In a word, wow. That's how our review of the debut, 2012 Orchestra Of The Upper Atmosphere release wrapped up, after several gushing paragraphs. Let's cut to the chase and simply open this review the same way; in a word, wow!
This 2nd Orchestra Of The Upper Atmosphere double cd set is their 2nd Aquarius Record Of The Week, and that was an easy decision to make. Nobody else out there sounds like this, 'cause nobody else out there thinks this BIG, and combines all these elements so perfectly - experimental electronics, improv jazz, avant-classical choral music, chamber rock, modern minimalism, pulsating krautrock beats, progressive symphonics, ambient drone, and much more� Possibly you could liken the OUA to a 'big band' version of Norway's Supersilent, just possibly, to get started. Aptly named, this Orchestra is a large scale project, and it's no wonder, so far, that they always make fully-packed double disc sets.
Led by Martin Archer (who appeared on another recent aQ list with the latest from the avant-industrial Combat Astronomy project, of which he is part) and Chris Bywater, the UK's Orchestra Of The Upper Atmosphere is indeed a large ensemble, the multi-instrumental Archer/Bywater duo (organ, electronics, electric piano, saxophones, clarinet, synthesizers, samples, percussion, voice, electric violin, etc., etc.) joined by a half dozen additional musicians bringing in everything from electric bass to flutes to glockenspiel, that core unit then further augmented by the participation of various satellite groups with which there is some overlap of personnel: the 20-person Juxtavoices chorus, the La Garotte String Quartet, and The Divine Winds.
While the first OUA album took several years to complete, this one came together in a shorter span of time, constructed from edits of live improvisations, and is no less impressive for that. It's mysterious and moody, as well as active and dramatic - when the Juxtavoices get involved, look out!
The first disc begins with "Dominant Growth Direction" - a powerful intro that zooms and whooshes with such physical heft, heck it should be used for the Dolby THX they play in the movie theater before the movie starts. That's followed by the beautiful, haunting grooves of "Paratacamite"; more atmospheric even is the next track, "Bilateral Coordination Activities Are Calming", featuring field recordings (birds, water) woven in among the drones and woodwinds and percussive sounds. Next, "Modus" is a glitchy avant-funk fusion jam, like some sort of electric Miles meets This Heat hybrid, with a definite David Shire "Taking Of Pelham 1-2-3" suspense soundtrack vibe as well. Want some even more out there 'band math' from this review? Skip ahead to disc one's blissfully grooving 14+ minute finale, which we're thinkin' sounds like a spaced out Oren Ambarchi/Augustus Pablo collaboration!!
Ok, but we can't go on describing this track by track, even briefly. That's not even all of the first disc we've covered. You want to read an even lengthier OUA review, look at our last one (and we do have a few of those sets back in stock, by the way). There's a lot here, and all of it is awesome, you get the idea.
And the thing is, for as vast and sprawling as these discs (and each track on 'em) are, there are no missteps. It's tight like that. So tastefully, cleverly crafted. It's compelling, intriguing, and evocative; ambitious but never over indulgent, never taking any wrong turns. Always on point. Or at least, that's what we think, what can we say, this just brings together a lot of sounds we like, we're hearing echoes of everything from Circle to Alice Coltrane, from Supersilent to Lumerians, from 3 Leafs to Terry Riley (just to drop a few names) and does it so dang well, and uniquely. Can we say wow, again?!
As soon as we heard this the massive and mesmeric sounds found here on the debut from the Orchestra Of The Upper Atmosphere, we knew it was Record Of The Week material! And while it's the record of our week (and many weeks to come, we imagine), it was three years in the making, a grandiose accomplishment involving the efforts of around 40 musicians and singers.
The British new music ensemble responsible for this sprawling double cd has an appropriately evocative name, they are in the business of generating clouds of sound from on high, and they are indeed a sort of Orchestra, certainly a lot of musicians on a lot of intruments making a BIG sound, the actual core group of the UOA itself comprising only five folks, but they're augmented by a string quartet (the La Garotte String Quartet), a woodwinds ensemble (The Divine Winds), and a 25 person avant-garde choral group (Juxtavoices).
Together, the UOA and friends create a hybrid akin to 20th century classical chamber music meets propulsive krautrock meets '70s cosmic jazz (some parts, like the ten minute track "Coherent Backscattering" that closes the first disc, remind us of the wonderful Alice Coltrane With Strings album World Galaxy, complete with what sounds like varispeed tape manipulation)� But it's probably most heavily influenced by the work of modern minimalist master Terry Riley in particular - imagine portions of the Riley/Cale album Church Of Anthrax heavied up by a psychedelic stage band, with tons of synth and electronics amidst the strings and horns and percussive skitter. Other comparisons we could cite include the Swedish sixties psych groups Parson Sound/International Harvester (also big Riley fans), some large prog jazz rock ensembles of the '70s, like Keith Tippett's Canterbury based Centipede, and krautrockers Out Of Focus (circa Four Letter Monday Afternoon), as well as various underground free drone ensembles of more recent vintage.
The two part, twenty-plus-minute "Seen From Above" early in the first disc is really worth the price of admission alone, a tour de force that sums up the glories of the OUA without revealing quite all the secrets that you'll encounter elsewhere on these two densely-packed discs (77+ minutes disc 1, 76+ minutes disc 2, no wasted space in other words, you get your money's worth!). The piece is full of droning deep rumbles that resolve into strong bass pulsations, graced with gorgeous organ tones, and dramatic drum rolls and cymbal crashes.
But the next track, the 10 minute plus "The Opposition Effect" is equally impressive, getting even heavier with the krautROCK elements, and brings the Juxtavoices to bear as well, with some intense vocal chant that reminds us of the aforementioned International Harvester.
And so it goes, and goes, the UOA at times bombastic and heavy, at others more hauntingly subtle and murmuring, with squeaks and mumbles, like an orchestra tuning up, in a murky sonic miasma. Much of this is stirring & cinematic, with parts that remind us of Godspeed! You Black Emperor and experimental Norwegian "death-jazzers" Supersilent too. The latter especially on disc two, which opens in an even, ah, moodier mood, the sound ever more abstract and ambient on "An Open Vista Is Revealed", followed by "He Died Before I Could Get My Revenge", which begins with shimmering jittering electronics and stumbling drums. Towards the end of that track, the Juxtavoices ensemble is employed to provide a bed of buried, layered and effected vocal snippets on the subject of the track's disturbing title (giving both a "hearing creepy voices in your head" and "overheard noisy cocktail party conversation" vibe at once). On both discs, the Juxtavoices talents are used judiciously in ways that really put this over the top in the sheer weirdness dep't., really letting it all out in feral, primal form amidst the murk of disc two's closer "Their Dark Presence Stretches Through The Void".
Oh, and eventually of course the krauty drum propulsion kicks in on this disc as well.
Essentially, the UOA take krautrock derived, pounding rhythmic hypnosis a la Circle, and combines it with the symphonic majesty of something like another recent aQ Record Of The Week, the reissue of William Sheller's glorious Lux Aeterna, if you can imagine that, or (if you've ever heard it) Richard Youngs' pseudo prog-rock Ilk project taken to Magma-like orchestral extremes.
At the core of the UOA, is English composer/improviser Martin Archer, also a member of The Divine Winds, and organizer of Juxtavoices. He's a quite prolific musician, who runs the Discus label that put this out, and we should really review more of his releases in future. Previously, Archer's name HAS appeared on the aQ list as a key member of crushing industrial doom/free jazz prog outfit Combat Astronomy, much loved by us; he's also the fellow responsible for the Saint Agnes Fountain album from about ten years ago, a clever hoax that purported to be an early '70s recording from a fictional female Japanese minimalist composer named Masayo Asahara (and if you liked that Martin Archer alter-ego as much as we did, you'll totally dig the UOA, they seem to share a lot of the same sonic inspirations).
Martin, we're impressed. And this couldn't be more up our alley, as you can perhaps judge by the artists we've attempted to compare this to. In a word, wow.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
AMAZING! Sounds like experimental electronic or ambient beauty, yet it's done completely on mouth organs in Bangladesh. The Murung people are an isolated society from a densely forested region of Bangladesh. Just as their religion has remained a type of spirit worship, Murung's ritualist music has developed independently from the rest of the world. It is a hypnotic cyclical music which has preceded the minimalism of Terry Riley and Steve Reich (but done much better!!!) by eons. The Murung perform their songs on 'plung' - mouth organs built of gourds punctured by bamboo and reeds resulting in eerie sustained trills. It may be an irrelavent point, but during these rituals, the Murung get pretty drunk on rice beer - yet remain calm, mirroring the methodic pulse of the ecstatic sounds emanating from their mouth organs. An excellent documentation. Anyone who enjoyed the compilation of music by the Ede people of Vietnam which was one of our 'records of the month' back in February should check this out too!
We just can't think of a more perfect way to walk into Aquarius. It's finally nice and sunny here in the city to begin with, and then we walk in the door to find, sitting on the front counter, the recently reissued back catalog from one of our favorite bands of all time, Os Mutantes!!! Whoo-hoo! The timing couldn't be better as a reformed Mutantes (minus Rita Lee, tho) are on tour right now, spreading their sound across the globe. It's been a few years since the first three crucial albums from these Brazilian psych-pop pioneers were available on cd domestically, and the import versions we previously had from South America have been out of print for a long time too. Until now. They've been repressed in Brazil and we've got import copies of not just the first three classics (reviewed here) but the also-pretty-great fourth and fifth Mutantes records too (which we've never reviewed before, and plan to list next time around). We are so stoked.
This, their 1969 sophmore effort (self titled Mutantes, again, not to be confused with the also self titled debut Os Mutantes) is, along with their debut, another one of the most important and influential records of the last quarter century. Seriously. In fact we might as well just consider the first three Os Mutantes records a single entity, as they are absolutely the perfect 1-2-3 pop punch! Here was a band from Sao Paulo, Brazil creating sounds with so many layers and styles intertwined, dense and dizzying, lush and lilting, elaborately arranged but so simple and catchy, who have gone on to help inspire some of the best and most beloved musical outfits in recent times. Their blending of breezy psychedelia, fuzzy delicious pop, and drops of musique concrete was the perfect infusion of experimental elements into challenging and rewarding pop that STILL sounds so amazingly enchanting, weird and irresistible. We could go on listing forever some of the bands and artists who have been inspired by so much of the Muntantes' spirit, sound and aesthetic: Stereolab, Broadcast, the whole Elephant Six scene, Beck, The Flaming Lips, Tower Recordings, Tater Totz, the list is endless. Today we even just noticed how Sonic Youth totally took the guitar melody of "O Relogio" for their classic "Little Trouble Girl". The scope and breadth of Os Mutantes influence is immeasurable. At one point, Kurt Kobain was desperately trying to convince Os Mutantes to tour with Nirvana! And while best-of collections and a few songs on comps here and there are nice, this is the kind of band whose records need to be heard in their entirety. We can't say it loud enough but just imagine us singing to you in glorious sun dappled Technicolor as we tell you that THIS TOO IS ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL! You might as well just give in, you absolutely need ALL of their first three albums. Never has there been a more perfectly unique and effortless blend of bossa nova and fuzzed out psych rock as on this trio of perfect discs! If you love Os Mutantes (album #1, 1968) and how could you not? Then, there's no way you wouldn't also want this one, Mutantes (album #2, 1969) with its amazing green alien band photo on the back cover. And of course A Divina Comedia (album #3, 1970) with its slightly proggier sound and striking graveyard scene on the cover. Their "Sgt. Pepper meets Astrud Gilberto mix" holds up brilliantly across all three original Mutantes records. It's the sort of thing where we're kinda envious of anyone who hasn't heard 'em already and now has the chance to buy these cds for the first time!
We just can't think of a more perfect way to walk into Aquarius. It's finally nice and sunny here in the city to begin with, and then we walk in the door to find, sitting on the front counter, the recently reissued back catalog from one of our favorite bands of all time, Os Mutantes!!! Whoo-hoo! The timing couldn't be better as a reformed Mutantes (minus Rita Lee, tho) are on tour right now, spreading their sound across the globe. It's been a few years since the first three crucial albums from these Brazilian psych-pop pioneers were available on cd domestically, and the import versions we previously had from South America have been out of print for a long time too. Until now. They've been repressed in Brazil and we've got import copies of not just the first three classics (reviewed here) but the also-pretty-great fourth and fifth Mutantes records too (which we've never reviewed before, and plan to list next time around). We are so stoked.
This, their 1968 debut (self titled Os Mutantes, not to be confused, though it's easy, with their also self titled 2nd album Mutantes) is one of the most important and influential records of the last quarter century. Seriously. Here was a band from Sao Paulo, Brazil creating sounds with so many layers and styles intertwined, dense and dizzying, lush and lilting, elaborately arranged but so simple and catchy, who have gone on to help inspire some of the best and most beloved musical outfits in recent times. Their blending of breezy psychedelia, fuzzy delicious pop, and drops of musique concrete was the perfect infusion of experimental elements into challenging and rewarding pop that STILL sounds so amazingly enchanting, weird and irresistible. We could go on listing forever some of the bands and artists who have been inspired by so much of the Muntantes' spirit, sound and aesthetic: Stereolab, Broadcast, the whole Elephant Six scene, Beck, The Flaming Lips, Tower Recordings, Tater Totz, the list is endless. Today we even just noticed how Sonic Youth totally took the guitar melody of "O Relogio" for their classic "Little Trouble Girl". The scope and breadth of Os Mutantes influence is immeasurable. At one point, Kurt Kobain was desperately trying to convince Os Mutantes to tour with Nirvana! And while best-of collections and a few songs on comps here and there are nice, this is the kind of band whose records need to be heard in their entirety. We can't say it loud enough but just imagine us singing to you in glorious sun dappled Technicolor as we tell you that THIS IS ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL! And not just 'cause it's the one that features perhaps their best-known hits, "Baby" and "Bat Macumba". Heck we could even do without those songs at this point, the rest of this is so great. An absolute all time Aquarius favorite and quite possibly one of the best pop records EVER! You might as well just give in, you absolutely need ALL of their first three albums. Never has there been a more perfectly unique and effortless blend of bossa nova and fuzzed out psych rock as on this trio of perfect discs! In addition to this their absolutely perfect debut, there's also Mutantes (album #2, 1969) with its amazing green alien band photo on the back cover. And of course A Divina Comedia (album #3, 1970) with its slightly proggier sound and striking graveyard scene on the cover. Their "Sgt. Pepper meets Astrud Gilberto mix" holds up brilliantly across all three original Mutantes records. It's the sort of thing where we're kinda envious of anyone who hasn't heard 'em already and now has the chance to buy these cds for the first time!
In the same spirit as listing My Bloody Valentine's 'Loveless' a few lists past, it occurred to us that like 'Loveless' there are probably some of you who don't own 'Blizzard Of Ozz.' Or perhaps some of you probably had it when you were 15, but haven't thought
"I would certainly never claim to be an expert on metal and my eyes fairly glaze over shortly after Andee and Allan begin one of their 'which album by _____ (random metal band) is the best' arguments. Having identified with punk rock in my formative years (though my appearance and actions made me look more like an effete and dorky new-waver at best), I was scared of the big hairy guys who I associated with metal in high school. But long before all that nonsense of cliques and fitting in, I used to ride around the suburbs on my BMX bike and listen to music regardless of its association to a particular fan demographic. With my walkman strapped on, "Blizzard of Ozz" was my soundtrack while I made my rounds checking the pay phones and newspaper machines for change. And I'm certain that I wasn't the only young suburbanite who wandered the streets plugged into Ozzy. As his first solo album away from Black Sabbath, the million-plus-selling "Blizzard of Ozz" demonstrated that Ozzy had a broader appeal than his earlier efforts with the group had. Over 20 years later, after people get over their ironic chuckling, this album still holds its ground. Those of you who've now lost or worn out your old cassettes and those of you who never gave the post-Sabbath Ozzy a chance should pick this 24-bit remastered and low priced classic up immediately!"
Also, if you were disappointed by the totally pointless / throwaway bonus tracks on the recent Judas Priest reissues (and let's be honest, 90% of bonus tracks on *all* reissues), you won't be here. The bonus track, 'You Lookin' At Me Lookin' At You,' is more kick ass-catchy metal and seems like it would have fit perfectly on the original album. A total timeless classic, for metalheads and non-metalheads alike.
Yay! Out of the blue, here's a new one from The Oscillation. The Oscillation? You might remember, a few years back (2008) we raved about this UK band's debut album Out Of Phase, an import on the DC Recordings label. We described their music as "a druggy, dubby mix of rhythmically krauty space rock, angular No-Wave funkiness, and, yes, oscillating electronics" and mentioned Neu!, Hawkwind, Salvatore, Tussle, and White Hills over the course of the review, as possible comparisons. If we were writing it now, we'd probably also cite the Lumerians, Moon Duo, Majeure, K-X-P, Maserati, Nisennenmondai...
The Oscillation's trance-inducing throb turned out to be, not surprisingly, something that a lot of you liked as much as we did! However we kinda lost track of them, for a while - though apparently they've been gigging hard - and thus were super excited to see that this new album was available, and it's domestically priced too.
Picking up where the debut left off three years ago, it's another potent dose of krauty rhythms, dubby disco, and druggy psych, both mesmerizing and melodic, but maybe, at times, heavier, more "rocked out" than before, witness the the beefier guitar on some tracks definitely getting into The Heads territory! Though The Oscillation started off as a one man band (that man being Demian Castellanos of Orichalc Phase), it grew from an electronic producer project into a fully-fledged live act, the power of which is displayed here (but also their mellow, shoegazey spacey side too). 'Tis mostly instrumental, even when it isn't, the occasional effected, hushed and chant-like vox betraying their (Brit)pop sensibility amidst the pulsating motorik beats, washes of distortion, and electronic FX... what's not to like??
The album opens with the subtle atmospheric drones and percussive textures of "Sandstorm", a build-up to the mantric chatter and sheer spacey howl of "Future Echo", like so many of the songs here, sounding like the perfect soundtrack to some futuristic, cinematic chase scene taking place in a Blade Runner style dystopia - though others sound more appropriate to a weightless drift, off into the soothing deeps of (inner) space. Next up, the haunting "Fall" eventually ups the ampage ante even more, with psychedelic guitar wrangling burying the drawled vocals... As well as feedback and freakout, elsewhere the guitars go more for chiming stabs amidst the hazy drone and hypnotic shaka-shaka-shaka rhythms. We'll spare you the whole track-by-track summary, let's just say that this is disc is ultimately epic (12 minute title track!), echoey (everything, all the time), often quite pretty (like the lulling swells of "See Through You"), and definitely propulsive. For fans of the likes of Loop, Can, and all the sundry other rad bands mentioned above. Tune in, turn on, oscillate!!
In 1989 Canadian audio artist John Oswald released his tour de force of sound appropriation "Plunderphonic", a cd that was never intended for sale, and found himself face to face with The Canadian Recording Industry Association and their lawyers. Whether they
Despite its extremely limited release "Plunderphonic" (reasonably) became something of a holy grail of tape manipulation and champions of its artistic validity have been making it available by making cassette copies for a small fee and even more recently the cd has been uploaded -- sans artwork -- for anyone with a fast connection to download (I, myself spent three days downloading it on a 28.8 dial up three years ago... nerd.) Now, over eleven years after its creation, for the first time ever "Plunderphonic" is now available, in somewhat steady supply and hopefully without legal interruptions... for sale. Initially Oswald had intended to see this edition released "legitimately" (in the eyes of publishing companies and major record labels) by clearing all the samples, but quickly ran into problems with music industry bean counters who have little patience for fair use (especially now, I suppose, that the disc is being offered up for sale.) As a way of bypassing the authorization process Seeland Records has thankfully stepped in and "stolen" the disc for, err... *from* Oswald and produced it themselves. And yet, saying that this is merely a reissue of "Plunderphonic" would be an extreme misnomer. Although all of the original tracks from Plunderphonic are here on this collection, many have been reworked -- some slightly, and some greatly -- and sequenced differently than on the original album. So those of you that have cdr's of the original might not want to start using them as coasters just yet. Also included on this anthology is Oswald's 1991 commissioned work for Elektra Records' anniversary (and previously only released as a promotional item), the five song ep "Elektrax" (Elektra chose to rename it "Rubaiyat") in which Oswald was given free reign to plunder anything in Elektra's vaults. On top of all that are several tracks from Oswald's 1991 release "Discosphere" (released by ReR / Cuneiform and consisting of tracks commissioned for dance), several miscellaneous cuts and tracks made for compilations dating as far back as 1975 and excerpts from Oswald's 1993 piece de resistance "Plexure" (Avant, Japan), a 20 minute opus featuring over 1,000 sampled artists.
Also included is a 46 page interview with John Oswald which alone is worth the cost of admission here. Along with going through all the tracks in the set and explaining the methodology behind each, Oswald details the events that led up to the cease and desist of the original cd. The two discs are packaged in a deluxe, hard bound long box and though the exterior artwork is much different than the original -- all of the original artwork is reproduced inside, along with additional plundervisuals by Oswald.
As a final note, many of you are probably wondering what the legal status & future longevity is of this edition. Well here's the scoop: this pressing has already been exhausted, we have 30 copies left as of this writing. However, we have been assured that this is NOT going to disappear or be a limited edition item. There are already 10,000 books made waiting for more cds to fill them, but that will probably be a month or two before that happens. So if you want your Plunderphonics now you should place an order ASAP, otherwise you will need to wait for the next batch of discs to be pressed.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
222... Two mints in one? Nope. Codeine? Nope. Nope. Nope. This double disc is BETTER -- packed with two and a half hours of comedian Patton Oswalt recorded live at the 40 Watt Club in Athens, GA. What more could you possibly want or need in your life? The man is fuckin' hiiiiilllaaarrriiiioouuss! Aaah, you might know him from the TV show King Of Queens, or you might've spotted him in the movie Taxi (or the soon to be released Blade 3... what the f'?!), or you might've heard his voice on Crank Yankers, or you might know him from one of his stand-up performances (he just finished a brief tour with Maria Bamford and Mr. Show alumni Brian Posehn). Now we know this isn't a competition, but dare we say, he frequently kicks his pal David Cross' ass? Yes, as a matter of fact we do dare. Much like Cross, he draws much inspiration from the late great Bill Hicks who pushed the renegade stand-up envelope hard and far in a very short period of time (if you dig current comedians such as Oswalt, Cross and Dave Attell, do yourself a favor and seek out any/all videos and cds of Hicks... seriously!). Fueled by a steady fountain of red wine, Oswalt holds court unleashing his often jaw-dropping, astute observations about the telling signs of the apocalypse and other stuff -- more specifically Dubya, zombies, celebrities, midgets, liquor ads, babies, hair metal videos, open mic nites, hippies, comic books and steakhouses. We won't attempt to re-enact any of his jokes here. There's no way we could accurately replicate his comedic 'nuances'. Hell, what are you waiting for? Just give those audioclips a spin. As he gets more inebriated instead of getting sloppier in his delivery, he somehow gets even more blistering. It's not until the last twenty minutes that things start to get noticeably, uhh, affected by the copious amount of vino consumed. He goes off on a bizarre rant beginning with a comment about shaving a back with a rusty tuna fish can. Hoo boy. If laughing appeals to you, buy this immediately. You won't know what hit you. Squibilleee flabilleee dooo!!! Brought to you by the kind folks at Chunklet Magazine / Records.
Warning #1: This is definitely not for the dainty eared nor for the faint of heart nor for the humorless.
Warning #2: Remember folks, this is a completely unedited recording, so the laffs aren't as rapid fire as on other comedy albums that have been nipped and tucked for maximum hilarity. This is two and a half hours of real-time stand-up with many drinking pauses, muffled banter with the audience and even a break when Oswalt takes a photo of his photographer who himself is drunk too.
And most importantly, Warning #3: This is a very very very limited tour only release that we've been fortunate enough to snag a few copies of, so please don't dilly-dally.
Imagine some gorgeous, high energy free jazz (including compositions by Eric Dolphy and Gerry Mulligan) melded with electronic drones, sine wave tones, and some Merzbow-style noise. That's what our favorite Japanese new music guru (turntablist/experimentalist/jazzbo Otomo Yoshihide) delivers with this new album on John Zorn's Tzadik label. Otomo and four other stellar players from the venerable Japanese free jazz scene are joined by none other than Merbow's Masami Akita and frequent Otomo collaborator Sachiko M (she's the one playing the "empty sampler w/ sine wave"). Fans who're already into his work with Ground Zero, ISO, Filament, and all the rest will have an idea of what this sounds like if we say it's a cross between the amazing Ground Zero "Plays Standards" disc and the minimalist clicks & drones of his more recent ISO project. Also it follows on nicely from his previous Tzadik release "Cathode", mixing the acoustic and electronic elements as on that disc. In other words, Otomo fans, it's essential! For those who have yet to explore the man's work (and who like jazz!) this would be a great starting place.
There's moody parts with record crackle and smokey sax soloing, and then there's full-on intense combustions of improv interplay, total electronics/jazz freakouts. Here's a more detailed rundown: the opening title track is a ten and a half minute exercise in tension: skittering drums, suspenseful noir film bass lines, slowly ascending distorted guitar feedback, topped with badass horn interplay straight outta "The Shape of Jazz to Come", and layered with ear piercing high frequency sine wave tones, courtesy of Sachiko M. "Spin" is a delirious hyperfrenetic bebop jam with subtle blasts of noise and space age guitar jabs that whirlpools into an ending that has to be heard to be believed! The two Dolphy numbers covered are "Les" and "Serene". Then the album concludes with an epic twenty two minute track that begins with the sweet sound of Gerry Mulligan's "Night Lights" and transforms into the beautifully abstract, Otomo-composed "Density". The whole disc is fantastic, beautiful stuff, something we're sure was conceived partly in tribute to a young Otomo's 1970s Japanese free jazz heroes, who no doubt would approve. Brilliant and highly recommended.
Back in stock! We've now got the French version of this classic Oxbow album. No, it's not IN French, we mean now that the original SST cd is out of print, we've imported copies of the cd edition released in France on the Ruminance label (home also of Cheval De Frise and Chevreuil). Here's our review from when it was an Aquarius Record Of The Week back in 1999:
A masterpiece of dark, cathartic, emotional rock cabaret from this great San Francisco band. Heavy slide guitar, baby-like wailings (from Oxbow's large, scary, nearly-naked body builder frontman Eugene), Nick Cave-ambience & math-rock technicality. Kind of like the Jesus Lizard meets Marianne Faithfull, except that Ms. Faithfull actually does appear on this record! (and the Lizard do not; Oxbow slaughters them...) I might also mention the cover pic by Richard Kern and the production by Steve Albini, but Oxbow are their own special thing, original and amazing, and those celebs are mere hangers-on.
For a while now, we've been raving about the various groups/collectives attempting, in their own ways, to sort of reinvent hip hop. Mush and Anticon and all those folks, Dose One, Cloudead, Sage Francis, Sole, Why? etc. And part of the appeal was their apparent disregard for hip hop tradition, removing whatever they felt like, beats, hooks, structures, funkiness, rhymes and replacing all of that with the everything and the kitchen sink. Bizarre samples (jazz, metal, field recordings, whatever), damaged, stuttering massively unfunky beats, stream of conciousness lyrics, and that whiny, white-boy, tongue twisting flow. But it seems like all of that stuff is doomed to remain on the periphery of popular hip hop. Not sure if the world is ready, and by world I mean kids who watch MTV and want nothing more than a new Jay-Z record that sounds EXACTLY like the last one. So what happens when someone with the same idea, reinventing/re-invigorating hip hop, takes a different, more subtle approach? Doesn't bury their respect for traditional hip hop under a wash of effects and Satie loops and epileptic beats. And attacks from the inside. Subversive and insidious. You get something that sounds like it -could- be on MTV and the radio, definitely -should- be, but probably still won't. Onry Ozzborn and his Old Dominion crew have been crafting some of the most original and BEST hip hop for several years now. Staying pretty underground, but not sure how long that can last. This is an amazing sounding record, amazing production, banging beats, wicked flow. But there's this aura of creepiness that is what makes it so appealing. All minor key, and gritty and ominous. You can hear lots of influences, Xzibit, Ras Kass, even Onyx, but it's all filtered through Ozzborn's twisted vision. The weird thing is, this sounds like it really COULD be huge. On the surface it just sounds like really good hip hop. Dig a little deeper more and more strangeness is revealed. Not to say this stuff isn't weird. It is. It's just a little less obvious. Less "Look at me! Isn't this crazy!!" and more "Back off...you have no idea what you're getting into motherfucker..." The samples are strange and original, but they're so deftly woven into the tracks it feels like they couldn't sound any other way, haunting Gregorian chants, rumbling synths, creepy minor key pianos, heavily reverbed electric guitars, what sounds like a bubbling aquarium, and all kinds of stuff. The beats are loping and head bobbing, and Onry's flow is thick and gritty, dark and threatening and downright evil sounding. There are hooks galore, choruses that actually stick in your head. And if that wasn't enough to make this one of my favorite hip hop records of the year, this record has one thing, that automatically qualifies it for major respect...NO SKITS!
Many of us can still remember the exact moment three summers ago that the Finnish group Paavoharju entered our lives. Their debut album Yha Hamaraa seemed to have come out of nowhere and soon became one of those records that we turned to again and again for an enveloping aural escape. So needless to say we've been anxiously anticipating this follow-up, and we're thrilled to say it's finally here. And in a day and age where quality control has been thrown out the window, it's actually pretty refreshing to find that there are still some folks out there with the patience and commitment to take their time in crafting their art, ensuring that it will live on in our ears and hearts for years and years to come. Paavoharju have done just that with their follow-up to Yha Hamaraa. With the subtly familiar yet fresh sounding Laulu Laakson Kukista, they have somehow raised the bar even higher, with a record that truly inhabits its own world. A place that is filled with flashbacks to a romantic and tragic old world, an oceanic daydream and a wide aerial view of lush green open fields where down below a secret magical world exists. It's actually quite tricky to try to describe the sound of this record as almost every song offers another view of their deliciously unique soundworld. Listening to Laulu Laakson Kukista is sort of like watching a Guy Maddin film, as the songs and sounds on the album feel as if they are at times in classic grainy black & white and other times in the most stunning and vibrant technicolor. There are songs that you could actually kind of maybe dance to ("Kevatrumpu"), songs that should be the theme of the Olympics the next time it's in Finland ("Uskallan"), and songs that conjure images of lost fairytales, musical radio plays, epic voyages, fantastical moments and interrupted daydreams.
It's actually so damn rare these days for a group to truly have its own sound but you just can't really compare Paavoharju to almost anyone else around. It might have been subconscious but after listening to this record several times we started hanging out a lot with David Bowie's album Low. As the otherworldly second side of that album brings us to a similar space as Laulu. We also imagine Kate Bush, Bjork, Robert Wyatt, Edith Piaf and Kurt Weill at the twilight of their careers, transported into the middle of nowhere in Northeast Europe, and dosed with some magic mushrooms before entering the forest to record a record together.
It's been a long while since a new recording has captured our imagination and allowed us to get as lost in its vision as this one has. Once again Paavoharju have created a collection of magical sounds that will continue to keep us warmly embraced and mesmerized with each subsequent listen!
PS: The vinyl came and went and we're waiting for more...
Oh how we adore the Finnish label Fonal Records -- home to the likes of Kemialliset Ystavat, Islaja, Kiila and Es. And now, won't you please kindly welcome the newest addition to the Fonal roster, Paavoharju! We can say that that welcoming 'em is not such a difficult thing to do 'cause they sure do make some wonderful music! In fact, Cup (and Jim for that matter) has listened to it almost every day since its arrival. It's true!
Note: We don't want to deny anyone the pristine 'first listen' magic that we experienced. We can attest that it was a sheer delight packed with many surprises, and our fondness has only grown with each listen. So if you want your introductory spin to be 'pure', please be forewarned that this review contains what some might call spoilers... that means stop reading now!
In many ways Paavoharju can be likened to fellow enchanting Finnish artists Lau Nau and Fonal labelmates Islaja, but their finely detailed yet loosely strung music is considerably more melted and collaged and electronic. Listening to Yha Hamaraa is almost like eavesdropping on a dream... or having someone else's heartbreaking memories come back to hazily haunt you. Sounds, voices and melodies drift in and out of focus, occasionally overlapping and seeping into one another. Sometimes it seems like you're listening to a rickety old radio with the dial set between stations so that the sounds somehow magically fit together. Odd faintly familiar elements make their presence felt such as in the ninth song where the male vocal melody brought to mind a twisted folk (and of course very Finnish) version of "Stairway To Heaven". The swooping, trebly female vocals find their own special place between Indian film music singers and the Southeast Asian voices that surface on the similarly (un)structured Sublime Frequencies travelogue field recording compilations. And reference must be made to Bjork as well! Now after having read this far in our review, you might find the very first track with its swell of distorted static-y noise to be somewhat unexpected, disorienting even, but we encourage you to go with it (and with us). Allow the wash of sounds to transport you into Paavoharju's intoxicating world. Completely and utterly breathtaking.
Surveillance is the latest release from Evan Caminiti, one half of aQ beloved drone/doom duo Barn Owl. And displays Caminiti's gradual shift away from purely guitar based ambience, toward something more dark and dystopian, and beat driven, shedding much of the twang flecked duskiness, in favor of murky fragmented rhythms, and gristled textures. Barn Owl too has displayed a similarly dramatic sonic shift over the last few releases, introducing drum machines, and synths, and similarly Caminiti's partner in Barn Owl, Jon Porras, has expanded his solo sonic palette as well, occasionally shoegazey, but also dabbling in witchy electronics, most notably as DVVLLXNS. But Surveillance might be the closest either have come to crystallizing such a distinctive, and distinctively entrancing sound, one that channels seventies and eighties soundtrack music, abstract electronics, modern minimalism, minimal house music (a la Chain Reaction), and who knows what else, into something stunningly mesmerizing, hauntingly bleak, and strangely alien. Yet somehow, still quite beautiful.
Surveillance does play out like some sort of soundtrack, with a few moments touching on the Carpenter/Goblin sound that seems to be so prevalent these days, but those moments definitely don't smack of any sort of bandwagon jumping, instead existing as just one sonic element, deftly woven into a much more sprawling and epic whole, with most of the tracks blossoming into something altogether stranger, lurching, pulsing, revealing mysterious arrangements, unfurling constantly shifting textures, rhythmically mesmeric one second, a creeping tar pit ooze the next. "Event Boundary", sounds a bit like a futuristic Muslimgauze, a simple skeletal rhythm, drifting atop a whirring raga like buzz, and wreathed in soft melodic swirls, heady and heavenly hypnotic, gradually growing more and more sinister, the electronic buzz sounding almost like processed horn bleats, the strange tangle of electronics dense and tense, haunting and harrowing for sure. "Leningrad" is similarly bleak and barren, with another field of buried pulsations, beneath arcing fields of tones, and soft focus synth sweeps, not to mention some dubbed out beats, all in a softly psychedelic haze. "Flesh On Tape" is about as close to the current Carpenter craze as it gets, but even then, the sound is much more minimal and softly glitchy, the Chain Reaction influence in full effect, maybe Carpenter on Chain Reaction is good band math, and it sounds just as good as you think it would.
"Shadow Gamelan" sounds like it was plucked from some obscure seventies Euro-art film, not hard to imagine this on a soundtrack for a movie like Possession, softly squiggly guitars, disembodied buzz, lots of echo and dreamlike reverb, hazy and soft focus, but underpinned by a subtle sonic malevolence, while "Loft Life" sounds like something on Kompakt slowed way down, and wreathed in shadow, before finally, the record ends with "Stalker" (an homage to Tarkovsky maybe?), which is a gently noisy, swirling psychedelic shimmerscape of keening high end, buzzing swells, buried pulsations and strange hissy vocal emanations, a stunning sprawl of harrowing cinematic soundscapery that again, like much of Surveillance, seems to effortlessly blur the line between hushed haunting loveliness, and brooding, blackened sonic intensity.
LIMITED TO 500 COPIES, pressed on 180 gram vinyl.
Soaring, heartbreaking, really heavy and *gasp* REALLY CATCHY. The treacherous "difficult second album" from Arkansas' epic doom dealers Pallbearer is one of those records that you kind of wish every doom album sounded like, yet so few seem to pull it off. A heavy metal record absolutely unashamed to wear its heart on its sleeve and to embrace shimmering melodic bliss, Foundations Of Burden joins such classics as Solstice's New Dark Age, While Heaven Wept's Of Empires Forlorn and Warning's Watching From A Distance as a towering testament to how beautiful, cathartic, honest and human doom metal can really be. (Although we're guessing this is the only one on that list that debuted in the Billboard Top 100 - Wha???). All pretenses are stripped away. There's no concern here with sounding evil, occult or clinically suicidal. Instead this is gut wrenching, soul baring stuff. As a band Pallbearer have improved immensely since their already highly acclaimed debut Sorrow And Extinction, and no element more so than Brett Campbell's vocals. While before they took a bit of a backseat to the immense riffery, here the vocals are much more in focus, no longer buried in the sludge, sounding like some shadow cast hybrid of Ozzy, Trouble's Eric Wagner and Patrick Walker from the aforementioned, much missed and deeply mourned Warning/40 Watt Sun. The balance of weariness and drama he's able to convey really elevates Pallbearer's songs, imbuing them with a sort of classic theatrical tragedy. The production on the record (courtesy of Billy Anderson) is also perfectly enormous. There seems to be space everywhere, but also a real warmth and cohesion between the instruments - overwhelming, crushing, but strangely comforting. And as for that catchiness we mentioned earlier� These songs have some serious hooks, and for 10+ minute songs that move approximately apace of a huge and heavily sedated prehistoric snail, that's no small feat. But there's a real ear for songwriting and harmony here, that manages never to sacrifice the heaviness or punishing plod of the music. And while heaviness, heartbreak and humongous riffs are all well and good, the album's true highlight might come in the form of the penultimate "Ashes" - clocking in at only three minutes and consisting mostly of electric piano and vocals, it sounds like it would be more at home on a Mogwai record. It's easily the album's least heavy and most sparse moment, but it's also the most devastating and beautiful, and a perfect offset to the slow motion crushing gravity of the rest of the album. Doom album of the year contender. Metal album of the year contender. Let's just say album of the year contender and leave it at that.
FYI, the vinyl double lp version pretty much sold out already, but is being repressed...
Here stands the final report from Finnish electronic music masters Pan Sonic, a heavy, super distorted, seriously aggressive swansong, as Mika Vainio and Ilpo Vaisanen have decided to call it quits, years after releasing their first ep on the now seminal Sakho label. Moire patterns of phase-shifting bleeps and spiralling waves held their Sputnik orbits around punishingly simple techno drum programming in their earliest incarnation, with much of their gear being hand-built or repurposed from Russian technology that occasionally crossed the border into Finland. Hence, the Pan Sonic take on techno has always been unique compared to even the most innovative of techno producers, with their typical arsenal of Roland gear. Throughout those 16 years, the rhythms of Pan Sonic have shifted away from the techno monophunk and towards a mechano-electro swagger. Ghosts of Suicide's rockabilly influence, the industrial foundations laid by Throbbing Gristle, and the psychoacoustics transmitted from Xenakis' electronic scores all manifest within Pan Sonic. Much of the poetics of the group's sound are based on the tiniest of objects, amplified through extraordinary means as to express the sublime power of X-rays, radio waves, and the energy housed within the atom itself. The title Gravitoni refers to a hypothetical particle that has been predicted within quantum physics to be related to gravitational force and its correlative relationship to spacetime.
The album begins with the Pan Sonic duo revving their electrical engines and expelling visceral riffs of cathode-ray noise grafted upon urgent breakbeat rhythms whose pace hurtles down the path of linear particle accelerators, smashing into anything that gets in their way. But gradually, the album sublimates the rhythm amidst arctic reverberations of electrical pings cast against the walls of a huge metallic chamber. This progression from the claustrophobic to the expansive harkens to Pan Sonic's masterful 4cd boxset Kesto which took a similar sonic route and which positions Gravitoni as a fantastic finale to an incredible career. So recommended!
The history of music is littered with could have been's and should have been's, and of course what ever happened to's? We all have a favorite band, that for whatever reason never quite made it, or perhaps did make it, but never got nearly as popular as the hundreds and thousands of seemingly less talented bands that did. Unfortunately, it's never just about the music when it comes to critical and commercial success. But it is ONLY about the music when it comes to the joy of creating that music, and the pleasure of listening to it, and the fun of mixtape making, and DJing and all the various other ways we share the music we love. But sadly, that love does not always coincide with the ever important 'right time, right place', and of course, there's so much going on behind and beyond the music. Bands poised for greatness often implode, creative differences, arguments over money, tragic accidents, lack of support from a label, then there's the fickle winds of change, the ever shifting tastes of the public, and well as cultural shifts, be they MTV or grunge or radio or downloads. In some ways, we're lucky, that folks are constantly looking back, and rediscovering music that was overlooked the first time around, or simply giving people a chance to discover something that perhaps happened before they were born, or when they were too young to enjoy it. There's also the regional aspect, there was a time before the internet (did such a time even exist???), where a band could be hugely successful in their hometown, but literally unknown a town or state away.
Back in the eighties, THEE place to be a band, especially a metal band, was Los Angeles. The Sunset Strip. Motley Crue and Poison and glam and hair metal. Los Angeles was the epicenter, and spawned band after band, Guns And Roses, Faster Pussycat, L.A. Guns, Great White, and if you lived in Southern California, there were about a million other bands you could see and hear, all trying to make it big. And bands would come from all over the country, and the world, to Los Angeles, where they could find fame and fortune (oh, and girls and booze and drugs!). Which is precisely what a band of brothers from way up in Alaska did, moved to LA, made a handful of records, achieved moderate success, and then called it quits. That band was Pandemonium, and for us, they were THAT band, the one we were discussing in the first paragraph. A band that looked great, sounded amazing, wrote incredible songs, were ready, willing and able to go for it, who seemed poised for the big time, ready to sign to a major, play stadiums, tour the world, but for whatever reason, it just never really happened for them. And yet, they were always one of our favorite bands of the time. Their three album rank amongst our favorite eighties metal records, so much so, that when Andee and Allan, were planning on starting an eighties metal reissue label, with Pandemonium being one of the first releases (Rogue Male being the other!), Andee even got in touch with the band, and things were in the works, and it looked like it might actually happen, but then alas it did not. But at last, the band DID finally end up reissuing all three on hard rock reissue label Retrospect (who were responsible for that crazy hair metal festival Rocklahoma), and finally, these three records are available again, with new liner notes and even BONUS TRACKS, so after years of playing these records to death, and making tapes for everyone we know, and buying every copy we ever came across used to give to friends, we can now express out undying love for these records, so hooky and heavy, and like we said, some of the best eighties metal records you've probably never heard (or even heard of!).
Initially we wanted to make all three our Record(s) Of The Week, selling them as a bundle, since in our minds, they were sort of one epic collection of songs that we had been listening to all together for the last nearly 30 years, but then we figured we wanted folks who might not be that inclined to check out some obscure eighties hard rock, to give Pandemonium a chance, so we picked the first one, the one that made us lose our minds for these guys in the first place, the catchiest of the bunch, and while the band did get heavier, and less glammy, it's their first record that still might just rank as our favorite of the three, and really how could a record called Heavy Metal Soldiers NOT be our favorite??
Originally released in 1983, Heavy Metal Soldiers, their debut, and their first for Metal Blade, almost immediately catapulted them into the limelight, playing all the L.A. hotspots, with all the cool bands of the time, London, Ratt, Y&T, Bitch, Cirith Ungol, Steeler, Slayer, Warrior, White Sister, Leatherwolf, Great White, Wasp, in fact at one point, Metallica was opening for Pandemonium, which definitely spoke to their bright future. As did the songs, which were amazing! The band fusing the heaviness of '70s bands like Black Sabbath and Budgie with those hard rocking Sunset Strip bands with total pop hooks, a sound that immediately endeared them to the scene, the guys digging their heavy riffing, the girls digging the pop hooks. The title track with its haunting slow build intro, all shuffling snare and low slung bassline, and when it finally kicks in, the main riff is a killer, with a wicked galloping rhythm, and an awesome vocal melody, not to mention a drop dead chorus, which really pretty much describes all their songs, they really were like classic pop songs metal-ed up, heavied up, transformed into something super rocking, and while they looked super glam, their sound wasn't as fluffy and light weight as most of the other glam bands at the time (Poison, etc), and even with this first record, their desire to be heavy still managed to shine through, with the songs definitely striking a perfect balance, "Little Lady Lier" starts off with a woozy classical guitar intro, wreathed in hazy falsetto vox, before a quick build to a super chuggy riff, and more killer vocals, and another bad ass chorus. "The Prey" might be one of our favorites, total power pop in hard rock's clothing, the chorus an awesome slow build with a background vocal hook that will get stuck in your head like crazy. And then of course there's the sprawling apocalyptic epic "Radiation Day", about as doomy as these guys get, the song surprisingly dark, a super dynamic arrangement, and hooks to die for, definitely sounds like this must have been their big live set closer, epic and heavy and dark. And the thing is, even the poppiest jams, often explode into classic old school hard rock jams, with some amazing leads, shredding but also super melodic. And it's not just the guitars, the bass is super busy, and WAY melodic, often adding all sorts of texture and countermelody in the unlikeliest of places. And of course the vocals, super distinctive, powerful and melodic, with a keen sense of melody and arrangement, so much so that the verses are often as catchy as the choruses.
This reissue tacks on a handful of demos and alternate versions, as well as Pandemonium's track from the first Metal Massacre compilation. Also included are liner notes, tracing the history of the band by guitarist David Resch, loads of photos too. And sadly, vocalist Chris Resch passed away in 2007, even as the band was gearing up to maybe record new material. But what a legacy this record, and the other two are to him, his brothers, and the dream that almost was. And the records that were such a huge part of our lives, as a teenager, but also an adult.
Not sure what else to say, for 3 decades we've been listening to these guys, and we have yet to get tired of these songs, in fact the second the reissues showed up, we threw them on and have basically been listening to nothing else since. After all that, do we even have to say it? TOTALLY AND ABSOLUTELY RECOMMENDED! If you dig eighties metal and hard rock, or wonder what a NWOBHM band like Witchfinder General would sound like if they were from LA (via Alaska), this is a no brainer, but if that has never really been your thing, think about giving this record a try anyway, it's just poppy and catchy enough that you might be surprised. Check out the sound samples too, if you're anything like us, you might become equally obsessed.
And for those of you who think you might as well in fact want all three (which should really be ALL of you), look elsewhere on this week's list for a special three-fer bargain, and you'll find sound samples from the other 2 records as well.
We're making Pandemonium's Heavy Metal Soldiers our Record Of The Week, but as we mention in the review (reprinted below), we originally wanted to list all three of their just-reissued records together as a bundle, cuz they all rule, so for folks who dig that sort of thing, or are just willing to take the plunge, this right here is a specially priced 3 cd bundle, containing all three of Pandemonium's albums, Heavy Metal Soldiers, Hole In The Sky and The Kill, just add this to your cart and you'll get all three. And you won't be sorry. Worth it for the rad cover paintings alone!
Before we actually listened to this reissue, we didn't expect too much from these fairly obscure Swedish psychedelic underground rockers, having never heard them before, and knowing only that they were an earlier incarnation of another Swedish hippy rock
We really have to come up with a name for this stuff. You know, that sort of deconstructed fragmented pop, glitchy crumbling, fuzzed out ambient weirdness, everything blurry and buzzy and soft focus. Jeck, Tim Hecker, Fennesz, Machinefabriek, Jasper TX, and now Part Timer. It's another one of THOSE SOUNDS, the kind of sounds we can't ever get enough of, just like super hard ragga jungle or buzzy drone-y black metal, it's a sound that we are absolutely in love with. If we could figure out away to make these records go on forever and ever and ever we surely would (for now, the repeat button will have to suffice).
But as we've mentioned in the past, it's not enough just to assemble some lilting folk or some pretty ambience, and then haphazardly "fuck it up" with weird electronic bleeps and bloops or fuzzy drones. No, it takes someone special to allow organic prettiness and jagged digital disruptions to co-exist so perfectly. It's like some strange alchemical art, allowing two such disparate sounds to exist as one, as if we couldn't possibly imagine them separate.
And rarely has there been a more beautiful, and subtle example of this art than on this debut release from Part Timer.
First and foremost, this is simply a gorgeous dreamfolk record, glistening guitar melodies, languid and lazy, sweet and sundappled, with tinkling piano, fluttering flutes, ethereal angelic female vocals, drifting bits of abstract twang and distant reverbed horns, shuffling muted rhythms, a breathtaking collection of shimmery pop folk perfection. And that's before we even consider the fascinating and constantly fluctuating production, a series of bizarre treatments, rendering each little perfect pop nugget or drifting free folk flitter in a completely different light.
A little bit of soft folky twang, becomes a haunting stuttering soundscape of steel strings and weird tape recorder clicks, sweet pop vocals become totally obscured beneath filmy layers of fuzzy distortion and glitchy grit. Weird almost-IDM rhythms materialize from distinctly un-techno song parts, before coming apart into some murky ambient drift. The whole record is glazed with strange bits of sonic sorcery, a little sprinkling of dusty old looped record crackle, warm smears of fuzzy foggy melodic murmur, warped warbles and staticky grit, chopped and shuffled vocals, thick drifts of white noise tape hiss, all miraculously managing to act more as subtle accompaniment rather than overpowering noise.
The perfect blend. Catchy and simple, dreamy and lovely, but slightly off kilter and subtly damaged. Like discovering a tape of some lost folk pop classic, all degraded and decayed, and then trying to repair and reassemble it, but realizing that there is too much tape hiss and too many drop outs to fully restore the tape, only then realizing that somehow, the final product, this, is even more lovely than the original could have ever been.
Wow! After 40 years-and-counting, Dolly Parton releases her very first all-bluegrass recording. For this she chose some of the best bluegrass musicians in the world, including Sam Bush (founder of New Grass Revival and, according to No Depression magazine, "generally considered one of the top three bluegrass mandolin players in the world"), dobro player Jerry Douglas ("acknowledged to be the best in the world"), fiddler Stuart Duncan, guitarist Bryan Sutton and banjoist Jim Mills (both ex-Ricky Skaggs band), along with the angelvoiced Alison Krauss and Patty Loveless as backup singers. Alternately growling, yowling, and crooning her own originals and covers of Hazel Dickens, Blackfoot, Lester Flatt, the Louvin Brothers, and Johnny Cash, this is Dolly at her best -- without slick, deadening prodcution values that's cost many a country album its vitality and life. If you thought Alison Krauss' last record was a little too watered-down-commercial and you already have all the Freakwater albums, then this record is for you.
Folks around these parts (including us) have been freaking out over the gorgeous post-Fahey, neo-Appalachian guitar playing of Jack Rose, whose last few records have been massive AQ faves and whose dark and droning, delicate fingerpicked guitar work had us completely mesmerized from the first time we heard it. Makes it easy to forget sometimes that Rose has been making music for years with his equally talented bandmates as Pelt, a group that conjures up extended instrumental ragas, expansive pusling suites of drone and shimmer, from all manner of bowed strings, bowed metal, hurdy gurdy, sundry Eastern instruments, and simple percussion as well as more traditional instruments like guitar and cello albeit utilized in highly unconventional ways. Makes sense in a way, as Rose's solo guitar is definitely informed by his years exploring the extended drone in Pelt. This new Pelt record, featuring a slightly expanded lineup, continues their quest to discover the heart of the drone, nirvana attained by never ending sound, sonic ripples that pulse and reverberate into infinity, a lovely and mind blowing musical head trip. The first track is a static shimmer, a swirling keening drone, that unlike much drone music, is not at all simple, instead it is a lush and multi layered wash of minor key melodies, stretched and smeared into a slightly ominous, almost cinematic extended dirge, intense and gorgeously imbued with all sorts of feeling and emotion, not often found in experimental minimalist musicks. The second track features Rose's immediately recognizable steel string guitar, which is soon disrupted by creaking streaks of sound and eventually overtaken by a thick fog of moaning cellos, morphing from an Eastern-tinged raga, to a throbbing fuzzed out drone, and eventually settling into a spare ramshackle soundscape of creaks and clatter. Track three is classic Ur-drone, not all that dissimilar to Sunroof! or Total or Vibracathedral orchestra, a cloud of keening high end skree cobbled together from percussive overtones, bowed metal, and ringing harmonics. The final track is a brief splatter of madly sawed cellos, creaking and squeaking strings and random splattery percussion, almost a musical version of 'shaking it off', sort of decompressing after nearly an hour of intense spiritual musicality. All you cd-r hounds / drone-heads that slobber all over everything Sunroof!, Vibracathedral Orchestra, Celebrate Psi and the like should definitely explore the magical mystical world of Pelt.
Music nerds may get obsessed with records all the time, but they also get pretty into musical gadgets, as evidenced most recently by FM3's Buddha Machine, which we've sold about a billion of, and most folks we know own more than one. And heck, that's just a little plastic box that plays short little loops. We didn't think anything would be able to trump the coolness of the Buddha Machine, which appealed to music geeks and tech nerds in equal measure, but then along came 1-Bit Music from a composer named Tristan Perich. Not only was 1-Bit Music Perich's debut record, it wasn't a record at all, instead it was simultaneously a piece of sound art and a miniature sound producing gadget, a collection of tiny wires and chips and switches and a watch battery, all affixed to the inside of a plain old cd jewel case. The result, a super striking looking little gizmo, but one that produced some weird and amazing 1 bit sounds. But what exactly are 1 bit sounds?
Well, most folks are familiar with 8 bit sounds, all your favorite vintage arcade game music is 8 bit, and all the modern purveyor of Casio core or Nintendo core, they're using those crunchy lo-fi 8 bit sounds to make awesomely retro music. So one bit, is the smallest increment of memory and sound, and Perich composed his music using just 1 bit sounds, the result, beyond being small enough to fit on a tiny chip, and that chip along with some switches and wires in a jewel case, it also made for some alien sounds, like video game music, but as if imagined by the roster of Raster-Noton, a series of clicks and beeps and tangled squiggles of squelches and primitive melodies, almost like some ultra minimal toy techno or something. And while in headphones the sounds were intense and loud and raw, through speakers, they were INTENSE, super destructive and brutal, the sort of sounds, no matter how playful and simple, that DESTROY speakers. So awesome.
Sadly, Perich and his crew had trouble keeping up with demand, as each of the releases, were hand made, every wire and switch, glued into each jewel case one at a time. So eventually that 'record' was discontinued. But now, we have Perich's latest release, no longer simply 1-Bit Music, now, it's a 1-Bit Symphony! And it is in fact more complex, with the various tones and beeps and squelches woven into lush tapestries of sound, rhythmically complex, and harmonically lush, at times sounding almost like M83, sometimes like Steve Reich or Terry Riley composing on a primitive toy Casio keyboard, other times like some lost old school video game, the sounds panning wildly from speaker to speaker, the melodies tangled and intricate, the overall sound so hypnotic and mesmerizing, the compositions sprawling and epic, ranging from 5 minutes, to nearly ten minutes to infinite, the final track a gorgeously lush chunk of distorted fuzzed out minimal buzz, that manages to sound all moody and shoegazey, warm and woozy and crunchy, an endless loop, that we really could imagine listening to endlessly.
But like 1-Bit Music before it, the music is really only half the equation with 1-Bit Symphony, the packaging, which IS the record, is so striking, a gorgeously arranged series of wires and switches, a battery, a volume knob, a button to switch tracks, an on/off switch, a headphone jack, all affixed to a clear jewel case, with a simple stick on the front, and the booklet in the plastic sleeve on the outside of the jewel case, adding a spare white background to the visuals, but also including liner notes, not to mention an intense and fantastically confusional poster featuring what appears to be the composition presented as it was programmed, which also manages to be visually striking and a work of art in its own right.
This one is not so nearly limited as the last one, but probably safer to not risk it, cuz if you're at all into weird music, and weird music related thingies, you are definitely gonna want one of these, and you'll probably want to give one to all the music nerds in your life as well. And like the first Perich 1-Bit release, this one too, is no doubt destined to be the cool music gadget, and minimal lo-fi 1-bit glitch crunch shoegaze squelch symphony record of the year!
Pretty much as soon as we heard this, we knew it was going to be Record Of The Week, and not just black metal record of the week. In the past, Peste Noire seems to have always been unfairly categorized as an Amesoeurs / Alcest sideproject (we plead guilty of that as well) due not only to the presence of Neige, the mastermind behind both Amesoeurs and Alcest, but the seemingly shared membership between all three bands, and while Neige did no doubt contribute much to Peste Noire's sound, it seems Peste Noire was much more the brainchild of only remaining original member, Famine, whose other main musical outlet is the almost equally twisted Valfunde, and as if to prove the validity of the above claim, has assembled an almost entirely new lineup (although Audrey from Amesoeurs contributes some vocals) and cobbled together the most damaged, most fucked up, most gloriously bizarre Peste Noire record yet. Which if you've heard any of the other records is definitely saying something!
The record is weirdly arranged, five proper songs, with 2 minute or shorter song fragments and interludes, some that play like proper songs themselves, only truncated, others that act as intros or just totally tweaked unhinged sound experiments, but somehow, songs and non-songs alike hold together beautifully, and bafflingly, the band having created some sort of crusty, blackened, melancholy, depressive French folk flecked classic metal.
The intro begins with sizzling shimmering cymbals, simple percussion, eventually joined by beautiful ethereal female vocals, as well as some raspy blackened not-really-harmony vocals, then the riff comes in, and damn if it isn't a riff from Star Wars, but super distorted and blown out, pounding, crusty, epic and majestic, the rasped vocals over a haunting military sounding speech. And then straight into the first 'proper' track, which begins as some sort of sea shanty like French folk song, but with the addition of some hellish black vokills, you can almost imagine a table full of French soldiers, and one dripping slimy otherworldy beast, all singing along, glasses raised to the sky. Then in comes a very classic sounding metal riff, but the guitars muted and woozy, the tempo lurching and seasick, all manner of different vocals, crooning, shrieking, howling, then an awesomely weird squiggly bit of low end, super tripped out and psychedelic but somehow subtle and buried in the mix. Guitars soar and sing and jangle, wrapped around equally dramatic vocals, a total French folk crust anthem.
The follow up track begins all dark acoustic guitars and birdsong, martial percussion, eventually exploding into a super buzzy distorted march, pounding away, midtemp and melancholy, before returning to a super gorgeous, hauntingly depressive gothic crust almost-ballad, blackened and distorted, but also post rocky and strangely emotional and moving.
The 'interludes' include some warped and warbly haunted house piano, doused in hiss and crackle, ghostly female vocals drifting amidst the warm whir, sinister laughter, squalls of maniacal shrieks, dueling male / female vocals, almost operatic, soon joined again by that monstrous blackened croak, warm woozy calliopes, soundtracky keyboards and the sound of storms, tons of reverb and delay, tape hiss and softly crumbling distortion, all creating perfect segues between loping depressive midtempo blackened post metal lurch, super blown out in the red almost D-beat pounding buzz, those vocals transforming from hellish howl to deep moan, there's even some wheezing harmonica, all leading up to the final track, "Soleils Couchants", which begins with birdsong again, and an awesomely angular and beautifully twisted guitar part, paired up with a gorgeous minor key harmony, before slipping into a moody downtuned creep, complete with weird frog like vocals, and a looped bit of beeps and chirps, total post-doom weirdness, literally like nothing you've ever heard, it sounds a little like that first part of the Pirates Of The Caribbean ride at Disneyland, where you're just floating through the dark bayou, lit only but slivers of moonlight and the flickering light of fireflies, it's like a soundtrack to that, swampy and doomy and mysterious, until the band launches into a strangely melodic black doom midtempo jam, the guitars minor key, multiple vocals merging into raspy otherworldly harmonies, before breaking down into a long stretch of just guitars and vocals, the guitars twisted and spidery but still melodic, the voices tortured but super passionate, yet again infusing the fucked up twisted blackness with pathos and emotion, keeping it from being weird for weird's sake, this is something else entirely. What sounds like a child's voice joins in, twisted around that hellish vokill, all draped over a gorgeously catchy riff, reminding us a bit of Katatonia or Lifelover, before spiraling and sprawling into a seriously melodic blackened post rock jam, and then finally returning to the doomy lurch that began the song some seven minutes earlier.
Peste Noire have (again) managed the seemingly impossible, creating a record both totally twisted and damaged, but also lovely and moving and melodic, a record that ranks up there in our pantheon of most bizarre and fucked up black metal records ever, while somehow appealing to even the not so metal inclined, a confusional mix of black and crust and pop and folk, all twisted and tangled up and forced through Peste Noire's cracked musical sensibilities, the result, a record fucked up and fantastical, and this review not withstanding, almost impossible to describe.
It seems like every time there's a new Peste Noire record we make it Record Of The Week. Which only seems strange until you actually hear it. And hear how fucked up and totally bafflingly brilliant it is. With every record Peste Noire seem to move further and further away from the grim black metal that birthed them, but to be fair, no one in Peste Noire has spent much time playing what anyone might consider 'typical' black metal, especially mainman Famine, now rechristened La Sale Famine De Valfunde, who used to play in Alcest. Though we should note he took extreme umbrage when we suggested that Alcest / Ameseours mainman Neige had anything to do with the music of Peste Noire, which is also surprising considering that one member of Alcest and one member of Ameseours are also members of Peste Noire and we assume do contribute musically. But really, none of that matters as much as the very very strange sounds these folks create, and the fact that metalheads still dig it. In fact, we're constantly perplexed by certain bands that for no good reason remain beloved to even the truest grimmest metalheads. To be fair, Peste Noire, for all their twisted sonic proclivities, are still masterful black metallers, it's just that those blasts of brilliant black metal are often separated by strange accordion driven French folk music or some twisted bit of confusional psychedelia. Which brings us to L'Ordure A L'Etat Pur, the latest, and yes, perhaps greatest from these French misanthropes. And as always, it only takes the first track, a shot across the bow, to reveal their true intentions, as twisted and unlikely as they may be.
The sound of wind and rain, of crashing surf, distant foghorns, underpinning some reverbed clean guitar, riffs ringing out over these sounds of the sea, a second guitar adds some melody, and there seems to be a wolf howling, or a voice imitating a wolf, there are tolling bells too, and the beginning of what sounds like it could be a jig, or some sort of gypsy folk, maniacal rambling vocals surface, the guitars growing more distorted, the sound tense and dramatic and growing moreso, before no not launching into furious black buzz, but instead some sort of shuffling post rocky groove, the vocals unhinged and maniacal, wrapped around a chugging riff, and some simple propulsive drumming, not so much metal as rock, and then the sound does erupt into a kind of blackness, soaring and droney but before full blackness is achieved, it returns to that sort of sea shanty that opened the proceedings, and the howling wolf returns. Some double kick drumming ups the ante, and finally, the song lurches into more metal territory, but again, more sort of blackened rock, like Khold than Darkthrone, with some seriously catchy riffs, and then, HORNS, moaning ominously, adding some cool texture, and giving the song a sort of "Tusk" vibe, until the metal peels away completely, leaving just horns and acoustic guitar, a sort of oompa oompa polka, with a trombone playing the main melody. Oh yeah, and some accordion. We're in full on French street music territory now, and then the metal guitars swoop back in, as do the vokills, but now they're playing a killer metallized version of that polka, with some strange trilled vocal harmonies and some weird droned out guitars, which suddenly stop, leaving just the sounds of what sounds like sword fighting, and the song shifts gears again, bursting into an almost ska sounding punkish sprawl, only to moments later shift again into a gnarled bit of noise rock, and it's right back into the oompa oompa metalized ska, the vocals transforming into a sort of goregrind gurgle, the music stopping briefly to reveal the sounds of a barnyard, all chickens and roosters, then when the music kicks back in, the vocals simulate the sounds of chickens, Famine singing variations of "Ba-kaaaw", before finishing off in a killer mathy tangle of dynamic chug and pound.
And that's just the first song. And fear not, we won't go through every song here part by part, although we could, and reading this without listening would make this new Peste Noire sound like thee most bizarre record EVER, and heck, maybe it is, but impossibly, it also sort of works, in a dizzying, whatthefuck sort of way.
The rest of the record does offer more surprises, as well as some more traditional black metal, but even at its most buzzy and blasty, the sound will splinter into some strange super distorted can-can, guitars will suddenly unfurl wild squiggles of high end, the sound suddenly devolving into a sort of effects heavy progged out swirl that then transforms into a pounding almost industrial crunch, wreathed in more moaning horns, or a fight will seem to break out in the middle of the song, shattering glass, sirens, all while the song continues to chug and churn, the sound slipping easily from dark, gnarled crusty pound to woozy meandery clean guitar post rock and then to glistening soaring sonic majesty, only to have a chorus of weirdly chanted vocals surface and totally change the vibe to more of a stein hoisting sing along. The blasting buzz here tends less toward the grim blur of classic black metal and more toward a sort of goofy gallop, but one that suits the band more than the other ever would, and amidst all this weirdness, PN can whip out a stretch of impossible beauty or extreme blackened bliss, the sort of parts you want to go on forever, but in the ADD world of Peste Noire, those moments are fleeting, and will soon be subsumed by some new, stranger sound. Elements of power metal abound, but like all of the other musics bastardized here, it becomes just another twisted / fractured facet of Peste Noire's bizarre musical universe. All culminating in the beautifully mournful slow core doom of closer "La Condi Hu", a creeping lament, heavy and distorted, but darkly melodic and melancholy, laced with clean hushed vocal harmonies, but then you couldn't have expected that to be all, in swoop some sad sad strings, some chugging guitars, building to a minor key bit of blackened post metal, and unlike the rest of the record, nothing gets super weird, the band remain heavy, the music tense and dramatic and emotional, continuing to build, the sound intense and moving, laced with mysterious proggy sections, cool female vocal harmonies, dense intricate drumming, there's even a cool wild sort-of-drum solo, with the drums spitting our an avalanche of beats, beneath spoken female vox, which leads right into a super gorgeous stretch of minor key, slithery bass driven heaviness, that any band would kill for, but these guys leave for last, letting the sound wind down, and displaying without a doubt, that there is some sort of method to Peste Noire's extreme and utter musical madness.
Oh lord, what will the mischievous mind of Circle mainman Jussi Lehtisalo come up with next? Not long ago, there was the conceptually confusional arrangement under which our Finnish space rock faves Circle changed their name to Falcon (Ex-Circle), and then recruited a completely different group of musicians to record an album under their former name of Circle (which was great!), after which the original Circle guys switched back to being called Circle (Ex-Falcon). Whew. And now they're just Circle, again. BUT, how's this for another confusing idea: Circle, and their not-all-that-different-really side-project band Pharaoh Overlord have now simultaneously released albums with the titles "Circle" and "Pharaoh Overlord", no, not self-titled albums, the Circle one is called Pharaoh Overlord and the Pharaoh Overlord one is called Circle. And they have very similar art/graphics. Yep. That's what they do for laffs up in Finland, although knowing Jussi, he probably has some very serious, meaningful reason behind this scheme, but the explanation would be impossible to understand. It makes a circle or something. Regardless, what we've got here are TWO NEW Circle and/or Pharaoh Overlord albums, however you slice it, and that's a good thing! Of course, they just showed up yesterday, the day before our list, but we already have spun these a bunch of times and know we will spin them lots more, so sure let's make 'em both Records Of The Week!
On Pharaoh Overlord's Circle, they indeed do their best Circle impression - not so hard since the band consists ENTIRELY of members of Circle after all (the lineups on these two albums are identical except that vocalist/keyboardist Mika Ratto only appears on the Circle one, which also has a guest horn player). And while PO were originally conceived as the heavier, "stoner rock" alter ego of Circle, here they evince a lighter touch than what Circle do on their parallel Pharaoh Overlord album, less heavy, less dark, instead being delightfully upbeat and sunny sounding, but of course with lots of the usual rhythmic urgency, gently directed. The all-instrumental music is layered with lots of pretty synth sizzle, almost giving it a 'new wave' vibe, uplifting and sprightly, even. We like the bloop bloop lava lamp sound going on throughout track two, "Tarkennus", and the first track, "Elain Rientaa Kotiin", features a melodic synth flourish that sure reminds us a lot of Stereolab... as of course does the similarly Neu! derived motorik beat. "Villaa", track 4, really blurs the lines between the typically krauty pulse of Circle and loop-based dance music. And so it goes. Providing a blissful rhythmic workout overall, this is a great Circle/Pharaoh Overlord/whatevertheywannacallthemselves album that we'll for sure be returning to on days when we need a sweet, lively, Circular pick me up. Recommended, as is the other one by the other band.
FYI, vinyl versions of both of these are forthcoming in a month or two...
Our Record Of The Week from List #347, back in stock!!
One genre in heavy music, that a whole bunch of aQ-ers consider critical to their musical development, is in fact WAY underrepresented on the aQ list, partially cuz much of the music that made up that genre happened well before the advent of the aQ new arrivals list, but also because so few contemporary bands can pull that sound off, at least convincingly. What the heck are we talking about? SCREAMO. Yep, wild, chaotic, short sharp post punk heaviness, some of our faves include Orchid, Mohinder, Swing Kids, Portraits Of Past, Heroin, Antioch Arrow... those live shows were legendary, heaving masses of sweaty flesh, the line between audience and band blurred or obliterated completely, sets as short as 10 minutes, still packed with 15 songs of furious hardcore frenzy, there were definitely politics going on too, but it was the sound that had us smitten, the energy, the passion, the emotion, that first wave of screamo was obviously heavily indebted to Rites Of Spring, Die Kreuzen and other early hardcore and post hardcore combos, but the screamo bands took that sound and cranked it up, supercharged it, shortened the songs and blew the living fuck out of it.
Very few bands today can pull off that sound, or even try, there's Comadre, and Ampere, and a few others, and now you can add Pianos Become The Teeth, but the cool thing about PBTT, are that they take that classic screamo sound and meld it to a seemingly diametrically opposed sound, that sort of Godspeed You Black Emperor, slow build epic post rock majesty! And somehow it works. The energy and passion, the bursts of furious howling musical catharsis wedded to something more smoldering and patient, and the mix is pretty fucking fantastic, the group lurching from dense tangles of wild punkish crunch to soaring epic psychedelic blow outs, the songs super complex, constantly shifting mood and emotion, but keeping the tension ratcheted way up. "Quit Benefit" features insane squalls of wild octopoidal drumming, stuttering arrangements and dramatic pauses, haunting stretched out sheets of feedback, cool hard panned guitar jangle, the song a non stop frenzy of ever shifting rhythms, incredibly lush and melodic but all snarled up, but with a distinct melodic vibe running through the whole thing. "Pensive" finds the band locking into a churning slow build, with still more intense and relentless drumming, the guitars sharp and angular, the vocals howled and oozing with pathos, every song is a dizzying mile a minute post punk emo screamo epic, the band slipping so easily from indie jangle to rabid grinding punk and back again, but after nearly 30 minutes of that incredible and insanely cathartic level of sustained energy, the band offer up the final track, "Young Fire", a gorgeous post rock drift, all clean spidery guitars, simple skeletal rhythms, woozy twangy melodies, a slow build part way through to something more heavy, but never letting go, never exploding into a wild freak out, instead, letting the song unfurl lazily, the various sounds slowly slipping away, eventually leaving just a single reverbed guitar to play the record out. So lovely.
And the whole record, so fucking heavy and epic and emo(tional), definitely a big new favorite around here, and for folks who have been missing the days of the Orchid and Mohinder and Gravity Records, this is as about as close as you're gonna get to making it back there, but as is obvious from the above, Old Pride is less about looking back, and more about taking that sound, and dragging it forward, into the NOW.
Local gutter dwellers Pig DNA are only one full-length deep and already they're a no-brainer for Record Of The Week. It was precisely 34 seconds into Mob Shity that we knew this one was special, a drum fill that queues an almighty wall of blown out fury, a cathartic release of energy that does not let up for one second on the rest of the record. While Pig DNA's aesthetic has obvious nods to Japanese hardcore legends like G.I.S.M. and first-wavers like Discharge, the sound on here has much more in common with the fucked up anti-music of infamous Japanese noise group The Gerogerigegege than Randy Uchida's lobotomized take on hardcore and metal in G.I.S.M. Despite the franticness of Mob Shity, these 14 minutes or so of music are surprisingly rhythmic and calculated, also calling to mind the overblown pounding of early Whitehouse material, done without the aid of electronics.
This is punk music stripped down to its most pure musical form, primal, furious, relentless, and totally out-of-control. Easily one of the best punk records to come out on this side of the Pacific Ocean last year.
The criminally underrecognized Pinetop Seven have been plugging away for years, as they watched Lambchop, Whiskeytown, the Old 97s and a handful of their alt-country peers hit it (relatively) big. But with their fourth album, Pinetop Seven's time has finally come. The band takes simple country ballads, stretches and expands them, adding strings and lush textures, bizarre and exotic instrumentation, and create gut wrenching, brutally intimate country epics. The vocals are deep and trembly like the guy singin' 'em might be about to have a breakdown -- Roy Orbison channeled through Jeff Buckley, Thom Yorke, and Chris Isaak. You know how bands like Godspeed and Blackheart Procession reside at the dark murky end of the indie rock spectrum? That's what Pinetop Seven is to the alt-country scene. And in the same say that Godspeed is, at this point, only barely connected to an "indierock" sound, Pinetop are only tangentially "country" by way of their slight twang. What gets us is that it's also perfectly accessible, dark music that in a perfect world would be on adult radio all the time. This is real honest-to-god music that lingers in your brain for a while -- it's about as far from trendy and flash-in-the-pan as you can get. Very accessible, very deep, and very highly recommended.
Note: we also have one of their previous albums, "Rigging the Toplights", which is one of Andee's absolute favorites of all time.
We knew nothing about these guys when we first heard them, we were definitely intrigued by the band name, and the song title, "Tell Her I'm Dead", and then when the music started, thick, buzzing, almost synth sounding guitars (or maybe actual synths, hard to tell), with big booming drums, sound like some sort of metal / cold wave fusion, and when the song proper started, that only furthered that idea, the churning distorted bass line, soft focus synth swirl, churning propulsive rhythm, and super dramatic crooned vox, when all of a sudden, the song exploded into a burst of furious blasting, a sort of black metal cold wave, accompanied by some strange sci-fi squiggles, and as soon as it started, it was right back into that gorgeously miserablist mope rock. The second time that burst/blast surfaces, it's accompanied by hellish shrieks, and then explodes right into a crazy drum/synth jam, with the drums pounding wildly in a field of swirling new wave synths, a twisted hybrid that somehow is something we always wanted to hear, but never knew it. The song continues to confound, with creepy falsetto vocals, over a synth heavy doom creep, before finishing off in a squall of FX swirl and psych wave weirdness.
Holy shit, one song is all it took, and the rest of the tracks here are just as good. A little digging revealed that Pinkish Black is in fact a group with roots in an old aQ favorite, the late great Texas prog-psych outfit Yeti, and suddenly the sound of PB made a lot more sense. After Yeti, came The Great Tyrant, and it seems like every band these guys were in, endured all sorts of personal tragedy and loss of life, the sort of thing that would most definitely inspire the sort of gloom and doom Pinkish Black traffic in, and while based on Yeti, it's hard to see just what may have influenced the actual sound here, the last record from The Great Tyrant found them delving into similar territory, super gothy and dramatic, but not so fully realized, PB sounds like where The Great Tyrant might have eventually ended up, the whole record held together with that impossibly distorted buzz, be it synth or bass or guitar, it's a constant presence, whether churning malevolently, or droning blissfully, it's what gives the sound of PB its heft, it's grim black energy, and it's the drums that drive everything else, the playing dense and intricate, powerful and mathy, by turns metallic and brutal, deft and almost krautrocky, those two combined are the framework, over which all manner of soundtracky synth melodies drift and squiggle, and the vocals, a dark soporific croon one second, a washed out almost shoegazey reverbed bellow the next, the songs slipping from dense driving gloom rock to tripped out psych-goth space jams, often some dizzying mix of the two.
After Vaura's recent aQ Record Of The Week, we might not have been surprised to find this being released on Wierd Records, cuz for all its metallisms, and its punk/metal pedigree, this is essentially a super dark, super heavy new wave record, the synth melodies especially had us imagining what a Gary Numan record might have sounded like had he been making his first records 30 years later, and we definitely think they might have sounded something like this. Instead it's on the limited edition Handmade Birds label, run by the guy from Pyramids, who always bring us interesting stuff.
Haunting and heavy, brooding and brutal, imagine some sort of black metal / new wave hybrid, or perhaps a sort of noise rock / goth rock fusion, fans of all that Goblin / John Carpenter worship who might be into something much darker and heavier should check this out, but really, everyone who digs gloomy heaviness will dig this big time, and and if like us, the thought of a sort of metallic new wave gets you all riled up, then this just might be your new favorite record. It is ours!
We've given good reviews to several Benoit Pioulard releases in the past, but if you think you know just what to expect here, think again. Pioulard's fifth album shifts away from those languid dream-pop songs of bedroom folk melancholia sung with a maudlin, reverb-saturated baritone we'd often heard from him before, in favor of thoroughly abstracted numbers. He builds this lush shoegazing wash from field recordings and his responses to them through guitar and tape manipulation, with nothing digital getting in the way of all of this tactile, gossamer haze.
Sonnet is an entirely instrumental album, which is certainly not out of the ordinary for the roster of Kranky Records, the home for A Winged Victory For The Sullen and Tim Hecker, two heavyweights of blearily atmospheric music; but we have to say that the Pioulard (instrumental) voice is especially a thing of beauty. The sibilance of air conditioning vents, summer time lawn sprinklers, washing machines, and the mid-day rasp of a swarm of locusts can become indistinguishable from amplified tape hiss. That's where Pioulard (who sounds French but is actually a Pacific Northwesterner named Thomas Meluch) begins to shape the work of Sonnet. Guitars, loops, and some twinkling synths come into the mix all of which are firmly sympathetic and complementary to the bittersweet coloring from his tapestries of sound. These droning nocturnes reflect the shimmer and feel of a Cocteau Twins instrumental or the ambient interludes found on Boards Of Canada or the even more soaring numbers from Troum. Highly recommended, this gets asked about and purchased by customers nearly every time we play it in the store!
Originally released as a limited cd back in 2010, this gloriously downtrodden slab of hazy, gazey doom-meets-slowcore is finally available once more courtesy of the increasingly essential hometown heroes at Flenser Records. Planning For Burial's last full length Desideratum was a serious staff favorite over here at aQ HQ last year, and while PFB has approximately a squillion (and a half) eps, demos and splits to his name, that aforementioned masterpiece of glistening gloom was in fact only the second Planning For Burial full length. And here presented for the first time on monolithic wax is the first Planning For Burial album, originally released as a limited (and now impossible to come by) cd in 2010 by Enemies List. It's a shockingly fully realized testament to all things beautiful, sad & heavy.
Those already familiar with Desideratum may at least somewhat know what to expect here (think Jesu meets Red House Painters, Swans meets Elliott Smith, Khanate meets My Bloody Valentine). But the truth is Planning For Burial don't make the kind of records you can really *prepare* yourself for. Instead, they make records to sink into, records to wrap yourself in. The music is beautiful but not necessarily comforting, somber but not necessarily depressing. It's a bittersweet listening experience. A little sad maybe, but also altogether hugely cathartic. Heart swelling melodies flutter amidst a hailstorm of crackling gravel guitar thrum, the plodding simplicity of an automated drum machine at wonderful odds with the raw emotion in the music. The vocals a distant and warm hum, beckoning you back to some half remembered place you might have seen once in a dream when you were eight years old. A computerized voice reflects on past loves & regrets. Sorry, this might all sound a bit dramatic, but that's exactly what Leaving is: an unapologetically lush monolith of blossoming doom, glittering with starlit twinkling bells collapsing under the looming dread comfort of an enormous bass rattle, leaving behind an empty expanse of delicately plucked strings and contemplative piano. It's a mythical record, the kind that builds its own world up around you while you listen, a world of lush greenery & cloudy skies & open fields forgotten and discarded by time. It's the kind of record hyperbole was made for, and for 55 minutes nothing else in this world will matter.
The final release in a seriously amazing first year for the UK's Paradigms label. Some labels manage to be just so perfectly all over the map and so goddamn eclectic without losing their focus, swinging wildly from genre to genre, but with each disparate release and artist possessing some ineffable something that links them all together. Paradigms is the perfect example. Black metal (Throne Of Katarsis, Utlagr), math rock (Woburn House), dream dirge sludge (Hjarnidaudi, The Angelic Process), psychedelic spacerock (Titan), drone (the Walking With Ghosts compilation), prog (Blueprint Human Being), chamber (Amber Asylum), modern classical doom (Hallvardur Asgeirsson), whatever it is that Jarboe does, and now folk. Well, sort of folk. Just like the above mentioned bands, Portland, Oregon's Plants transcend any genre tag you'd care to attach to them. While they may be a self described "psych folk duo", their sound only begins at folk, taking various folk like elements and spinning them into grand expanses of starry skied drone and fuzzed out otherworldly psychedelia.
The opener "The Sky Above You Seeks The Below", is a nearly 14 minute epic, lush, thick organ drones, twist and shimmer and shift, peppered with piano plinks, and a gorgeous velvety torch song croon. Deep male vocals intertwine with angelic female voices, drifting ghostlike above the thick gritty drones beneath. Like a super lo-fi Charlemagne Palestine, a handful of keys held down, the overtones drifting into dense melodic clusters, while the voices weave dreamy minor key melodies over the top. Thick and fuzzy and ethereal. Like using your finger to manually spin an M83 single as slow as possible. Absolutely gorgeous late night drift...
The second track emerges from the first, thick fuzzed out drones intact, slithering and shimmering, before the band breaks into a dark and minimal percussive krautjam, simple rhythms, a looping repetitive riff, plodding along relentlessly through a swirling cloud of guitar buzz, sixties psychrock jangle, warm warbly organ, an utterly mesmerizing kaleidoscopic psychedelic jam that practically goes on forever.
The final track is all acoustic, steel string tangle, slippery slide, shimmering buzz, deep dramatic vocals, sort of Fahey via Comus via Incredible String Band, but with a murky moodiness, a slow moving, otherworldly Appalachia, menacing and beautifully creepy.
Double Infinity definitely puts most of the other free folk and psych folk we've heard lately to shame. Absolutely epic and amazing!
LIMITED TO 500 COPIES. And unlike most of the Paradigms releases, which come in cardboard sleeves wrapped in hand stamped, brown paper, this disc is in a white DVD case, with black and white printed insert (much like the recently reviewed Hallvardur Asgeirsson...)
Every once in a while, there's a record that is so good and makes me so happy, I find it virtually impossible to write a review of it. There's all this pressure to somehow convey in the space of a hundred or so words how goddamn good a record is. To convince YOU that this record will move you as much as it did me. So I hem and haw and write all my other reviews around it until I have no choice but to face my fear and go for it. So here it is. The new record by Florida's Poison The Well. Up until now, I've been a fan, and definitely enjoyed their records. But 'Tear From The Red' is such a colossal leap from their last record. Ostensibly a 'metalcore' record, it manages to encompass so much more: rock, emo, hardcore, death metal, even pop. The heavy parts, even when the vocals are howled, are somehow as catchy and heart wrenching as any Get Up Kids weeper, if not more so. And then when PtW -do- go for it, and break it down and get all mellow and sweet and emotional it's just devastating. And the playing on this record is so phenomenal. The riffs are so thick and huge they just smack you upside the head, but you just kind of bob along, oblivious, banging your head and spitting out teeth and letting this wave of furious emotion watch over you. The songs shift from crunching near-death metal, to wild free-metal, to stuttering stop-start rhythms, to spacy almost Voi Vod-ish melodies, and dreamy shoegazey bliss out parts. Halfway through the record they break out with just vocals and acoustic guitar, but the melody is so odd, and the voice is so impassioned and the chord progression is so unexpected that it ends up being just as intense as any of the heavy stuff, and not cheesy at all. And track three! What can I say? If you could wear out a track from playing a cd too much, I would definitely need a new one by now. Track three has the absolutely most punishing part of almost any song I have ever heard, where the kick drums, guitars, and bass all stutter then stop, over and over. Huge and unbelievably heavy. I was listening to it in my housemate's truck, and when that part came on I had to turn up the stereo so loud that I could SEE the beat making little waves in the rear view mirror. We have been getting a little worn out on this whole metalcore explosion, but Poison The Well have stepped up to the plate with not only one of the best metalcore records ever, not just one of the best emo records ever, but one of the best records I have heard in a long time. Period.
Both the Barn Owls have solo records on this week's list, elsewhere there's Evan Caminiti's new single on Trensmat, and then there's this, the long awaited new solo record from the other half of dronefolk duo Barn Owl, Jon Porras. We'd been hearing about this record for ages, Porras' long in the works heavy shoegaze record, but this is no MBV/Lovesliescrushing worship, nope instead, Undercurrent is a logical offshoot of the dark twang flecked drone and drift of Barn Owl, a bit less murky and more crystalline, prismatic, the opening track emerging from a cloud of swirling layered thrum, blossoming into something more more melodic than usual, spidery melodies, draped over a smoldering backdrop of rumble and drift, of hum and shimmer, the sounds a blurred chorale, building to a dreamdrone climax, epic and majestic and powerfully emotional.
The whole record reveals itself as a sort of hazy psychguitar gem, Porras deftly layering darkness and light, wreathing pop in shadow, infusing churning darkness with pop warmth, "Seascape" is a gauzy blisscape, but is underpinned by ominous roiling black sonic clouds, which build and build and eventually swallow the rest of the track, the drama in the melodies struggling to escape the pull of this black hole, haunting and ominous and so intense. "Shore" is another strange melding of hazy drift and rumbling blackened drone, only in this case, the blackness is driven back, revealing the warmth within, the song's second half unfurling all reverby and abstract, while that blackness whispers in the background.
The clean guitar sound is definitely reminiscent of Roy Montgomery, the same sort of softly effected shimmer, but it's that sound combined with the more dense and dark guitarscapes, that create Porras' distinctive Undercurrent, "Peering" another example, wreathing those soft smeared swells of sound with dark grinding slabs of blurred blackness, and roiling riffage. The record closes with "Gaze", a pulsing sprawl of washed out woozy guitarscapery, again a beautiful bit of atmospheric drift, disguising the darkness that lays beneath, but again, light triumphs over darkness, and the record unwinds with a stretch of super spare wide open ambience, the guitars letting lose tendrils of melodies, wrapping them in reverb and letting them float delicately in space, as they fall gently to earth. Eventually piling up into a gorgeously layered final soft squall of bleary and blissful psychedelic haze...
LIMITED TO 500 COPIES!!
When we first got an earful of Aftertime, the debut solo release from Roly Porter, who was/is one half of the dubstep duo Vex'd, we were pretty surprised. We had been expecting something more along the lines of that duo's lush dark beatscapes and swirling skeletal stutters but instead were treated to something entirely different. The beats almost entirely jettisoned, bar the occasional squall of rhythmic splatter, or super spare muted pulsations. The vibe is much more abstract, and droned out, a sort of dark cosmic mimimal modern classical? But somehow filtered through the grim industrial crunch and crumble of groups like Wolf Eyes. The sounds at times caustic and grimly grinding, but more often then not, woven into a sprawl of sweeping musical melodrama, lush, soaring string like shimmers, underpinned by gristly buzz, and dubstep style bass warbles, but sans the 'step'. The dub vibe too, minimal, but still pervasive, imagine if you can, the lush, hushed, cinematic ambience of Stars Of The Lid crossed with the blackened industrial crush and sculpted noise of past Record Of The Weekers Cloaks, it's almost like the most dense, and bleak, sonically sinister intros to the darkest dubstep jams, expanded into whole tracks.
But these are not just glorified extended intros, Porter crafts roiling landscapes of abstract ambience, a series of sonically harrowing epics, the opener sets the stage, all moaning tones and extended drones, very symphonic, but again, rough around the edges, as if the sounds are slowly decaying, the soundtrack to some otherworldly post apocalyptic wasteland, which leads right into the first track proper, which sounds like an alternate soundtrack to The Conversation as imagined by Organum. Dense sprawls of metallic rumble, laced with buried electronic squiggles, sonar like pings, all wreathed in a layer of gauzy, crackly, washed out sonic grime, and the whole thing wrapped around a weirdly dreamlike melody, drifting hauntingly through this heaving cloud of soft black noise. Eventually, the sound blossoms into something even more intense, blasts of electronics, shards of noise, all somehow fashioned into a dizzying barrage of almost beat-like buzz.
The record gradually introduce more and more melody, Porter's dense electronic blurscapes balanced by lushly melodic stretches of layered string like shimmer, a definitely modern minimalist vibe, but then of course, those bits of melodic tranquility, seem to sink into Porter's crumbling distorted electronic morass, sometimes completely, leaving just roiling expanses of buzz and hiss, glitched out crunch and keening electronic bleat, but just as often, striking some seemingly impossible balance, lacing this heaving sonic hostility with something totally at odds, soaring strings, lush chordal swells, which transforms the sound into something else entirely. Later huge demonic foghorn like low end rumbles moan ominously, adding a weird almost demonic drama to otherwise near tranquil drift, that low end constantly expanding, into black, gristled drones, woven into the aforementioned string sweeps, but often drifting into the background, leaving gorgeous bits of hazy minimal drift, mournful piano, swaddled in soft swirls of lush thrum, even at one point bursting into what might be the most moving moment on the record, with a soaring minor key melody, achingly melancholic, driven by a strange super distorted, crumbling almost metallic sounding 'riff' that mostly adds texture and heft, and reminds us of another longtime aQ fave Tim Hecker, as well as the recent record from Seirom, a more blissed out offshoot of Gnaw Their Tongues.
An utterly gorgeous collection of minimal electronic soundscapes, grim buzz laden modern chamber music, and black drone ambience, a record we've been wanting to make our Record Of The Week for over a year now. So glad we finally can. Absolutely recommended, and of course, most definitely for fans of Ben Frost, Stars Of The Lid, Tim Hecker, Cloaks, etc...
It seems a bit strange to spend very much time writing about the new Portishead. Since by now, odds are you're probably sick to death of hearing about it. Sure we all loved Portishead back in the day, they were one of those rare 'electronic' bands whose appeal knew no boundaries, metalheads, moms, indie kids, the sound of Portishead was dark and sexy and mysterious, sinister and ominous, dark and rife with crackle and buzz. Perfect drugged out late night bliss out music, their strange way of creating sound and composing music, recording their own samples on to vinyl and then spinning and scratching those samples to create new textures, made for a totally unique sound.
So what does a band do after taking almost a decade off? Do they return with a record that sounds just like the last one, which is probably what most folks want, or do they return radically altered? With a sound bold and brash, reinventing the sound they themselves invented in the first place.
On first listen, Third definitely sounds like the latter, but with repeated listening, the record slowly and subtly begins to slip toward the former. Which most definitely speaks to the magic of Portishead, and the new record, which at once embraces the old sound, while turning it into something new. More than past outings, Third is dirty, out of tune, atonal, noisy, chaotic, urgent, sure past records had all that crackle and buzz and fuzz, but those elements were carefully placed, and kept well within line. Third sounds much more, well, loose for lack of a better word, like actual musicians, feeling each other out, maybe even improvising. Less like a studio concoction and more like a real live band. And the sound suits them. And makes for a record at once warm and familiar, but also alien, sort of 'rocking' and rife with WTF? moments.
Take the opener, "Silence", which begins with some sort of radio broadcast, which gives way to a killer loping breakbeat, immediately the fastest tempo Portishead have ever explored, strings swoop in, the sound raw and urgent, almost like the chase scene from some spy movie, gorgeous distorted chiming guitar harmonics ring out, until finally the track slows down, and slithers sexily, the vocals a sexy sultry croon, but it's not long before the track kicks back into the haunting and tense, string laden cinematic jam that opened the track.
Then there's "Hunter", which begins like classic Portishead, all smokey and late night sounding, soft muted reverbed guitars, a lush gauzy production, the vocals ethereal and ghostly, but even here, a few seconds in, the song is interrupted by a super distorted crumbling guitar chord that halts things in their tracks, before fading out, and allowing the song to resume. The a few minutes later, a strange noodly synth freakoutsurfaces, again derailing the song's slow motion groove, but It just sounds perfect. It doesn't at all sound like random weirdness for random weirdness' sake. The first time is jarring, the second time, you find yourself waiting for those parts, even humming along as if they were as crucial to the song as the main melody or the vocals, and the thing is, they are.
Near the end lurks the single, "Machine Gun", with its very machine gun like rhythm, herky jerky, stuttery and not at all fluid, reminiscent of Art Of Noise, the vocals sweetly soaring over this jagged rhythmscape below, which only really varies part way through when the original machine gun drums are replaced by BIGGER, more distorted drums, and wrapped in strange moaning horns (or maybe synths), only to shift once again moments later becoming more electronic, the beats awash in strange FX and metallic buzz. It's so unlikely, that it makes perfect sense as the first single. If you can embrace that strange rhythm, that relentless and very un-Portishead like sound, then the rest of the record will make perfect sense, unfolding in front of you, revealing both the warm familiar sounds missed, and the new, bizarre sonic elements never even imagined
All over the record, the band confounds and confuses, gloriously, the brooding whispery "Small" shifts gears partway through and transforms into a fuzzy organ drenched krautjam, "Deep Water" is a straight up old timey folk song, the vocals and strings soaked in fuzzy ambience (and reminding us a bit of vocalist Gibbons' post Portishead project Rustin Man), "We Carry On" is a sort of atonal Stereolab style jam, relentless percussion, thick swaths of synth, very repetitive and hypnotic, "The Rip" is part whispery folky flutter, part synthy electro buzz, every track here offers some sort of surprise, whether it's the song itself, or some little sonic strangeness lurking within, but never is the song or the sound sacrificed, each track is perfect in its own beautifully twisted way, catchy but never obviously so, groovy, but often convoluted and fractured, it's a difficult record to explain for sure, which is perhaps why so much ink has been spilled, and while we may be sick of reading about it, we sure are finding it nearly impossible to imagine ever getting sick of listening to it, which is precisely why it's one of our Records Of The Week.
Who would have thought that an Atari 2600 would be the instrument of choice in the new millennium, but as technology moves forward in leaps and bounds, seems like the most forward thinking sound makers are reaching back, WAY back. Souped up Gameboys, home soldered circuit boards, old school analog synths, even the recent Tristan Perich release which did the 8bit-ers one better (or more precisely seven better) by creating a suite of music assembled from ONE bit sounds, as low as we can go. For now.
But for our generation, there's just something about the sound of 8bit buzz and crunch, the video games of our childhood, the strange alien computer soundtracks, it may push lots of nostalgia buttons, but you didn't have to grow up in the early eighties to dig that sound.
So here we have the first release from Ken Fec, one of the folks responsible for the tripped out bubblegum electro pop dreaminess of Black Moth Super Rainbow, who for his alter ego as Power Pill Fist, seems to have gone back to his childhood home, pulled all the boxes out of the basement, and plugged every video game and antiquated game console from his youth into a 4-track, run it through his fractured pop sensibilities, a bank of damaged effects, and voila. The cool thing is this is not a 'noise' record. There are some seriously noisy moments for sure, but at its core Power Pill Fist definitely has a glowing pulsing energy crystal pop heart. Albeit a pop that is way more freaky crunchy fuzzy trippy and whatthefuck than most. And it's flecked with bits of skittery electronica, downtempo hip hop, and whatever else Fec had up his sleeve or in his head at the time.
Originally this was touted as a record that was almost a straight recording of Fec PLAYING an Atari 2600, which would probably have been amazing, but this is way more musical and composed. There do seem to be some guitars, and some extra percussion, lurking within and beneath all the crunchy fuzzy buzz, but it's that buzz and crunch that defines the record. Give this thing BIGGER beats and you can almost imagine Daft Punk or Justice rocking some of these tracks in a DJ set. The disc opens with a murky bleep filled jam, the warbly melody and scratchy rhythm buried beneath thick layers of hiss and whir, wrapped around a simple way-down-in-the-mix guitar strum. It somehow manages to be lo-fi and lush all at once, some weird krautrocky Nintendo jam. The follow up is all big lurching drums and warbling blown out synths, that sounds like something Beck would jump all over. Some of the other tracks are much noisier, but even then, soft melodies, and haunting song fragments lurk below the surface. Then there's songs like "Chuckanut Drive" that sound like they could have been, should have been, heck, maybe actually were the soundtrack to some super obscure video game, bits of �other games-, Pac Man, Donkey Kong, etc. cannibalized and recontextualized into some new old game, but liberally sprinkled with dizzying synth squiggles and an extra layer of stuttering buzz.
In between all of these blown out, almost-electro fuzz drenched 8bit jams, lurk subtly simple, bedroom recorded interludes, the strangely metallic minor key minimal strum of "Contours Gaining Shape" or the washed out low end droning whir of "R4eactor", and sometimes Fec will offer up a bit of abstract synth / 8bit experimentation or a more arcade-centric soundscapes like the straight video game field recording sound collage of "The Meat Tree" (sounding quite a bit like one of those Arcade Ambience discs), but it's always right back into another awesome grinding buzzy video game electro pop adventure.
Imagine Pan Sonic produced by J Dilla run through a Colecovision. Or think Donkey Kong meets Rastan, chopped up and reassembled by the Flaming Lips. Or Autchre recording a new record using only a busted up old acoustic guitars and the guts of a Sega Genesis, or some crazy psychpop jam session, but with Intellivision consoles instead of guitars. Weird and warped, fuzzy and fun, heavy and crunchy, poppy and druggy and just fucked up and freaky enough to keep our ears buzzing and ringing non stop.
We were heartbroken when our pals, the local weirdo boy-girl-boy doom crush psych sludge trio Prizehog, decided to leave San Francisco, but we understood - hell, SF is a harsh place to live these days if you're not rich, and ultimately, we weren't surprised to see Prizehog settling in Portland, a city arguably much more hospitable to struggling musicians and artists, but listening to the sonic results of this move, you'd think they were transported to some alien planet, transmitting this new record via some sort of futuristic technology. Cuz holy fuck, if this band was one of our favorites already, they somehow still managed to up the musical ante, taking everything we loved about them before, and making it, well, more. More heavy, more noisy, more psychedelic, more warped, more twisted, more confusional, more proggy, more what-the-fuck, and really just more ridiculously, mindblowingly next level doom-sludge genius. We may be prone to hyperbole, but it still feels like we might be understating just how goddamn good Re-Unvent The Whool really is.
Imagine a warped doom-prog, like some alternate universe metal Magma, processed vocodered vox, tangled up in churning spaced out riffage, underpinned by droning rumbles, and laced with twisted fragmented melodies, launching occasionally into full on sludge-pop creep, like some killer Torche jam spinning in slow motion, a gloriously glacial single digit rpm onslaught, that definitely makes the usual the Harvey Milk comparisons still pretty apt, but imagine HM if they were somehow slower, druggier, proggier and more totally and confusionally WTF. Songs explode some furious grinding metal, squalls of chugging riffage, barraged by machine gun drumming, all wrapped around the bellowed alien vox. But this is doom or sludge, or some twisted avant version, so songs inevitably slow down to a tarpit crawl, swirls of sparkling sci-fi FX surround the proceedings like glittery clouds of malevolent sonic fairy dust. And that's just one song in! And it only gets more gloriously fucked up and next level from there. It's hard to describe what's even going on, cuz some of the music here is literally so unlike anything else out there. These hairy weirdos are channeling some twisted alternate universe sonic garble, and transmuting it into fucking blown out, twisted genius ultra doom, noise pop, prog-sludge nirvana.
The record seems to blackly blossom in stop motion, flitting from near stasis, to frenzied crush and back again, tribal drumming avalanches over thick, coruscating chords, synths spitting out symphonies of klaxons and alarms, the backdrop for the unfurling of an impossibly downtuned, droned out slab of multiple o'd doooooooooom dreaminess, that manages the impossible feat of being crushingly, punishingly heavy, but also, kinda pretty too. Some seriously lovely 'oooooohs' will surface in the midst of a wild chaotic squall of churning blacktar throb, or a cascade of harmonics will rain down like shooting stars over a field of grinding, corrosive crunch, it's goddamn musical alchemy, the sort of musical magic almost no bands are capable of. And then out of fucking nowhere, Prizehog will get all twangy, offering up some sort of country doom, that sounds like it should be ridiculous, and it sort of is, but it's also just about the goddamn greatest thing you'll ever hear, like Earth, Barn Owl, Morricone, Scenic, all melted down, and spit out as a creepy massively metallic Wall Of Voodoo sort of campfire crush, sounds bizarre, and it totally is, but it's a bizarre brilliance that once again, should convince pretty much any doom lover with a penchant for sonic weirdness, that these three are the sludge saviors we've been waiting for, written about in some forbidden text, a fragment from the lost metallic scriptures, and Re-Unvent The Whool, their second coming, signalling some musical rapture, where we're all engulfed in fields of musical flames, but fuck, if this is what the end sounds like, and we can only hope it is, then we say bring it on, and what a way to go.
It's hard to know what else to say, other than repeat what we've always said, Prizehog should be adored, they should be worshipped the way Harvey Milk and Boris and the Melvins are, cuz maybe at one point, Prizehog were simply kids aping their heroes, aspiring to the sludge-y genius and twisted outsider metal of those other groups, but as hard as it may be for some folks to believe, Prizehog, might have outheavied, and outweirded, and outgeniused those masters, and become masters themselves, masters of fucking alien prog-doom, long haired, psych sludge, dirge-drone, damaged art pop. Fuck yeah.
Super striking, full color, eye popping, Wildildlife-worthy cover art, swank spot varnish printed jackets, and includes a download too...
After a tiny handful of way too limited cd-r releases, and an endless series of devastating live aktions (including a show stealing opening slot at our 2009 South By Southwest showcase), comes the long awaited full length from this SF boy-girl-boy doom-crush psych-sludge power trio, a sprawling five, track, 40 minute epic, that will definitely hit the spot for all of you hard and heavies that like it slow and low, and dig the likes of the Melvins, Harvey Milk, Boris and other slo-mo dirge merchants. But Prizehog infuse their low end assault with all manner of druggy psychedelia, warped doom pop and blurred blissed out slow-core, conjuring up a sound that pounds and pummels, drift and shimmers, grinds and churns, slipping effortlessly from bombastic Melvinsy howl and chug, to a super hooky heaviness, that reminds us of the warped Buttholes beholden noisepop of Prizehog pals Wildildlife, from a sort of bluesy, blissed out tarpit ZZ Top swing and swagger, to a dark and dolorous black hole heavy slowcore a la Codeine or True Widow, often all wound up into a single song.
Thought Nest begins with "Swayback", opening with a little bit of harmonica flecked blues fakeout, that quickly transforms into some seriously downtuned heavy doompsychblues churn, lurching and mathy and metallic, but laced with some subtle groove, the vocals a sort of worldless croon, the song pounding away before slipping into a woozy, washed ouy lysergic haze, a blurred starfield of chiming guitars and whirling layered melodies, before returning to a more swaggery, slithery lumbering crunch, only to finally blossom into a skull caving, knuckle dragging bit of slo-mo dirgery, all bellowed howls and keening high end tones, wrapped around a pummeling, drum heavy dirge-metal doom-pop workout, grinding its way through clouds of tripped out FX, and finishing off like it began with a bit of harmonica-y blissed out blues, before one final blast of churn and chug.
"Dunner" is up next, unfurling a stretch of tripped out shimmer, draped over garbled soft focus white noise, all hovering beneath clouds of cymbal sizzle, spidery guitar melodies, a druggy bit of drift, before a flurry of monstrous drumming drags with it a glorious psychedelic metallic cacophony, wild squalls of tangled guitars over intense double kick drumming, only to slip right back into something way more abstract, moody and murky, a sort of blackened slo-mo ballad, some simmering slowcore shimmer, bleary and blurred, almost like a more metallic, more drugged out True Widow, the sound dense, and layered, alternatingly smeared and shimmery, soaring and pop flecked, crusty and crunchy...
The oddly titled "Aykranoid" explodes with a chugging almost Eighties style metal riffing wrapped around some pounding black hole drum pummel, wild swooping and swirling effects, and some seriously twisted vox, the aforementioned vocal bellow, but here even MORE bellowy, drenched in effects and way up in the mix, spitting out mush mouthed stream of consciousness vokills, that add a weird psychedelic avant pop vibe to the otherwise more metallic backdrop, before again shifting into a slow slithery crawl, the sound epic and majestic, but still muddy and murky, warped and woozy.
"1865" is a bit more introspective, a slowly materializing smoldering bit of chordal guitardrone buzz, spread out into a gauzy hypnotic hypno-dirge, the beats spread way out, each chord allowed to ring out, and fade into something softer and more shadowy and nebulous, a contorted bit of dark dirge droniness, the sound shifting from crash and crunch, to muted thrum, all very trancelike and ritualistic, especially when the ghostly washed out vocals drift in, the sound transforming into a sort of crumbling, super distorted dream pop, again sounding more like a bastardized True Widow or Codeine, although here the sound grows ever more caustic and corrosive, but never without losing that moody pop vibe, just getting louder, and more dense, eventually locking into a more metallic bit of contorted churn, only to bliss out a bit, before a final stretch of lurching, pounding pop flecked pummel.
Finally, the record finishes off with "Ramsong", which begins in a cloud of grinding guitar noise, and swirls of chaotic buzz, a wild bit of droned out static psych, out of which emerges yet another gorgeous bit of low slung slowcore shimmer, dreamy and druggy and drifty, before exploding in a blast of seriously cruching metallic riffery, the drums a wild octopoidal pound, the vocals that weird Tom Waits / Buzz Osborne bellow, the sound nearly schizophrenic, flitting from pretty drift, to damaged dirge, rife with cool little gnarled guitar licks, streaks of feedback, layers of buried melody, a stuttering sprawl of strangely melodic heaviness, an expansive epic chugscape, that seems to grow more poppy as the song unwinds, and weirdly enough getting darker and more dense, while simultaneously seeming to space out, drifting into something more psychedelic abstract. The song finally begins to dissipate, the various elements loosed from structured song and allowed to float weightless, a darkly delirious night sky of loosely tangled melodies, of overlapping spectral voices, of washed out guitar buzz and deep low end rumbles, soft focus effects and dreamy druggy blissed out ambience.
Fucking SO RULING, gorgeous stuff for sure, crushing, hypnotic, heavy and heady, poppy and spacey, the sort of thing that should appeal to folks who dig the dooooom, or the druggy psychedelia, or the dirgey slowcore, or the warped pop, or the sludgey metal, and just might be your favorite new record if you dig ALL of those. Which we absolutely DO!!
Pressed on 180 gram vinyl and LIMITED TO 500 COPIES!!
NOW AVAILABLE ON VINYL!! This former record of the week available on lp for the first time...
Over the years, there have been plenty of records that have become AQ hallmarks, the Conet Project, a quadruple disc of short wave spy transmissions, The Ghost Orchid, EVP recordings of the voices of long lost loved ones as intercepted via radio waves, the Thai Elephant Orchestra, a real live elephant gamelan, and of course Laddio Bolocko, a rock group that made the most beautiful white hot, black hole noise we had ever heard, a seriously jaw dropping blast of superdistorted, ultra complex, psychedelic prog rock freak out. When LB disbanded, half the band went on to form Electric Turn To Me, a curious neo-cabaret act complete with icy campy female vocals and a sort of new wave Krautrock sound. Definitely interesting but not at all what we were hoping for from a post LB outfit. So along comes The Psychic Paramount, featuring the -other- half of Laddio Bolocko, guitarist and bassist Drew St. Ivany and Ben Armstrong, joined by the drummer from Sabers, and it is EVERYTHING we could have hoped for and more. It's like they took Laddio Bolocko and just smashed it to bits, reassembling all the parts into a gorgeously Frankesteinian blown out, fuzzed out psych rock, bizarre and beautiful, chaotic and always on the verge of falling apart. The record starts off with almost three minutes of dreamy, noisy, backwards psychedelic bliss out, equal parts My Bloody Valentine and Teenage Filmstars, keening hyperdistorted guitars, dreamy sunsoaked melodies, that awesome percussive fthhhhp sound of backwards drumming, all in supercharged splattery Technicolor swirl. The rest of the record is some sort of outerspace Krautrock, where the order of the day is still hypnotic and motorik, but this is not Neu! or Faust, not unless you took those guys, lit them on fire and launched them into space! Guitars careen and wail and keen and shriek, slipping fluidly from gorgeous melodic runs to full on fiery freakouts, all over a thick snarled bed of throbbing serpentine bass and ultra distorted drums (recorded so hot that every hit sends the needle even MORE into the red). This is like an indie rock Last Exit, or a more freaked out metallic This Heat. It's not just noise and pummel though, these are killer songs, the guitar parts especially, not only are they so complex and confusional they make you think this band must have at least three guitarists to whip up this sort of squall, but they are totally hook laden, which they sort of have to be as The Psychic Paramount are all instrumental. You'll totally find yourself anticipating certain riffs and licks, like you would your favorite line in a normal song. This record effortlessly steps all over pretty much every record in its path, it's not metal but manages to be way heavier than half the metal we hear, it's not really prog, but it's so much more complex and, well, progressive than nearly ANYTHING we've heard, and on top of everything, it's totally catchy, and noisy, and weird. It's really weird. Lots of that is just the sound of the record. In fact the recording is as important as the drums or the guitar or the bass. Ultra blown out, drenched in organic fuzz and room noise, super hot and in your face, with occasional tape drop outs and natural reverb and recording level abuse that adds a whole 'nother layer to the already dense sounds herein. The record finishes off with a completely confounding, but totally killer one two punch. "X-Visitations" is a ten minute free noise dirge, equal parts, SUNNO)))-like rumble and Sunroof!-like shimmer, that just sort of slithers and vibrates. The final track, "Gamelan Into The Mink Supernatural", starts off as a jazzy shuffle, building slowly in intensity and distortion, until it's a roiling relentlessly propulsive pummel, before it just cuts out suddenly, only to burst back into motion after an entire minute of silence! So awesome.
Years and years and years ago, we first heard this band called Laddio Bolocko, who pretty much instantly became one of our favorite bands ever, and whose records became one of those aQ staples, a record we tried to always carry, and would always recommend to folks, because those guys KILLED.
Totally epic, heavy, super intricate, droned out hyper distorted, in-the-red post This Heat sort of math rock psychedelia. We described them way back as "A modern day This Heat, but with bigger amps, more lo-fi production, free-jazz scud missile saxophone, unlikely melodies, relentless rhythms, ear-ringing dynamics and a sound unlike anything you've ever heard." Sounds pretty incredible, and it was. The band called it quits, and we were heartbroken, until 2/3 of the late great LB resurfaced as a band called Psychic Paramount, who essentially ditched the sax, and cranked up EVERYTHING else. A lean and mean power trio, guitar, bass and drums, but the sound these guys conjure up sound like three times that, each track is an explosive hyper rhythmic blowout, the slips deftly from mesmerizing motorik churn, to white noise soaked freakout and back again. The opening track here doesn't bother to ease you in, instead they hurl you kicking and screaming into a chaotic swirl of loose and wild free jazz drum splatter, soaring clouds of chiming guitars, lots of low end buzz and high end skree, but then after a minute the band settle into a riff, and then BAM, they're off, a churning, chugging, mathed out, soaring hypnotic psych kraut math rock blowout, like This Heat meets Don Caballero meets Faust meets Fushitsusha, the guitars epic and so heavy, the drums somehow bashing their way through the din, like a WAY less restrained Circle, just total dronerock epicness, and then the band switch gears once again, the guitars muted, the bass sinewy, the drums so solid, a chugging noisy krautrock workout, that builds again to another even more frenzied climax, before slipping into a super intense, almost robotic groove, the drums holding down a simple rhythm, over a thick droning buzz and muted rhythmic guitar chitter, and what sounds like weird processed wheezing chords, the song gradually seeming to get more and more warped and off kilter, until it just stops, leaving a hazy contrail of layered high end harmonies...
And then it's right back into it, a bit of hushed crystalline shimmer sprawls beneath some spidery guitars and some shuffled almost jazzy sounding drums, pretty blissy and krauty for a couple minutes before a weird super distorted drum fill and then the song explodes into an impossibly blown out metallic churn, before slipping right back into that shimmery kraut groove, and so it goes, the track lurching from blissy to brutal and back again.
The rest of the record follows suit. Less about songs, and melody, more about texture, and tempo, timbre and arrangement, these are physical songs, anyone whose seen these guys play, can attest to the fact that this is about as intense as rock music gets, people gather around the band wide eyed and slackjawed as they create this very same sound live.
The record never lets up, it's almost like Mick Barr if he was raised on nineties math rock and seventies krautrock, the songs white hot blasts of intricately arranged avant math rock mesmer, even when the band seems to be doing something simple, close listening reveals, the tempos are definitely off kilter, the rhythms deceivingly intricate, and the guitar is doing the work of an army of guitars, the bass driving the songs but also adding all sorts of texture, these guys really are pretty much the only real successors to the legacy of This Heat, but they've boiled that sound into something more focused and singular, a blown out, heady psychedelia, a modern krautrock that manages to forge its own super unique, idiosyncratic path through a world of same sounds, creating a fantastically exhausting, totally exhilaratingly punishing, noise rock / math rock / post rock / krautrock hybrid, that literally sounds like nobody else.
Over the years, there have been plenty of records that have become AQ hallmarks, the Conet Project, a quadruple disc of short wave spy transmissions, The Ghost Orchid, EVP recordings of the voices of long lost loved ones as intercepted via radio waves, the Thai Elephant Orchstra, a real live elephant gamelan, and of course Laddio Bolocko, a rock group that made the most beautiful white hot, black hole noise we had ever heard, a seriously jaw dropping blast of superdistorted, ultra complex, psychedelic prog rock freak out. When LB disbanded, half the band went on to form Electric Turn To Me, a curious neo-cabaret act complete with icy campy female vocals and a sort of new wave Krautrock sound. Definitely interesting but not at all what we were hoping for from a post LB outfit. So along comes The Psychic Paramount, featuring the -other- half of Laddio Bolocko, guitarist and bassist Drew St. Ivany and Ben Armstrong, joined by the drummer from Sabers, and it is EVERYTHING we could have hoped for and more. It's like they took Laddio Bolocko and just smashed it to bits, reassembling all the parts into a gorgeously Frankesteinian blown out, fuzzed out psych rock, bizarre and beautiful, chaotic and always on the verge of falling apart. The record starts off with almost three minutes of dreamy, noisy, backwards psychedelic bliss out, equal parts My Bloody Valentine and Teenage Filmstars, keening hyperdistorted guitars, dreamy sunsoaked melodies, that awesome percussive fthhhhp sound of backwards drumming, all in supercharged splattery Technicolor swirl. The rest of the record is some sort of outerspace Krautrock, where the order of the day is still hypnotic and motorik, but this is not Neu! or Faust, not unless you took those guys, lit them on fire and launched them into space! Guitars careen and wail and keen and shriek, slipping fluidly from gorgeous melodic runs to full on fiery freakouts, all over a thick snarled bed of throbbing serpentine bass and ultra distorted drums (recorded so hot that every hit sends the needle even MORE into the red). This is like an indie rock Last Exit, or a more freaked out metallic This Heat. It's not just noise and pummel though, these are killer songs, the guitar parts especially, not only are they so complex and confusional they make you think this band must have at least three guitarists to whip up this sort of squall, but they are totally hook laden, which they sort of have to be as The Psychic Paramount are all instrumental. You'll totally find yourself anticipating certain riffs and licks, like you would your favorite line in a normal song. This record effortlessly steps all over pretty much every record in its path, it's not metal but manages to be way heavier than half the metal we hear, it's not really prog, but it's so much more complex and, well, progressive than nearly ANYTHING we've heard, and on top of everything, it's totally catchy, and noisy, and weird. It's really weird. Lots of that is just the sound of the record. In fact the recording is as important as the drums or the guitar or the bass. Ultra blown out, drenched in organic fuzz and room noise, super hot and in your face, with occasional tape drop outs and natural reverb and recording level abuse that adds a whole 'nother layer to the already dense sounds herein. The record finishes off with a completely confounding, but totally killer one two punch. "X-Visitations" is a ten minute free noise dirge, equal parts, SUNNO)))-like rumble and Sunroof!-like shimmer, that just sort of slithers and vibrates. The final track, "Gamelan Into The Mink Supernatural", starts off as a jazzy shuffle, building slowly in intensity and distortion, until it's a roiling relentlessly propulsive pummel, before it just cuts out suddenly, only to burst back into motion after an entire minute of silence! So awesome.
I'd guess that most of us are big fans of Japan's Boredoms. In recent years, they've explored what Andee likes to call "hippie drum circle" percussive jams, with varying (sometimes great, sometimes patience-wearing) results. When it's done well, their psychedelic, rhythmic excess can be transcendental, and will result in a record as wonderful as this Psycho-Baba album. Leader of the band Mhayow plays sitar, and helping him out on this incarnation of Psycho-Baba are two Boredoms members: drummers Atr and the mighty Yoshimi P-We (whose other fabulous side project, OOIOO, is touring the USA in March 2001).
In addition to the Eastern flavor imparted by the sitar, the tabla, and other ethnic instruments, plus the wild vocal effects courtesy Yoshimi and her chaos pad, this East-meets-Electronica group has imbued the music with jubilant trance-inducing electronics. There's a certain undeniably sunny, bouncy exuberance that keeps the record flowing colorfully and prevents it from becoming self-indulgent or too heavy. And we even hear the odd echo or two of Miles Davis' lengthy '70s jazz fusion experiments. Yes, "Psycho-Baba" is a terrible, terrible name, but what can you do? Let the music speak for itself.
By the way, On The Roof Of Kedar Lodge is Psycho-Baba's second disc -- we also have the first one in stock, and it is similar, but was recorded before Yoshimi and Atr joined.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
When I found out we were getting this record, I (Allan) just about flipped. Psychomania!? THE Psychomania?!? The soundtrack -- never before released, as it turns out -- to the creepy British zombie biker horror flick that has haunted my nightmares for years and years, ever since I saw it on TV, unsupervised by my parents I have to assume, when I was a little kid in the early '70s! Actually for a long time growing up I never knew it was an actual film, I kinda thought all these weird freaky mental images of maniac hippie bikers with British accents were my own imaginings from some bad dream but then as a teenager I found out the truth about my childhood trauma when I ran across the Psychomania VHS tape at a local video shop -- "Hey! That's the film I must have seen!" Perhaps you've seen it too, maybe even under similar circumstances (several people I've described it to have had long-buried memories come to the surface, and in fact one of the people who contributed liner notes mentions a similar experience to mine!).
As near as I can remember/surmise, it was about a gang of bikers who commit suicide and come back from the dead to terrorize innocents. Hence the cover tag line "Seven Suicides - and they roared back as The Living Dead!" But I also think that maybe someone gets turned into a frog? Or the bikers worship a frog, maybe? (Their must be a significant frog in the film, anyway, 'cause I remember one and there's a track called "The Frog" on here -- also the studio musicians on this soundtrack are billed as a band called Frog!)... Definitely some weird witchy LSD biker 'sploitation happenin's. A unique formula for a grade-Z flick to be sure. Released in 1972, this film about a cult has itself become a cult film, resulting a last in this release of composer John Cameron's soundtrack music.
While I can't really comment on the merits of the film (I still haven't seen it again since way back when, and while I'm tempted to find it and rent it now, I doubt it could compare to that initial experience!), it turns out that the soundtrack is KILLER. Yes indeedy. From the first track to the last, exploitation film scores don't get much better. It's got it all -- total Morricone/Goblin/Carpenter horror flick spookiness, interludes of suitably weird dialogue from the film (someone's mother telling him she's worried the police will arrest him and his delinquent friends gets the response: "the word, mother, is fuzz...the word, mother, is busted"), and lashings of evil acid rock/funk to further pander to and/or corrupt the long-haired kids to whom this must have been marketed. Repeatedly, you'll hear the band (that'd be "Frog") vamping on a simple but effective fuzz riff, presented slightly differently on every occasion. You can't argue with it, it's good. Oh, and let's not forget the folk-pop biker ballad "Riding Free" as sung by Harvey Andrews. Then it's back to the scary music and effects (was that a croaking frog?).
John Cameron explains in his liner notes that this was recorded before synths were in common use, so "every trick was used: Musser vibes through phase and wah-wah pedals, phased bowed bass, drumsticks inside a grand piano, electric harpsichord through a compressor, Hammond organ fed through a phase unit and Leslie speakers, and wordless solo voice." Thus, experimental ominous psychedelic bizarroid film music that gets our highest recommendation. And everyone we've played it for has been equally enthused. (We wouldn't make this Record Of The Week *just* 'cause of some repressed childhood memory...) Rev up your bikes and ride for the FROG. (Vinyl coming next week, for those who want even more of an authentic '70s experience.)
When I found out we were getting this record, I (Allan) just about flipped. Psychomania!? THE Psychomania?!? The soundtrack -- never before released, as it turns out -- to the creepy British zombie biker horror flick that has haunted my nightmares for years and years, ever since I saw it on TV, unsupervised by my parents I have to assume, when I was a little kid in the early '70s! Actually for a long time growing up I never knew it was an actual film, I kinda thought all these weird freaky mental images of maniac hippie bikers with British accents were my own imaginings from some bad dream but then as a teenager I found out the truth about my childhood trauma when I ran across the Psychomania VHS tape at a local video shop -- "Hey! That's the film I must have seen!" Perhaps you've seen it too, maybe even under similar circumstances (several people I've described it to have had long-buried memories come to the surface, and in fact one of the people who contributed liner notes mentions a similar experience to mine!).
As near as I can remember/surmise, it was about a gang of bikers who commit suicide and come back from the dead to terrorize innocents. Hence the cover tag line "Seven Suicides - and they roared back as The Living Dead!" But I also think that maybe someone gets turned into a frog? Or the bikers worship a frog, maybe? (Their must be a significant frog in the film, anyway, 'cause I remember one and there's a track called "The Frog" on here -- also the studio musicians on this soundtrack are billed as a band called Frog!)... Definitely some weird witchy LSD biker 'sploitation happenin's. A unique formula for a grade-Z flick to be sure. Released in 1972, this film about a cult has itself become a cult film, resulting a last in this release of composer John Cameron's soundtrack music.
While I can't really comment on the merits of the film (I still haven't seen it again since way back when, and while I'm tempted to find it and rent it now, I doubt it could compare to that initial experience!), it turns out that the soundtrack is KILLER. Yes indeedy. From the first track to the last, exploitation film scores don't get much better. It's got it all -- total Morricone/Goblin/Carpenter horror flick spookiness, interludes of suitably weird dialogue from the film (someone's mother telling him she's worried the police will arrest him and his delinquent friends gets the response: "the word, mother, is fuzz...the word, mother, is busted"), and lashings of evil acid rock/funk to further pander to and/or corrupt the long-haired kids to whom this must have been marketed. Repeatedly, you'll hear the band (that'd be "Frog") vamping on a simple but effective fuzz riff, presented slightly differently on every occasion. You can't argue with it, it's good. Oh, and let's not forget the folk-pop biker ballad "Riding Free" as sung by Harvey Andrews. Then it's back to the scary music and effects (was that a croaking frog?).
John Cameron explains in his liner notes that this was recorded before synths were in common use, so "every trick was used: Musser vibes through phase and wah-wah pedals, phased bowed bass, drumsticks inside a grand piano, electric harpsichord through a compressor, Hammond organ fed through a phase unit and Leslie speakers, and wordless solo voice." Thus, experimental ominous psychedelic bizarroid film music that gets our highest recommendation. And everyone we've played it for has been equally enthused. (We wouldn't make this Record Of The Week *just* 'cause of some repressed childhood memory...) Rev up your bikes and ride for the FROG. (Vinyl coming next week, for those who want even more of an authentic '70s experience.)
For the last 14 years, New Zealander Stefan Neville has been issuing a steady stream of cassettes, lathe-cuts, cd-rs, 7"s and other assorted slabs of mysterious small-run skronk under the Pumice moniker. Somehow through it all Neville has managed to find a comfortable spot nestled in between two very distinct strains of NZ music-making. At their heart, the songs he writes are pop songs obviously indebted to the legacy of Flying Nun, The Tall Dwarves and The Clean; that said, his willful disregard for fidelity, his love of tape hiss, wow and flutter, garbled vocals and blasts of harsh drone are a tip o' the hat to kiwi noiseniks like Birchville Cat Motel, Dead C, and Antony Milton. It's a compelling combination, as it allows his records to be both densely textural and supremely melodic - for every piece of blown out headphone candy, there's a memorable vocal or frighteningly catchy guitar riff. It's this incredible tug-of-war between (as we put it in our review) "doleful drone" and "sheer pop umph" that made us flip out over the last Pumice full-length, Pebbles, and we're happy to report that Neville's latest, Quo, finds him refining the Pumice formula in all the best possible ways to create a record full of impish charms, slack anthems, rambling bedrooms hiss, and speaker fried drone assaults!
Quo opens with "Pumice Quo," a song that hints at what is to come on the rest of the album: fuzzed-out, atonal guitars klang and skree like some sort of netherworldly faux-sitar over a ragged, swinging stomp that effortlessly mutates back and forth with a breezy, expansive, half-time swagger. Rhythmically and structurally it's all angular and math-y but it never sounds cold or analytical - it's like some incredible mix of Doc At The Radar Station and Celebrate The New Dark Age where you can't tell if it's Beefheart covering Polvo or vice versa, but everything sounds perfectly fucked up and damaged but so inexplicably catchy at the same time. Likewise, "World with Worms," a creeping, rumbling, blown-out, billowing sea shanty that mixes Neville's signature, mannered (almost goth, really) vocals with a teetering melody pounded out on some sort of half-broken chord organ or accordion.
The first half of the record continues to cast a few different lines - "Fort" sounds like some sort of classic mid-'90s B-side pop anthem you'd expect from GBV or Boyracer buried under 10 feet of shrieking keyboard noise; "Thermos in the Studio" is a winsome bedroom pop instrumental that would sound right at home buried amongst the ruins of Pavement's Westing (By Musket and Sextant) with lyrical slide guitar melodies that are simple, gorgeous and over in an instant; "Pebbles" is 2 minutes of rambling, shuffling, ramshackle pop. However, everything starts to come together with the second half of the record, as "Whole Hoof" looks back to the Polvo/Beefheart battle royale of the album opener but this time ads layers of distorted howling vocals. It starts out like Simply Saucer plowing through some freaked out rockabilly jam but mutates into something completely creepy and sinister at the end.
The album's second half is incredibly strong and manages to focus the scattershot elements of the first half without sacrificing any of those songs' chimpy playfulness. There's a darker element that emerges, but it never overwhelms the whole proceedings. "Sick Bay Duvet" starts out like a lost Fahey side being played back on a broken down gramophone, all rumbling, twanging, echoing, and slightly out of tune. When drums, melodica and a low, throbbing drone finally kick in at the end, it changes into something completely different - a kind of dour, anti-anthem that leads perfectly next track, "Dogwater," whose warbling, garbled take on Blackheart Procession's western goth vibe manages to come as both tongue-in-cheek and gracefully mannered. Things get stronger still with the last three songs: "Heavy Punter" is a solemn funeral shuffle built around a fractured Beefheart/Polvo riff filled out by ghostly keyboards that woosh and drone in and out of the background and fantastic, layered, pseudo-goth vocal stylings; "Battersby" is almost like Pumice's stab at punk rock with Casio tweeters battling against four on the floor drums and stumbling, disaffected vocals that wouldn't sound out of place on a Fall record (the whole thing comes across like some weird mashup of a NZ cd-r salvo and something off of a Messthetics comp - bizarrely catchy and certainly one of our favorites!); and album ender "Beak Remedy" is 7 minutes of blissed out, see-saw chord organ drone, ghostly tape loops, fluttering, stuttering ambient flickers of feedback, hum and hiss with percussive clomps that sneak in toward the end until the whole thing trickles out with choppy puffs of feedback and static.
All this adds up to a brilliant mix of pop songwriting and freaked out fuzzmongering that has been perking the ears of both customers and staff since it first arrived. We're confident that Quo is going to show up on many of our year end best-of lists, and we think you'll feel the same way about this blissed-out, smashed to pieces, melodic, thoughtful, mannered, playful and thoroughly recommended record!
The demise of legendary doomlords Reverend Bizarre had two strange but positive after effects, first, there seemed to be a flood of posthumous RB releases, more we think than when they were actually a band, a from-beyond-the-grave release schedule to rival Biggie or Tupac, as is further demonstrated by yet another new Reverend Bizarre release reviewed elsewhere on this week's list! The second outcome was the more inevitable one, a whole slew of new projects from RB mainman S.A.Hynninen (aka Albert Witchfinder), whose voracious need to rock would obviously need a new outlet, and thus we have The Puritan and Opium Warlords. Both born of Hynninen's newfound obsession with ultra doom, with sludge, especially of the Japanese variety, Boris, Corrupted, Solar Anus, Hynninen set forth on a mission to create some serious Japanese style ultra doom sludge. We'll have the Opium Warlords disc for next list, but for now, we shall celebrate The Puritan, and Lithium Gates, which compiles two previously released, now out of print vinyl lps, one of which we never had, the other which we had in extremely limited numbers.
We've become convinced, that Hynninen must be somehow related to Circle's Jussi Lehtisalo. They're both Finnish, they both front or fronted kick ass heavy rock bands, and both have totally twisted senses of humor, which finds its way, however subtly (or not) into their music. So while the Puritan was originally inspired by Japanese doom and sludge, by the time it worked its way through Hynninen's cracked Finnish filter, it had been transformed into something else entirely. Something heavy and brutal, but warped and far out and brilliant.
This is no ordinary doom. And is far removed from the doom of Reverend Bizarre. Although on first listen, maybe not so far removed after all, beginning with the first Puritan lp, The Untitled, the sound is ultra heavy, downtuned, spaced out, melodic, with a distinctly classic strain of classic doom running through it, the opening intro could indeed be the opening salvo from some doom classic, and the follow up too does not sound that far our, awesomely epic and troo vocals over a lumbering slow motion dirge, but then the record shifts gears, and "The Sulphur - Coloured Clouds Are Hurrying Through the Lithium Gates" explodes like some nineties noise rock juggernaut, loping bass, crumbling guitars, jagged riffing, only to gradually slow to a nearly complete halt, before slipping back into slow motion ultra doom dirgery. "The Sepulchral God Holding a Speech for the Moribund" sounds almost like some extra heavy slowcore, with some dramatically crooned Slough Feg like vox, before a strangely haunting outro, with clean guitars, whirling ambience, mysterious sampled voices, including a classic Charles Manson rant, all hovering beneath thick washed out guitars and lilting sweetly sorrowful melodies. Then it begins to get even weirder.
The second half of Lithium Gates contains the entirety of The Black Law, the second Puritan lp, which begins with some old timey organ, wheezy and lo-fi, some lost in time parlor music, lilting and melancholy, until everything is flattened by a massive wall of downtuned guitars, exploding into a plodding doomic dirge, which is not really funereal, or even all that slow, a plodding lurching doom that reminds us of Midwestern pigfuckers Killdozer more than anything, which as far as we're concerned is good news for sure. The chuggy midtempo crunch pounds and churns while the vocals howl and bellow, there's a distinctly AmRep / Touch And Go vibe to the doom on display, the main riff locked into a loop that seems to go on and on and on, giving the proceedings a sort of Gore vibe as well. The riff eventually gives up the ghost leaving a tranquil, almost ambient fade out, all soft streaks of feedback, delicate melodies, distant slabs of slow moving sludge, all smeared into a weirdly dreamy drift.
From there on out, the record continues to devolve gloriously with some bizarre gnarled super distorted guitar weirdness, completely panned so it careens from speaker to speaker, ear to ear, until the riff finally kicks in, a big ol' filthy doomy dirgey riff, the drums and guitar locked tight, while in the background, the WHOLE time, the moans and groans of a lady seemingly in the throes of violent passion(!), the whole track endlessly looped and cyclical, the only variation being the woman's voice, here the Gore vibe is undeniable, a killer riff, just pounding away, over and over, very hypnotic and strangely minimal, but that's only the first track. The second revolves around a muted chug, spread out over a layer of seemingly constant buzz, with more deep crooned dramatic vocals, the production reverby and very new wave sounding, a little like Joy Division or the Cure but way heavier and dripping with doooooom, the wind-down at the end laced with bursts of super epic and melodic drama, turning the outro into some sort of doomic Godspeed.
Needless to say, fucking awesome! And essential listening for any one into sounds slow and low, doomy and heavy, fucked up and far out.
