
The rest of the record is a dizzying assault of midtempo noiserock pound, drugged out abstract ambience, downtuned throbbing sludge, twisted crusty dooooom, and heavy heavy drones, but it's not just the sounds, it's what these guys do with them. The riffs don't just buzz, they drip and ooze and creep, the vocals are inhuman and alien, totally disturbing, the guitars chug and churn and rumble, the songs veer from total ultra dooooom to twisted post rock lumber, to abstract hypnorock stutter, to weird epic almost chamber sounding sludge, taking something filthy and foul and making it majestic. Not sure why these guys are not HUGE, but anyone into Harvey Milk, and other practitioners of slow low crush and dense doomic dronemusic, should definitely be freaking out over these guys, and this record.
It's pretty much a given at this point: High On Fire can do no wrong. For over a decade now, they have been one of the most reliable and awesome metal bands on the planet... so reliable in fact, that it's easy to almost take them for granted. But every time a new album hits the streets, we have the same reaction, which includes foaming at the mouth, an increased heart rate, and the urge to destroy everything in sight. They're that good.
Snakes For The Divine is the band's first post-Relapse album, brought to us by E1 Entertainment, formerly Koch. Not sure what the deal is with this label, but the change has done the band some good for sure. The biggest surprise here is the slightly more polished production courtesy of hot shit producer Greg Fidelman, who you might remember from Slayer's recent World Painted Blood and, cough, Metallica's Death Magnetic. But fear not, because words like "polished" are really only used relative to the band's back catalog and do not in ANY WAY WHATSOEVER take away from the sonic beatdown Oakland's favorite sons have delivered since day one. They've just moved on, but there will be no mistaking who this is. Matt Pike's throatshredding vocals and guitar mastery (seriously, who else in metal today can rival this guy?) will tear you apart in the best way imaginable, and then you got the rhythm section, without question one of the best and most punishing in the biz. Des Kensel's intense whirlwind drumming and Jeff Matz's low end rumble are the perfect accompaniment for Pike's onslaught, making High On Fire sound like an uncontrollable force of nature, or maybe some ancient army storming across the mountains toward their ultimate victory. At the same time, this is the kind of metal that people who aren't really into heavier music can still dig, just because everything is done so perfectly. There's really nothing not to like here, and goddamn, this is some catchy stuff. Considering how brutal it is, that's definitely saying something. For a band that hasn't strayed too far from the sound they established early on, it's amazing that High On Fire can remain so vital and awesome. But they've once again delivered, in fact we'd go as far as to say that this is their best effort since 2002's Surrounded By Thieves, and we have no doubt Snakes For The Divine will have you raging into the next morning. Fuck yeah.
MISSISSIPPI RECORDS ALERT!! MISSISSIPPI RECORDS ALERT!! MISSISSIPPI RECORDS ALERT!!
As always, that's the text version of the siren and the flashing light, to get the attention of the legions of record nerds who need to know nothing but the fact that this right here is a brand new MISSISSIPPI RECORDS release. For the rest of you, Hi Fi Snock Uptown is the latest in Mississippi's ongoing Michael Hurley catalog reissue campaign, after Parsnip Snips and Armchair Boogie. Hi Fi Snock Uptown is from 1972, and unlike the previous two records, that were basically solo voice and guitar, this one features an expanded lineup, a band proper, with mandolin and piano and clavinet and pedal steel, it's still mostly stripped down and minimal, but the sound is a bit more lush, a little more fleshed out, which actually dramatically alters the feel of Hurley's music. Whereas the first two records were a sort of sweet back porch folk, classic Americana, the songs here are a bit more rock, they sound like early seventies FM radio, think Flying Burrito Brothers, Jim Croce, even the Eagles. The core sound is still folk, and some of these songs definitely rank amongst Hurley's best, and many of the tracks definitely have the feel of his earlier records, but it's exciting to hear Hurley take his songs and his sound somewhere new, without losing the essence of what made his songs so special on the first place.
Nice heavy vinyl. And cool cartoon cover art featuring Hurley's own strange comic book style 'wolves in the saloon' drawings.
Originally released in 1975, this is one serious slab of mind blowing Japanese improvised kosmiche drone music, featuring legendary composer / performer Toshi Ichiyanagi (a student of John Cage who was once married to Yoko Ono!), Takehisa Kosugi, the mastermind behind one of our favorite bands ever, the Taj Mahal Travellers, here teamed up with Stockhausen percussionist Michael Ranta, for two extended free drone workouts.
The trio employ reverbed ring modulators, threaded vocals, melodicas, pianos, violins, gongs and Japanese biwas and shamisens, and weave an elaborate and lush tapestry of sound, one that is really not that far removed from Taj Mahal Travellers. Brooding, shimmering expanses of muted tones, of layered rumbles, dreamlike melodies, peppered with strange electronics, haunting and otherworldly, with a distinctly krautrock vibe, or krautdrone, all of the current practitioners of spaced out kraut inspired dronemusic, as good as they may be, can't even touch this.
The music is alive, a living thing, that the players breathe life into and guide, letting the sounds love and drift and fluctuate, creating something organic and expansive and breathtaking. The percussion adds a unique element, not really adding any propulsion, but instead, contributing texture, and a framework that the players often let collapse, before bringing it right back. The second track begins with a cool skeletal groove, all clank and clatter and thump, the space around the sounds as much a part of the overall sound, eventually slipping back into something more murky and subterranean sounding, the percussion switching to something more tabla-like, draped over an oozing sea of rumbles and growls, scrapes and whirrs.
This is one of those rare pieces of music that manages to be two things at once, a gorgeously dreamlike, relaxing bit of sonic ambience, but also something elaborate and dense, opening up the listener to dual experiences, drifting off on the surface, or strapping on the headphones, letting that extra weight carry you down into the swirling blackness at the heart of this recording.
Incredible. And essential. About the closest we'll ever get to a lost Taj Mahal Travellers record...
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Another of three new releases this week on the Upstairs label run by Daniel Lopatin aka Oneohtrix Point Never. Innercity, the work of Belgian synthscaper Hans Dens, sounds right at home here, in fact, had we not known, we very well might have assumed this was Lopatin himself, as Innercity traffics in the same sort of spacey futuristic sci-fi synthscapery, although Dens has a few tricks up his sleeve. Like taking sampled sped up voices, and adding a flurry of looped beats, creating a dizzying minimal abstract dance music, stripped down and skeletal, but it's around track three that Dens stops messing around and gets down the the business of crafting some murky synthy weirdness, fuzzy crumbling bits of clipped synth are lopped into warped seasick rhythms, the tape threatening to crumble, as the drop outs and hiss add all sorts of texture to the proceedings. Other tracks take murky almost heroin house sound throbs, and douses them in fuzzed out muddy glo-fi warble, the sweet melodies barely audible through the haze, but the sum total gorgeously hypnotic. Elsewhere, seventies cop show meets eighties late night cable thriller via a melted synth with a malfunctioning motherboard, reminding us of James Ferraro or Monopoly Child Star Searchers, total lysergic hypnogogic pop. The disc offers up all sorts of variations on outer space / inner space synth damage, bleeps and bloops, distorted low end thrums, warped chordal whir, twinkling prismatic and cinematic pulses, and in the last track, some serious Carpenter / Goblin / Oneohtrix retro soundtrackery. Weird and wonderful, and definitely a new favorite.
LIMITED TO LESS THAN 100 COPIES. We got a handful, but those will probably disappear pretty quick.
Album number two for San Francisco kraut groove channelers, Jonas Reinhardt, who continue to mine krautrock, prog and cosmic gold with their spaced out and now sometimes even rocking sound. Powers Of Audition finds JR mastermind Jesse Reiner opening up his project as a full fledged band with members of Mi Ami, Trans Am and 3 Leafs hopping on board. While the sound is still very much steeped in the same sort of kosmiche aura as their debut, there are new sides to Jonas Reinhardt that have emerged with this sophomore outing. A few tracks even get very uptempo and rocking, like "Atomic Bomb Living" which sounds like some awesome lost car chase theme from a John Carpenter movie or a Giorgio Moroder score from the late '70s, and we for sure hear the contribution of Trans Am's Phil Manley there, as its a track that would have been right at home on one of those great Trans Am records like Futureworld or the Red Line. Meanwhile, title track "Powers Of Audition" is full on new-Neu done so spot on, motorik and and so totally entrancing. We even hear a bit of the soaring sound of Citay which makes sense as Reiner was once a member of that band. There are also more prog undertones that bring to mind Jesse's other old band Crime In Choir. But it's still the more spaced out, kosmiche side of the group that hits the hardest. One of the few modern groops worthy of carrying on the tradition of Conrad Schnitzler, Klaus Schulze, Tangerine Dream, Goblin, Manuel Gottsching, and Cluster. So damn good!
Finally reissued on vinyl, one of our favorite records, by quite possibly our favorite jazzman ever, Roland Kirk. The Inflated Tear was Kirk's first studio record for Atlantic (before he became Rahsaan), and it's a gorgeous classic jazz record. We've raved endlessly about Kirk elsewhere on his site, known by many primarily for his wild antics and far out behavior, playing multiple horns at once, playing the nose flute, wheeling around a huge wheeled wooden cane, pulling out a tape recorder and playing random recordings into the mic during concerts, passing out cocaine to the crowd, we could go on and on, and we won't lie, his character, and his larger than life persona definitely has a lot to do with why we fell in love with him, but the downside is that folks often forget he's an incredible player, and fantastic composer, all of which is evident here. Totally classic classic jazz, with Kirk handling saxophone and flute, the flute tracks in particular are incredible, fluid and fluttery, the rest of the tracks slipping from slow and brooding and moody and contemplative, to wild and frenzied an almost free, but it's the title track that makes this so essential. Supposedly written when he was on acid, it's the perfect mix of classic jazz, and his more avant side, beginning with a soft cacophony of noisemakers, chimes and rattles, and bells, and then the main horn refrain, is so haunting, a strange otherworldly harmony, you sort of have to hear it (sample below), totally moving and unlike any jazz we've heard, still gives us goosebumps, and then after this strange moaning minor key call, the band slip into straight up, soft cocktail jazz, only to return to that refrain, this time underscored by some seriously ominous piano rumbles, slightly altered, the horns slipping into something more rhythmic, until finally, the band break out into a dark, freak out, all low piano pound, and Kirk howling and ranting, only to finish how it started with bells and chimes. So amazing. The whole record. One of THEE most essential jazz albums for sure. On vinyl. Again.
We've pretty much always loved Ted Leo, and his totally thrilling, energetic mod pop. Ever since his early days with his first band Chisel, Leo has proven himself a master songsmith, always backed up by a crack band, always armed with a clutch of killer songs that manage to be poignant and meaningful, but also catchy and anthemic, guitars howl and riffs crunch, and that voice, so clear and powerful, the second he opens his mouth, he's got you. The Jam has always been an obvious reference point, so too Thin Lizzy, and nothing has changed on that front. In some ways The Brutalist Bricks is a little less immediate, and requires a few more listens before it really sinks in, but that's usually the case with records that are bound to end up favorites. That immediate super satisfying sugar rush of sound is replaced with a record that will have the same impact in a week or a month or a year, maybe even moreso. Songs that blossom a little more with each play. The Brutalist Bricks also sounds a bit more polished, a little more commercial, a smidge less raw and urgent, which will no doubt bug some, but it actually suits him, and like we always say, we'd WAY rather hear Ted Leo on the radio than John Mayer, and even with that extra bit of polish and occasional big studio flourish, none of that would mean shit if these songs weren't great, and if Leo weren't in fine form, thankfully they are and he is. If you dug his other records, you'll definitely dig this one. And anyone into kick ass classic sounding power pop, who hasn't checked out Leo, should absolutely grab one of these right now.
Latest jam from these atmospheric black metal drone ambient soundscapers. Now expanded to a trio, this epic two track workout finds the band sounding better than ever. Slow burning riffs churn relentlessly over a swirl of electronics and rumbling drones, vocals drift ghostlike throughout, melodies peal amidst the crumbling low end and heaving blackness, like some epic post doom, stripped of it drums and blurred into whirling shimmering riffscapes, haunting and otherworldly, abject and post industrial, pulsing and throbbing, gradually transforming from doomdrone to dreamdrift, but remaining heavy and mysterious.
The second track begins with a buzzing black riff, but instead of exploding into a blast of black fury, the riff seems to melt into the background, the various drones and tones bleeding into the riff, all smeared into a swirling black cloud of slow burning blackness, washed out and gauzy, growing more and more abstract, the riff pulled apart, the notes left to drift amidst a vast sea of wheezing chordal shimmer and crumbling glitched out electronics. So awesome. And if that wasn't enough, the flipside features a palindromic rendering of the two songs, the whole first side played in reverse, a warped woozy, swooping bit of twisted droned out black mystery.
Super sweet packaging, silver reflective sticker on the tape, seven panel, silver ink on black matte j-card. LIMITED TO 200 COPIES!
With all the Deerhunter/Atlas Sound/Jonas Reinhardt business we've been hearing from Kranky lately, we were starting to think they forgot about the rad, beautiful ambient music that defined the label's sound. Needless to say we were relieved and quite pleased to hear another gorgeous release of serene ambient wash from the Chicago label, this time from Vancouver electronic dream-ambient outfit Loscil. Whose last few records have been big time faves around here. Picture the crisp, laptop crush of Fennesz woven into the melodic soundworlds of maybe Emeralds or anything on the Miasmah label. Lush string tones rise and give way to radiating synth lines, minimal passages recall the solitude of winter or the calmness of a rainy SF afternoon (actually the album opens with a sample of pouring rain!), the kind of thing that leaves us completely entranced but never bored. The kind of dream harbor we'd love to set sail into, swelling tones of melodic shimmer cast a blissful daze over the oceanic horizon as deep pulsing, minimal rhythms plod and turn under blankets of radiating bliss. So gorgeous and completely recommended!
Most of the time, the cds that come with magazines are a waste of time, you might discover a song or a band, but more often than not, it's some paid promotional thing, where the bands with the most money, or at least the ones WILLING to pay, are the ones featured. But recently, Mojo magazine did an issue about the new country, or the new folk maybe it was, and included a cover cd, that we never really bothered to listen to at first, but eventually threw on, just to check it out, and BAM. It was like the best mixtape we'd ever heard. Incredible songs, great bands, perfectly sequenced, we couldn't stop listening to it. With a million songs to choose from on our iPod, we found ourselves constantly playing the Mojo comp. WTF? Fleet Foxes, Yeasayer, Iron & Wine, Alela Diane, the Dodos, Animal Collective, Akron/Family, Papercuts, The Pink Mountaintops, Vetiver, Bill Callahan, J. Tillman and these guys, The Low Anthem. Never heard of em before, but their song in particular had us smitten, a dark brooding deep folk number called "To Ohio", which is included here, and still, even after a hundred plays, has lost none of its magic. Delicate acoustic guitar, sweetly moaning cellos, and rough but warm and sweet vocals, harmonica, lovely harmonies, it's been stuck in our heads since we first heard it.
But there's plenty more. "Charlie Darwin" is another sun dappled dream folk number, but with lush lustrous falsetto vox, hushed and intimate with some super bittersweet harmonica here too. And while most of the record is on the quiet side, a super intimate affair, there are some more stompy bluegrass numbers, some almost rocking workouts, but it's never long before they settle back into something dark and languorous and dreamy. And be sure to stick around for the "To Ohio (Reprise)", which adds extra reverb and gives the song some extra bass, a muted driving rhythm, and some violin, making the song even darker and more psychedelic. So good.
Amy Davis and Jon Moritsugu are on the loose again! You might be more familiar with their combined coolness via other avenues - Amy's stylin' art and graphic design (she was a regular contributor to Paper Magazine for years and years) and Jon's ultra punk indie films (Mod Fuck Explosion, Scum Rock, Fame Whore to name a few!). Never ones to shy away from a creative whim or flight of fancy, nor ones to ever be pinned down. This time they're whippin' up an indie rock fun storm in their new band Low On High. Over the past decade they've hopped from here in SF to Hawaii to a tiny island in the Pacific Northwest and are now settled in New Mexico... all pretty chill locales, yes? But the raucous music they're makin' still sounds deeply rooted with one foot in the big city lip-glossy glitzy fashionista scenes. Moritsugu tackles the guitar while Davis plays bass and delivers most of the vocals in a druggy, woozy petulant swoon. Very DIY, free spirited, and more than a little rough around the edges, Low On High is very reminiscent of early '90s lo-fi pop rawk, and inspired by the likes of Sonic Youth, Jesus And Mary Chain and grrrl punk. Noisy distorted tunes with a candy crunch core and glamor puss accessories!
Local black metal favorites Ludicra return with The Tenant, their first for the great Profound Lore label, and as always, the band delivers. Ludicra masterfully mixes majestic black metal with brooding post-rock for a formula that pretty much touches on everything we love about metal in 2010, including some of the most vile and amazing female vocals we have ever heard, not that you'd necessarily think it was a woman screaming when you first hear this. Another strength is Ludicra's awesome male/female vocal harmonies which certainly add an element of beauty often missing in this kind of music. The amazing arrangements are certainly the work of a group dedicated to forging their own blackened path. It's clear that this is a band of lifers, all of them veterans of the fertile Bay Area metal scene, having served time with the likes of Hammers Of Misfortune, Agalloch, Slough Feg, Impaled, and quite a few others.
"Stagnant Pond" opens the album with some cool acoustic flourishes before the shrieking female vocals come in, sounding a bit like a banshee clawing its way from the depths of hell, as the song builds and builds in intensity. "A Larger Silence" is a super melodic piece of baroque sounding metal with some great harmonies, while "Undercaste" rocks at a nice midtempo groove before going into a surprising outro that seems to owe just as much to British folk music as it does to metal. Throughout it all, the lengthy songs flow into one another perfectly, making for one of the most well thought out metal albums we've heard in quite some time. It's rare that a band is able to seamlessly merge a wide array of influences into something they can call their own, but Ludicra appear to be up to the task and we couldn't be more thrilled. Highly recommended.
Nobody makes misery and endless longing sound better then Stephin Merritt. As it's been raining nonstop in San Francisco we've been eagerly awaiting this new Magnetic Fields album since pretty much nothing sounds better when it's gray and grim outside, than the beautifully morose pop that Merritt and his comrades create.
Realism is very much the counterpoint to the last Magnetic Fields album, Distortion, which was all plugged in, in the red, filled with fuzz, a sonic nod to the Jesus & Mary Chain. Realism goes in the opposite direction. Made completely with acoustic instruments, this is their 'baroque folk' album. In many ways it has much of the same kind of sound and style found on 69 Love Songs, the masterpiece which catapulted Magnetic Fields from indie sweethearts to full on cultural icons. Merritt is no doubt one of the best songwriters of this generation, both in the memorable lyrics he writes and the nuanced arrangements he creates. Like all great songwriters Merritt is able to create in a wide variety of styles. In the past he's made electronic pop, fuzzy lo-fi rock, ukulele stompers, and shoegaze like dreaminess. And when you see The Magnetic Fields play live its so awesome because they often change the arrangements and styles of their songs, like when they toured for Distortion they actually played all those loud rocking songs all hushed and acoustic!
Realism is another reminder that no matter what style, aesthetic or theme Merritt choses to work within he's always able to emerge with memorable and moving songs that will have remain emotionally and sonically relevant for so many years to come.
This was a total left field surprise, what on the surface appears to be some lost seventies retro rock, proto metal, fuzzy, groovy, heavy jam, is in fact, the work of two electronic musicians who cobbled this disc together via samples, computers, effects and yeah, some actual instruments. We weren't sure how we felt about it at first, but after a few minutes we were pretty much sold. And have been jamming this ever since.
For actual seventies proto-metal freaks, and retro reissue obsessives, this could definitely rub you the wrong way, but for the rest of us, who can dig some twisted modern take on the shit we LOVE, then this might totally hit the spot.
The guitars are fuzzy, the organs are warm and warbly, plenty of twang, some Morricone-esque moodiness, some rad old hard rock drumming, killer vox, hand claps, plenty of jangle, hooks galore, there are also plenty of rad psychedelic interludes, with twisted backwards guitars, swirling FX, all sorts of primitive electronics and layered collaged sounds, but it's the songs that seal the deal. Super heavy, totally groovy, while to these ears it sounds like classic proto-metal, to some folks around here it sounds more like current retro revivalists like White Stripes, Earl Greyhound, Wolfmother, but this stuff is so much cooler and weirder, the little studio tricks that make certain notes stutter, the samples that are played like an instrument but are still wreathed in record crackle, lots of backwards sounds everywhere, it's like some lost sixties psychedelic hard rock lost gem, reimagined and reinterpreted using modern day technology and it RULES.
