Every kid dreads finding a lump of coal in their stocking come Christmas morning, so much so that many spend the weeks or months before the big day doing their very best to ensure their spot on Santa's 'Nice' list. No more teasing the siblings, no more grousing about yardwork, cheerfully doing all their chores, eating all their vegetables, doing all their homework. Whatever it takes. But this year kids have something else entirely to worry about. Sure finding a lump of coal is a drag, but how about finding your stocking full of shit!! Well around here, that's something to be excited about. Because this is the year that Brown Santa comes to town. And who better to fill our hearts with Christmas cheer and regale us with tales of Brown Santa than Japan's shit obsessed grind lords Bathtub Shitter? That's right, it's a Bathtub Shitter Christmas. Record! Forget your Nat King Cole, and Perry Como, and Bing Crosby, and Barbara Striesand, this is the only Christmas record you need! And it's conveniently stocking sized, a cute lil' 3" cd, jam packed with furious grind, howling pummeling brutality, and lots and lots of shit.
For those of you new to the wonderful world of Bathtub Shitter, let's refer to a past review that perfectly and succinctly describes the Bathtub Shitter Experience:
Imagine some strange mix of Drop Dead, the Boredoms, Brutal Truth, CSSO, death metal, grindcore, and well....um...shit! Crunchy riffs swing from almost-surf rock, to Zeppelin groove to metallic crunch, but spend most of their time in grind mode, splattered and speeding out of control. Crazy drumming, farting bass and some wicked guitar noodling add to the sick sonic stew. But the vocals are where things get really weird. The main vocals are of the burping, grunting, cookie monster death metal variety, belching out indecipherable tales of shit and shitting, but their foil is a squealing, squeaking little girl of a man voice, sounding either like a babblingly hysterical middle age housewife shrieking at the top of her lungs or a horror movie cheerleader being evicerated, screaming in that terrified way only dying cheerleaders in horror movies do. The two vocal styles swing and switch and battle and butt heads like some sort of bastard grindcore Beastie Boys. Or imagine Chuck D as Chris Barnes in his Cannibal Corpse days and Flavor Flav as the aforementioned shrieking dead cheerleader. With the everpresent S1Ws made up of members of S.O.D. and Angelcorpse. Other sorts of vocals are occasionally introduced like the 'dog barking underwater' and the 'asthmatic yodel'. The truly strange part is that all of the various vocals come from the very same guy!
Speaking of vocals, our Bathtub Shitter Xmas starts off with the a cappella "Brown Santa", a confusing and brilliantly bizarre series of shrieks and gurgles, grunts and wheezes. This guy could very well give Jaap Blonk a run for his money. Track two is the reverential hymn "Holy Shit", a grinding blast of Japanoise flecked surf-sludge-grind-rock, with insane squiggly guitars, chugging downtuned riffs, blasting octopoidal drumming and of course the 'Shitter hi / lo, shriek / growl vocal battle is in full effect. And finally, what better way to finish things off, than with a classic holiday chestnut, this time roasted over roaring hellfire!! WOOOAHHHAAAA. "Little Drummer Boy" turned into a sludgy slab of slow motion drone metal, huge churning guitars, the only glimpse of the original being the martial snare drum rat a tat tat-ing beneath all that sludge and of course the impossibly guttural growling cookie monster vocals spweing out a barely recognizable "parumpapumpum".
Wow! Now if that doesn't sound like something everyone would want to find in their stocking or under the tree Christmas morning then we don't know does!
"We're dreaming of a... Brown Christmas!"
One of three new 3" cd-r releases on the Grey Daturas' Diagnosis ... Don't! label, each super limited, and housed in cool hand made packaging.
Bone Sheriff is another sort of supergroup style match up (sort a like the Stumps, made up of members of Gate, Mrtyu, Sandoz Lab Technicians, Seht, Nether Dawn, With Throats As Fine As Needles) that should have AQ customers frothing at the mouth. One part Simon Taylor of Aussie dirge sludge combo Whitehorse and Rob Mayson of the Grey Daturas and Maggoted, teaming up to make some serious noise, armed with a seriously unlikely arsenal of soundmaking implements: cymbals, glass, contact mics, bass and keytar. The disc's centerpiece is a 13 minute + wall of densely layered guitardrone, crumbling and rumbling, bits of distorted melody spread out over an expansive stretch of rough raw chordal hum. Heavy as fuck, but kinda pretty at the same time. This glorious drone is surrounded on all sides by a handful of super short tracks, tiny jagged fragments of freaked out sound, from grinding Wolf Eyes like glitchy splatter, to Merzbow-ian splintering noise, to squealing sinewaves to barely audible extreme high/low Ikeda style minimalism.
AS ALWAYS, ULTRA SUPER LIMITED!! We only got about 30, and probably won't be able to get more...
Packaged in thick textured paper black mini 3" sleeves, with a printed (band name, label info, liner notes) Japanese style obi. Nice.
Another warehouse find, this one a tiny stash of this LOOOOONG out of print cd-r from New Zealand soundscaper/dronologist, Tim Coster, who we'd only heard on a collaboration with another NZ combo we dig called Nest, the duo of guitarist Andrew Scott and NZ noisemaker Nigel Wright. On that split, Coster helped craft a blurred shimmery landscape of deep tones, and slow shifting layers, blissy and blurry and beautiful which is pretty much what he offers up here on his own, lush smears of tonal color, washed out and woozy, laced with various field recordings (he runs a field recording label after all), warm rumbling swells, subtly ominous, tinged with subtle shades of darkness, muted motorik pulses, hushed ambient drift, delicate crystalline streaks of sound, bits of glitchy electronics, thick undulating drones, all leading finally to the gorgeously ehtereal final track, which sounds ghostly and otherworldly, like a barely audible 78 being played on an old victrola, set up on a small dock, jutting out into a eerily calm lake, a barely there minimal dreamscape pocked with tiny sounds and sonic events that seem to appear and disappear, as the hazy sonic thrum drifts on and on...
Way out of print, we found 5 or 6 copies, once there are gone, they are indeed GONE.
Another in this new super limited series of 3" cd-r's from Public Guilt, who you might remember having co-released the mindblowing Untitled 3cd box set, a collection of noise music, then ended up being more music than noise (only slightly) and got us excited about noisemusic all over again.
The only time we had ever heard from Decimation Blvd, was on that very same compilation, but it's not the only time we've heard from Tradd Sanderson, who is Decimation Blvd., as he is the famed "noise choker" for the mighty Cream Abdul Babar, quite possible the best band ever with the worst name ever. Sanderson contributed lots of grind and grrrrr, skree and shriek, buzz and drone to CAB's punishing metallic post rock.
But here, Sanderson is loosed from the confines of being a backup player in a rock band, and employs an arsenal of electronics and synths, samples and guitars, and carves out a super creepy post industrial cinematic soundscape, that veers from glistening almost Oval like underwater blissout, to crumbling Skinny Puppy like ambience, to full on squalls of white noise, muted into murky whirs and peppered with electronic glitch and buried percussion, to shrieking high end chaos, finally finishing off with the very creepy closing track, HUGE, but spare pounding percussion, dense flurries of grinding electronics, thick washes of distorted whir, and a final burst of face melting sonic fury.
LIMITED TO 100 COPIES!!! Packaged in screenprinted mini 3" foldout sleeves, orange and black ink, with a printed insert on shimmery metallic paper.
Another blast of glorious noisy weirdness from the Grey Daturas' Diagnosis...Don't! label, this time from the strangely name EOH (named for Rob from the Daturas' son Max's imaginary friend! cool), a trio of drinking buddies (featuring Rob from the Daturas) who channel their drunken unruliness into recording session after recording session. This 20 minute chunk of dark drones and abstract free noise was culled from hours and hours of wild drunken recording, and the results are surprisingly cohesive and listenable. Still dense and noisy and intense, but with a soft touch. More whisper than roar, more drone than screech. A Wolf Eyesian industrial murk march. Dense swirling layers of thick pulsing guitar distortion, wavering and warbling in thick sheets laid over everything, peppered with occasional cymbal crashes and what sounds like some sort of throat singing. This is some seriously massive ur-drone shit. Huge industrial wastescapes, abstract spare stretches of low end rumble swirling like black fog over ruined landscapes of damaged amplifiers and detuned guitars. Haunting, and desolate but strangely lovely. Essential listening for the drone obsessed among you.
Packaged in thick textured paper grey mini 3" sleeves, with a printed (band name, label info, liner notes) Japanese style obi. Nice.
And as always, this is SUPER LIMITED, and odds are we won't be able to get more. We did get a whole bunch, but don't let that keep you from ordering it now or you'll be kicking yourself when these are gone...
Newest (and fifth in the series, we've reviewed two others, we'll try to get to all of 'em eventually!) in a new series of ULTRA LIMITED hand made drone / ambient cd-r's from this new boutique label specializing in short form 3" cd-r's of dark drone drenched ambiance.
This latest installment comes from the percussion duo of Tim Feeney and Matt Samolis, this 20+ minute piece is all percussion and is the soundtrack to a short film, documenting the destruction of a television set, from the perspective of the TV, and manages to be clattery and chaotic while at the same time being dreamy and hypnotic. A multilayered soundscape, in the foreground, a dense filed of clang and clatter, like someone rifling through a silverware drawer, or someone digging through a bucket filled with pottery shards, a jagged bit of crunching and crashing, that manages to be sort of nice to listen to, as the track progresses, it sounds more like someone bending metal, creaking and grinding, the sound of rubber stretching, rubbing against steel, sort of industrial but also sort of creepy. In the background, bits of metal moan and groan, like distant foghorns, slow, whale call like tones, drifting across the sound field all wrapped up in reverb. Later on the creaking and groaning bits of metal, get louder, more insistent, sheets of metal boom out like thunder, bits of metallic high end scream like feeding back guitars, a muted cacophony, as weirdly lovely as it is creepy and abrasive.
ULTRA LIMITED TO ONLY 50 COPIES!!! Painstakingly hand assembled. Tiny 3" pale green fold over sleeves, with a glossy sepia toned image affixed to the front, sealed at the bottom with two rivets, tied with a ribbon, with a little circular badge. Inside the disc nestles between two sheets of gorgeously textured paper, hand printed and so lovely.
A second release from the mysterious Formatt, aka Belgian sound sculptor Peter Smeekins, we relisted a back-room find elsewhere on this list, a cd-r originally reviewed 2 years ago, that we dug big time, and in discovering extra copies of that release, we also found a little stash of these 3"cd-rs, released on Antony Milton's Pseudo Arcana label, a single 17 minute track featuring another brief glimpse into Smeekins' dreamy mad scientist sound world.
Much like the other disc, the root of Smeekins' sound is soft hushed shimmers and ethereal drones, a sky full of glimmering sonic stars, all smoothed out into gorgeously languid long-form slow motion drifts, which on their won would be plenty pretty, and would definitely hit the spot for deep ambient late night drift off music, but the sounds here are not so tranquil, over the top of these glacial low end murmurs, Smeekins drapes all sorts of other sounds, that manage to add all sorts of depth and color and activity, somehow without taking away from the track's soporific stasis. Showers of crystalline sparkle, swirling soft focus clouds of grit and static, bis of hiss and pop, more layers of thrum and rumble...
At low volume, Minor Curations exists simply as a gorgeous slice of minimal electronic ambience, but strap on some headphones and it's like that ride at Disneyland where you go through the microscope into a world of atoms and molecules, Formatt takes us on a similar ride, moving slowly through layer after layer after layer emerging finally in a strange microscopic world of inner sound.
SUPER LIMITED, ALREADY OUT OF PRINT, these are the last copies ever...
Wow, is that a mouthful. The band is called Ghosts Brames Of The Cerf's Magickal and the record's called For Every Hang Thy Dreamy Spell, Round Mountain Star And Heather Bell. WTF? Nothing there could possibly prepare you for he dreamy drift contained within. GBOTCM is another project of French outfit the Reggaee, who have teamed up with some like minded musical alchemists for a late night ritual of simple guitar strum and strange disembodied percussion. Minor key buzz and twang, stretched out over a murky low end throb, with bits of fluttery flute, a bit of dark and drifting campfire forestfolk, ominous and melancholy, laid back and shadow lit. Eventually, this flickering folks is joined by soft swells of subterranean drone and brief burbles of spacey FX, adding to the dreamy drift but never disrupting the tranquil ambience.
LIMITED TO 49 COPIES!!!
Inside is Kiwi soundmaker Sandy Schaare and Celestial Telepathy is his debut. Twenty minutes of gorgeous psychedelic solo guitar. But don't be expecting any sort of wailing shredding freakouts, Schaare takes the guitar and manages to make some of the most beautiful un-guitarlike sounds you've ever heard. Soft billowy drifts, gentle shimmering clouds of sound, and what sounds like Tibetan bowls or distant chiming bells, a resonant ringing that spreads delicately like tiny ripples in a still pond. So gorgeous and tranquil.
Limited to 100 copies, packaged in a full color mini sleeve with original psychedelic artwork by Schaare himself, in a mini PVC plastic pouch with a printed insert. Already sold out at the label, so once these are gone, they are gone for good.
We haven't heard from MHFS for years now, not since their now long out of print cd-r on Celebrate Psi Phenomenon. That release found these NZ noise makers kicking up a serious freerock fuss, with wild spacey synthesizer, crashing chaotic freakout and a bunch of whirring and bleeping and screeching. That very same record though finished up with a stretch of strummy soft shimmer, and that's pretty much where this 3" finds them again. Taking up right where they left off. They incidentally is in fact a he, one Mark Sadgrove, who is quite a fixture in the NZ music underground. In MHFS, Sadgrove utilizes homemade electronics, found sounds, field recordings, his own software, as well as the more traditional voice and guitar to create, subtle soundscapes, from very very minimal happenings a la Francisco Lopez, where we found ourselves reaching for the volume knob just to get a fleeting glimpse of the fuzzy details and barely these smears of soft sound, to rough crackly drones, waves of crumbling guitar distortion and buried in the haze mumbly vocals, all very sleepily sun drenched and beautifully blown out.
A necessary resurfacing of the NF Orchest. This was an East Bay post-noise project spearheaded by Jim Kaiser, Angela Hsu, and A.C. Way many years ago, marked by leaden electronics and acoustic dinscraping. The group found themselves with the rather trite problem of having too much on their plate - Kaiser performing almost constantly with Hsu, Thomas Carnacki, and irr.app.(ext.) amongst others; and Way taking up the cause of Maleficia, Carrion, and probably a few other blackened projects festering in Oakland warehouses. After five years since the last time we heard from the NF Orchest, the three found themselves plugged into the same PA at the Luggage Store in early 2010, where Kaiser bowed his trusted bicycle wheel, Hsu slashed across her violin, and Way produced all sorts of dread-inspiring, subterranean noises. The resulting sounds have the feel of being recorded way deep underground, with a molten snarl of hellish drone bubbling about atonal plucks and scrapes spiralling through phased delay patterns. Yeah, the violin improvisations in abandoned buildings do resonate with the Hsu / Kaiser end of the NF Orchest spectrum, but Way's heavy, black drones put this into an entire other catagory of spectral dark ambience.
We're a sucker for a band name, you should definitely know that about us by now. And a lot of you are the same. The thinking is, if you're that creative with just the name of your band, imagine how nuts the music must be?? Sure, that doesn't always hold true, but in the case of the awesomely monickered Tremor Of The Black Manx, the name couldn't suit the music more.
On the same label as last week's record of the week, the bizarre black metal weirdness of Jute Gyte, comes TOTBM, who we know NOTHING about, but it hardly matters, what does matter is that this is some awesomely confusional and fucked up stuff, like some sort of fractured electronic hyper grind, or maybe we could call it grindtronica, or something like that. The structure is definitely grind, the songs are short, the arrangements are head spinning, but all of the sounds seem to be synths and not guitars, although sometimes the sounds DO seem to resemble guitars, maybe they're just super processed, regardless, the result is a strangely synthesized bit of frantic buzz, tangled melody, moody murky drift, all wrapped around skittering, stuttering programmed drums, that go from plod to pound to inhuman blast in the blink of an eye, dragging the rest of the sounds along with it. Really rad, and WAY weird.
TOTBM are teamed up here with Night Troll, who sound like a slightly electronic, WAY fucked up, ultra lo-fi raw primitive black metal. Ildjarn, Bone Awl, Akitsa, if you love that stuff but wish it was WEIRDER, more damaged and demented, with throbbing sub bass, tangled atonal guitars, processed death metal grunts, and all sort of other random fuckery, then this is for you. Total lo-fi stumbling ultra raw outsider electronic black metal. Which to us reads: SUPER RAD.
Wow! We haven't heard from Noggin in forever. This guitar and violin duo have been kicking up a storm for years now. More than a decade! The last time we had a record from these guys it was before there was even an AQ list! But we loved 'em. They even played an instore at the old store on 24th Street. And they weren't your average free noise duo, even back in the day. Eric O. on guitar, scrabbling and scraping and creating some glorious chaos, and Michael G. who was probably already in his late fifties or early sixties when Noggin played at AQ on violin, so now... in 2006... WOW. The definitive elder statesman of North Western Noise for sure!! you might also remember Michael from his stint playing violin in the killer aggro-post-punk rock combo Behead The Prophet No Lord Shall Live.
So what's the modern day Noggin all about? Pretty much exactly what they were all about 10 years ago. An angular scrapescape, a tangled web of Derek Bailey, Hans Reichel, Lee Ranaldo and Keith Rowe, like a table full of household objects and broken steel strings and fried amps, but all stuffed into a single guitar. A throbbing, angular, rasping. clanging swirl of drone and clatter, with the processed violin, slithering and squealing, keening and braying, and sometimes even scraping right alongside the guitar. A glorious burst of unfettered instrumental deconstruction, playful and wild, dark and deliriously damaged. Cool stuff.
Packaged in a mini 3" jewel case and as with all Jyrk stuff super limited, in this case...
LIMITED TO 150 COPIES!!!!
We never thought the day would come, but the return of Old Forest is nigh!!! The first release from these UK black metal anti-legends in 7 years! Their first record, Into The Old Forest is an all time aQ weirdo black metal fave. And their second unreleased record, None More Black, was meant to finally see the light of day via tUMULt, but instead, will be released by the original label later this year. And when the world hears that one, well, Old Forest just may rightfully reclaim their crown as masters of genius fucked up grimness for sure.
The real surprise though is the band surfacing from whatever dark hellish abyss they retreated to nearly a decade ago. With a new full length in the works, but also this three part ep collection, focusing on the myths and legends of the Sussex countryside from which these guys hail.
Sonically very little has changed. The sound is still murky and buzzy, the guitars thick and blurred, plenty of keyboards, pummeling drums. Lots of atmosphere, and haunting ambience, the vocals a demonic croak, the songs ranging from blasting and black, to creepy midtempo dirge. Haunting baritone monklike chants drift in and out, field recordings of crickets and birds, wind and rustling branches, the songs are packed with super memorable riffs, sing songy "woooo, ooooh" sort of call and response vocals, double kick blasting away, even during some of the more mellow bits, the songs lurch and pound woozily, peppered with incredibly catchy and unlikely little keyboard figures, the band occasionally launching into some furious blasting, but just as often slipping back into a fuzzy dirge or midtempo pound.
And everything, no matter how true or grim, is infused with the cracked black sensibilities of Old Forest, much like countrymen Meads Of Asphodel (who may have one times shared members with Old Forest), not taking it too seriously, but at the same time taking it all deathly seriously. Dark and buzzy, spaced out and psychedelic, heavy and black, but also slightly cracked and definitely warped. And this is only part one�
LIMITED TO ONLY 222 COPIES. Each packaged in a mini 3" jewel case, with super striking red and black artwork, and liner notes and lyrics.
In recent weeks, Bay Area experimentalist Jim Kaiser offered us a couple of collaborative discs with violinist Angela Hsu; and now's he gotten around to releasing his own work under the moniker Petit Mal. As with his collaboration with Hsu, Kaiser's principle instruments for Petit Mal are the reel-to-reel tape machine and a collection of found metal. There had been a handful of obscurely published albums of mysterious drones and growling electronics that Kaiser issued as Petit Mal, but this is the first we've seen in quite a long time. Sensory Deprivation begins with a crawling rhythm of tape machine noise that seems to share a similar technique as Terry Riley's time lag accumulation devices, although Kaiser's roughly handled noises have the same brutalism as found in Wolf Eyes or Esplendor Geometrico. The next two tracks contain murky depressive drownings of sound, as if Kaiser's tape loops were pulled from the bottom of tar pit and forced through his machines, muck and all. Snippets of conversation pull away from the general torpor, with interjections of varispeed warbling and iron-clad screeches of bowed metal downcast in billowing clouds of sonic decay. Limited edition, of course!
On a European tour about ten years ago, a curious 7" was unearthed in a used record store. It had an amazing black and white cover, a painting of Golgotha, with the cross lost in a cloudy haze and surrounded by watercolored trees. The band was called Professor, their logo in splattery hand drawn Olde English. And the record was called The Academizer ep. One of the tracks was "Into The Auditorium". Suddenly thoughts of an evil black metal band made up entirely of doctoral scholars leapt to mind. Sort of the whole Carcass medical student thing, but with academia. This was just getting better and better. The record sat unplayed until returning to the States, where it finally made it onto the turntable. And holy shit! It was as good as the cover suggested it could be. A sloppy noisy blackened slab of Carcass worship. Blast beats and grinding guitars, howled gutteral vocals, and crushing heaviness. Over the course of the next decade, several more copies were discovered and hoarded like the treasure they were. Until a random series of circumstances led to tUMULt discovering the man behind Professor and the quest to make that amazing, out of print 7" available to a wider, turntable-less audience.
What happened, was that an unsolicited package was sent to tUMULt HQ, with some new music for the tUMULt overlord to check out, but the sender also included a cdr of his old bands. A cursory listen was blasted to an immediate halt, when the hauntingly familiar strains of Professor came screeching from the speakers. Oh shit. Is it possible? Could it be? And what do you know? The sender was none other than a real live living member of Professor. After much convincing and cajoling, he agreed to let tUMULt re-release the Academizer ep. And even now, a decade later, this shit is so good. Fierce and furious, stumbling and blasting drunkenly like a grinding blackened metallic juggernaut. Four tracks of crushing grind, pummelling crush and grinding pummel. Heavy and noisy and fucking great! Rumour was, that Professor was maybe a joke. But if that's true, this is some sick joke. Fans of Carcass, Drop Dead, grindcore, black metal, and all things heavy owe it to themselves to enter the auditorium, and bow before the Professor!! In the form of a 3" cd packaged in a mini jewel case.
It's been a while since these two have gotten together for some noisemaking. Not since the very popular around here Vintermusik (now sold out, sorry). But since then, both have been plenty busy, releasing a clutch of limited cd-r's as well as at least a proper full length or two. Most recently, the beautifully dark Black Sleep from Dag Rosenqvist, aka Jasper TX.
So how much has changed since these two last teamed up? Thankfully not too much. The two work well together, which makes perfect sense considering they travel similar sonic paths on their own, so here the two sort of blend their sonic palletes, and the result, as has been the case in the past is not the sum of the parts, but more a minimal distillation of their two sounds. Not as lush as one might imagine, but also not as spare and academic.
A gorgeous hushed minimalism, that is just spike enough to remain interesting and to keep just on this side of pure ambience, adding grit and texture and a sense of subtly ominous foreboding.
Beginning with a soft, fuzzy drone, all smeared with tape hiss, the track gradually gathers low end, deep swells rising ever so gently from the abyss, while some sort of high end sine waves separate themselves from the sound, becoming prickly layers hovering far above the warm drift. The two halves, the low and the high, continue to transform independently, both gathering static and crackle as well, eventually, the low end sprawls into a glacial chordal whir, slowly spreading in slow motion, while the high end has become a sort of skittery sonar, offering up strange pulses and keening high end tones, those tones slowing down gradually, becoming less sharp, lower in fact, while the main melody also begins to fade, both eventually fading to nothing almost simultaneously. Quite nice. Fans of either will definitely dig. As will folks into abstract minimalism and all manner of drones and microsounds.
Gorgeously packaged in a super complex folded origami sleeve, black spirographs and white text on green metallic paper. Super striking. And of course, super limited...
This mysterious East Bay noisemaker known simple as Sixes makes his Jyrk debut with this dense little 3" disc. For being so small, it definitely packs a serious wallop. Ultra massive low end drones, huge reverberating continent shifting tectonic rumbles, crushing, pulsing black fuzz. An incredibly dense black hole of sound. Impossible to say what the sound source is, it sounds like someone took a bunch of analog synths, about a hundred guitars, the same number of wildly malfunctioning amps, and dropped them in a tar pit. Churning gut rumbling brutality laced with jagged streaks of clipped and stuttering high end, everything burnt to a crumbling black, like watching some massive black tower, slowly crumble to pieces, the sound absolutely deafening, a physical presence that threatens to not only blow out your ear drums, but blow a gaping hole clean through your chest, take your head off, incinerate you and leave a tiny pile of smoldering cinders. The sound eventually settles down to a low level rumble, still crumbling and super distorted, before beginning a slow build, thickening, getting more distorted, the high end streaks spreading and brightening, eclipsing the low end pummel, until the two sounds, the earthquake low and shooting star high, are all tangled up, an ancient battle in sound, the two eventually becoming indistinguishable, all that's left, a huge snarling grey cloud of fuzz and grit and grind that threatens to blot out all other sound before quickly fading to black. Phew.
Packaged in swanky silver metallic on black sleeve, housed in a mini 3" jewel case.
LIMITED TO 200 COPIES!!!
It's been a while since we've heard from Taiga Remains, aka Students of Decay head honcho Alex Cobb, but this is not actually a new record, it's another one of those releases that somehow slipped through the cracks, and we only just now noticed we had a handful of these in stock, and had somehow never listed it, so here we go, Taiga Remains' Xiaguan', a 20 plus minute super limited 3" cd-r, well, super limited when it came out, now plain OUT OF PRINT, so these are the very last copies we'll see, so grab one while you can.
Like other Taiga Remains releases, Cobb takes guitars, and a small arsenal of other noise makers, and weaves them all into something ghostly and abstract, here it's an acoustic guitar, and it's paired up with electronics, bows, loops and chopsticks(!). The result is a strange shimmery dronescape, of bowed and scraped metal strings, lots of layered high end, creaks and groans, streaks of skree wrapped in reverb and left to drift in soft billows of soft focus whir, a dizzying expanse of soft soft noise, that about part way through slips into the lower registers, and the scrapes now in the background, behind a deep cavernous thrum, warm and languid and hypnotic, the thrum growing thicker and more intense, a slow smoldering build that eventually becomes a heaving swell of softly pulsing buzz and whir, before finishing off with a swirling high end cacophony. Good stuff, anyone into abstract guitar drones and minimal free dronescaping will dig this big time. And again, these are the last copies ever!
Another mysterious little noisy sonic gem from the Small Doses label, one of our new favorite small labels, due in part to the cool shit they put out, but also the fact that no matter how limited a release is, the packaging is super deluxe.
We won't go into too much detail with this one, as it's limited to only 77 copies. We got a handful, but as with most of these things, they will probably go pretty fast.
tH. is the work of a guy named Taylor Holdgraf, and Afflux is a strange composition for glitch and static and feedback and basically all the parts of music that aren't traditionally music. On the surface, Afflux sounds a bit like someone dragging a needle across an lp, or changing radio stations while driving through a tunnel, but it's arranged and structured into strange little microrhythms, drawn out expanses of super minimal drone, high end sine waves waver and shimmer, chunks of white noise are chopped into stuttering sort-of grooves, bits of feedback transform into what sounds like chirping crickets, some parts the hiss and glitch and crackle are smoothed into thick whirring textures, while other parts the grind and crunch are unfettered, allowing for little jagged bursts of super dynamic buzz and speaker rattling bzzzt.
Very noisy for sure, but structured and arranged in a surprisingly listenable, and surprisingly musical way.
As always, gorgeous packaging, a miniature three panel two sided full color vellum sleeve. And again LIMITED TO 77 COPIES.
Newest (and second we've reviewed of four, we'll get to all of 'em!) in this new series of ULTRA LIMITED hand made drone / ambient cd-r's from this new boutique label specializing in short form 3" cd-r's of dark drone drenched ambiance.
Wisteriax is a cello based improv outfit made up of Mike Langlie (remember the Twink record of toy piano, that's him!), his wife Karen, and pal Darron handling the mastering.
We've always loved the cello, not far behind our love of the flute, the cello is just so deep and resonant, a huge rich organic sound that just fills a room, fills your head with a booming rich lustrous beauty. Wisteriax take that sound and fuck it all up, turning long stretches of bowed cello into huge cavernous drones, sometimes the cello plays unadorned, like a mini string section, but is soon doused with FX and transformed into something entirely new. Imagine thick warm drones, with skittery Autechre-ish beats underneath, and you'll get an idea of what this stuff sounds like. It's all also quite cinematic, and dramatic, reminding us of Barry Adamson's Moss Side Story or some lost David Holmes faux soundtrack dance record. You can totally imagine some modern thriller, cars racing through the narrow streets of Rome, or a desperate couple fleeing on foot through the foggy streets of Paris. Really evocative, sexy and mysterious. A sort of ambient drone electronica, or techno drone or something. Whatever you call it, we are digging it a lot!
ULTRA LIMITED and painstakingly hand assembled. Tiny 3" pale green fold over sleeves, with a glossy full color image affixed to the front, sealed at the bottom with two rivets, tied with a ribbon, with a little circular badge. Inside the disc nestles between two sheets of gorgeously textured paper, hand printed and so lovely.
VERY RECOMMENDED!
