Wow, so well worth the wait! This highly anticipated M. Ward album has finally surfaced, and it's fucking fantastic!! Oooh sorry, shhh, maybe that was much too loud and boisterous an exclamation for such a beautiful work, but hopefully that gives you an ample impression of our enthusiasm for this release!
It was recorded at a number of different studios around the country with a number of different awesome performin' and producin' participants (such as Howe Gelb, Vic Chesnutt, John Parish, Jenny Lewis of Rilo Kiley, My Morning Jacket's Jim James, and The Old Joe Clarks), and it traverses as much of the mood and folk music spectrums as those of the geographic and personnel.
The first impression that struck us was that Transistor Radio sounds as though Mr. Ward has brought his songbook a lot closer to that of Ms Jolie Holland (or vice versa... expect much more cross-pollination between the fan camps of both artists). The recordings have that brittle old tyme-y feel but the vocal performances are overflowing with heartfelt gusto. The addition of Ms Lewis' vocals on songs such as "Big Boat") do much to reinforce this sonic kinship. Also materializing in a few of the songs is a fevered twang akin to Howe Gelb, Giant Sand or Calexico which makes sense when you find out that some of these songs were recorded at Wavelab Studios in Arizona (where those artists all record). Warm, earthy, haunting and sooo damn gorgeous! Definitely an album for sharing! Very very recommended!
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
The opening minute or so of "Heal", the first track on Deserve, at first blush seems like it could give very much the wrong impression of these Canadian noise poppers, although the more we listen to Deserve, the more it seems like maybe it was in fact ultimately the all together RIGHT impression. The record opens with a squall of swirling feedback, what sounds like multiple guitars unfurling layer upon layer of feedback, and even when the song kicks in proper, it's mostly a crumblingly distorted single chord, over pounding caveman drumming, until all of a sudden, that noisiness coalesces into some impossibly perfect pop, a twisted chunk of nineties style indie rock jangle, wistful and super melodic and crazy catchy, albeit, plenty noisy and fuzzy, distorted and blown out, and from there on out, the song swings deliriously from lilting, loping, Sebadoh-style lo-fi pop, to a full bore, buzzing psychedelic sort-of-chorus/refrain, howled vocals over one of those chord changes that gives you chills, the sort of thing most bands struggle to come up with, but throughout the course of Deserve, these guys seem to toss off those moments like there was some limitless supply, and who knows? Maybe for these guys there is. Deserve gives us no reason to think otherwise. But before we can get to more of those moments, the band finish off "Heal" with a full two minutes worth of abstract psychedelic feedback noise drenched drift, almost as if in the studio, they just leaned their guitars against the amps, and stepped out for a smoke. But it's that willful, listener baiting noisiness, and the fact that of "Heal"s six and a half minutes, less than three is proper 'song', that helps balance the group's popsmithery, with a sort of sneering punk rock energy, that as you might imagine, finds its way into even the poppiest moments here. And there's something about two minutes of droned out noise, that when the second track "Set Me Back" finally explodes, there's a sense of sonic relief, that only adds to what is yet another glorious slab of blown out fuzz pop, big guitars, deep crooned vocals buried in the mix, melodies to die for, and another one of those choruses, that sounds like it was plucked right out of some classic Dinosaur Jr jam, but Weed's sound is more muddy and murky, and all the better for it, swirling and psychedelic, every song here, sounds like one of those songs or one of those bands that should have been huge, but instead, stayed your little secret, the best band nobody else knew about, understood, or in most cases had ever even heard, or heard of. And that totally taps into something most music nerds hold near and dear, and positions Weed, no matter how popular they get, as the sort of band, that could easily become YOUR band.
And while there's nothing nearly as chaotic and freaked out as the opener, there is most definitely no shortage of fuzz pop bliss. "Gun Shy" is rollicking and punky, but again, crazy catchy, mixing droned out guitar, furious buzz, tangled melodies, and some super heavy, almost emo sounding noiserock blowouts. "Silent Partner" almost sounds like a slightly punkier, more youthful Swervedriver, and that shoegaze vibe surface throughout, giving all of Deserve a fantastically dreamy, druggy vibe, a sound that shifts easily from hazy, fuzzy drift, to grinding punkish pound and back again, often settling somewhere right in between, and again, amidst all this noisiness and sonic chaos, all this crunch and fuzz, blast and pound, is some of the craftiest popsmithery we've heard in ages, the sort of thing, that recast, and super polished, could have the potential to be the next big thing, thankfully, these guys seem to have no interest in that at all. The poppiness of these jams more like some sonic artifact, the seemingly random result of nothing but loud guitars, sweaty, bloody basement shows, lots of booze, youthful exuberance, and just fucking rocking, it's the perfect mix of that classic nineties indie rock sound that we can't ever seem to get enough of STILL, home brewed fuzz pop, and wild, chaotic noise rock crunch, all woven into something more fresh and and raw and punk and poppy, and it's just about the best thing we've heard in forever.
Stoners and loners Weed are back with another full-length of dopey noise-pop sad jams, and once again, we're fully on board. You remember that episode of "The Simpsons" where Homer goes to Lollapalooza in an effort to be cool, and is met with a crowd of swaying Gen-X'ers mumbling to Sonic Youth? Yeah, this record kinda sounds like that, in the best way possible. Right off the bat, we get a quick modulating buzz before it kicks right in, and wouldn't you know it? The first line is a monotone "I don't wanna feel like this anymore". Running Back is that perfect nineties blend of mopey, noisey nihilism and sugary, perfect pop. "Thousand Pounds," for example, captures this blend perfectly; pounding rhythm, almost shoegaze-esque fuzzed-out guitars, and buried but melodic-as-hell vocals that brings to mind the last Nothing record, super bombastic and poppy, but also melancholic and despondent. "Meet Me With Ease" is the other side of the Weed coin, the faster, more punked up, more "rock" jam that will have every stoned twenty-something swaying with it.
There's a kind of no-nonsense, punkish approach on Running Back that distinguishes it from the wave of new shoegaze (is that called Nu-Gaze?) bands - everything's a little faster, a little more to-the-point, and it works so well on this record. If you still have a soft spot in your heart for the grungy, noisey, poppy sound of bands like Dinosaur Jr and Sebadoh (and why wouldn't you?), you'll be pumped on this record.
This is record number three for Greg Weeks, and the one that's really finally gotten our attention. His previous disc on Ba Da Bing! was a stripped down, boy-and-his-guitar folky singer-songwriter kinda record, and while he is still essentially playing folk
Quite an impressive solo debut from British noiserocker James Welburn! His bio quips that he's been playing in various art/drone/noise rock outfits since the '90s, though a quick glance through the entire internet didn't provide much in the way of information on what those projects might be. However, we know that back in 2008, he had a release under the name Project Transmit, which also featured the fantastic drummer Tony Buck from trance-inducing Australian 'jazz' group The Necks. Now, Buck has joined forces with Welburn once again for Hold - a well-controlled album of darkly ascendant drone guitars guiding a well-heeled rhythm section that's crushingly muscular when it needs to be and skeletally restrained when called for at other times. Second track here "Peak" falls into the latter camp with Buck and Welburn conjuring the slow-core nocturnes from Low's first couple of albums, with a Joy Division-y spaciousness on the bass and Buck tapping metonymically on the ride. Welburn fills in the blanks with cinematic melancholy dripping from his guitar strings into pools of drone. Buck stomps hard on the accelerator for the next track "Shift" with a punk-as-fuck jackbooted riff on the black metal blast beat, albeit done on a jazz kit, with Welburn slipping the buzzsaw guitars into icy layers. The detuned bass that anchors "Duration" with a bloody-knuckled masonry on par with Todd Trainor of Shellac, with the guitars again crashing forward with drone-metal blurs and slabs of frigid noise. Swans and Godflesh are reasonably close neighbors of what Welburn is up to here, although these tracks are entirely instrumental with the songs hitting their dynamics through slow-burn and flame-out approaches to their compositional arcs. Just imagine if Welburn and Buck were to get a hold of two or three dozen guitarists with their slipstream noise perfectly in step with Welburn's compositional prowess. Look out, Branca. Look out, Chatham.
Geez, has it really been 8 years since Gillian Welch last captivated us with a new album? It's hard to believe we've gone on all this time without her darkly bittersweet country-folk songs applying a soothing balm to our troubled souls. But her return to recording couldn't have had better timing as her music, so rooted in Depression-era bluegrass and early country styles, gels so well with our currently dire economic times, offering a gothic and desperate vision of heartbreak, loss and courage that is instantly relatable, yet makes us feel less vulnerable to the harsh cruelties of living that her protagonists endure.
Besides the long gap in time, not much has changed in Welch's (and her musical partner David Rawlings) sound or approach and that is just fine! Keeping the arrangements as stark as ever, there is only acoustic guitar, banjo, harmonicas and some hand and knee slaps along with the couple's peerless vocal harmonies as they waver between fatalistic folk songs, gospel-tinged bluegrass, and murder ballads. This is one of Welch's best records in a discography that has never wavered far from stunning. And speaking of stunning, the cover designed by Baroness singer, John Dyer Baizley is a beautifully unique letterpress print on thick handmade paper stock. A video of how the cover was made can be viewed here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k_Mz_imdISk.
Of course long-time fans will want to scoop this up, but if you are new to Welch's haunting and harrowing voice and vision, The Harrow and The Harvest is a good place to start. It's definitely as good as if not better than Time (the Revelator) and Hell Among The Yearlings (our other two favorites of hers), making this absolutely essential!!
The band's name is When, but the question really is *What?* As in, what the hell is this? Totally amazing, for one thing, but beyond that...? One thing we can say about When is that we NEVER know what to expect from 'em. On this new album, the music is a
When is the brainchild of Norwegian musician/sampler artist Lars Pedersen; he's been at it since the early '80s (after quitting a new wave/Industrial band called Holy Toy) and has released 8+ albums that have ranged from ambient soundscapes to prog rock, yet have steadily grown more and more pop. When's previous full-length release, "Psychedelic Wunderbaum", dabbled in pop sounds, if you consider Carl Stalling cartoon music meets crazed electronica "pop"! But on The Lobster Boys, Lars really lets his Beatles / Beach Boys inspiration come to the fore. His British (not Norwegian) accented singing is placed into some far-from conventional settings -- over, say, an Ethiopiques sampled loop (really!), or over crazy wild drumming most pop songs never get to feature.
Lars and several friends handle sampling, organ, guitar, bass, xylophone, drums, vocals, melodica, viola, etc... all culminating in an utterly amazing final unlisted bonus track, 15+ minutes of trancey middle eastern samples and effects that build up into a distorted storm of loud electric guitar feedback skree, noisy and yet blissfully rhythmic throughout.
Lastly, we have to say: how weird is it that we can only get this album from heavy metal distributors? Because it's on the Norwegian label Jester, which is run by Garm from (former) black metal legends Ulver, some from the metal community have noticed the record, but we worry it may go under-recognized by other intrepid listeners (except for, of course, AQ and you!) Truly, we never imagined how much we'd come to love this decidedly non-metal, fantastic band.
(And if you want to catch up on When's previous work, we also stock "PW" and the When best of/rarities double cd compilation "The Unblessed World Of When: WriterCakeBox".)
In case you missed it on our Record Store Day "in-between list" last Friday... but these are going fast! At this rate, gone within the week, if not sooner...
Last year - or maybe it was the year before - we told ourselves, hey, Record Store Day is awesome and all, but what would make it even more awesome? Maybe if we had our OWN release for Record Store Day! Something that, then, we could make sure our devoted mailorder customers wouldn't miss out on, also something that we could be absolutely sure we'd have, utterly unique to our store, amidst the chaos and uncertainty of all the other RSD releases.
So, this year, we did it! With the help of our good friends, Brooklyn's psychedelic space rockers extraordinare, you know 'em, you love 'em, White Hills. As those of you who live here in San Francisco may remember, White Hills brought their spaced out sounds to aQuarius for a fantastic instore on October 1st, 2010. Actually, they performed under the somewhat obvious pseudonym Black Valleys ('cause the venue they were playing that same night didn't want them doing another show the same day). In any case, their "Black Valleys" set turned out to be quite a bit different than an "ordinary" White Hills performance, being a drumless, droned-out duo performance specifically tailored to our space, trying (though probably failing!) to keep the volume low enough not to disturb our neighbors... but still hypnotizing us all with their nonetheless heavy sounds. The show was recorded, and it turned out GREAT.
Over a half hour long, the first few minutes of which are filled with shimmering, pretty pulsations and subtle sonic textures, as if this was the White Hills' version of Pop Ambient. It's both mesmeric and miasmic... Eventually waves of grinding fuzz enter the scene, and this slow building sonic juggernaut of throb and drone and drift takes on more massive proportions, propelled by what we can only say are almost ghostly riffs, giving this something of an Earth 2 vibe. We could go on and on, but somehow don't think we need to, since we know what White Hills fans are like (and you're all White Hills fans, right?).
So, digging the recording, White Hills gave us the go-ahead to release it as a special limited edition cd, for Record Store Day this year. And boy are we stoked.
LIMITED TO 300 hand-numbered copies, packaged in slim, dvd-style cases, with cool Op-Art inspired cover graphics by our pal Nathan Berlinguette, printed in black on fancy silvery paper. NOT sold in stores - except for ours!
Holland's Roadburn festival has become THEE ultimate heavy rock music festival, be it doom, sludge, psychedelia, space rock, whatever, the fest consistently offering the sorts of lineups most of us could only dream about, super hyped new bands, legendary older bands, total unknowns, next big things, nobody curates festivals like these guys, and it definitely shows, every year, selling out sooner, and luring folks from all over the world to fly over to take it all in (heck, our own Allan even went a couple years ago!). Roadburn also decided a while back to chronicle some of these performances and release them, so the rest of us sorry suckers unable to make the journey could get a little taste of what it is we've been missing.
Which brings us to this, a document of last year's Roadburn, in particular, a performance by aQ faves, Brooklyn heavy psych rockers White Hills, who definitely KILL it, with one of the heaviest sets we've heard from them. In fact, the disc opens with the band in full on heavy riff mode, almost like someone just pushed record mid-set, our imaginations have us picturing opening 8+ minute blast "Three Quarters" just the last chunk of an hours-long mega blown out super psych jam. Regardless, the band churn and roil, the riffs distorted and in-the-red, the drums wild and chaotic, of course everything wreathed in thick swirls of effects, the vox gruff and bellowed, definitely giving the sound some serious rock heft. "Under Skin Or By Name", sees the band slipping back into some more meditative drifty krautpsych territory, but within a few minutes the band have exploded again, with wild endless leads, lumbering motorik grooves, total drugged out heavy psych bliss of the highest order.
And so it goes, the band never letting up, the songs sprawling, slipping from Stooges-y stomp, to Hawkwind like druggy drift, to hazy psychedelic shimmer, to near Monster Magnet like metallic chug, the bass groovy and melodic, those drums pounding fiercely, courtesy of occasional WH skinsman Lee Hinshaw, bassist Ego Sensation even offers up some vocals on one track which gives it a cool sort of True Widow vibe, the band unfurling epic expanses of druggy FX heavy drift woven into more crushing space-metal riffery, finally finishing off with a killer version of the title track from their most recent full length "Hp-1", which if anything takes the original and makes it even more epic and heavy and gloriously spaced out.
Sweet packaging too, full color six panel digipak with some killer psychedelic live shots of the band in action at Roadburn.
We'd been hearing good things about this band for ages. Someone we know was raving about 'em, and they also had the recommendation of Julian Cope... But we were having some difficulty tracking down the band, or a way to get their record for the store. Until an insane bit of coincidence / serendipity. In walked one Dave Weinberg, who a decade earlier had been Andee's boss at Holey Bagel in Noe Valley, across the street from the old aQuarius (back when Andee had time for two jobs). He had copies of a cd by his band, and what do you know? Dave's band just so happened to be White Hills! Wow. Thus we managed to get 30 or so copies of the second pressing of the No Game To Play cd-r (the first pressing is long out of print, as is the alternate version, which was drastically remixed, resequenced and retitled They've Got Blood Like We've Got Blood and released on Cope's Fuck Off And Di cd-r label) and it's just as good as we had hoped. In a word, SPACEROCK. Or if you prefer, two words. Either way, this is some seriously tripped out swirling cosmic proggy, krautrock flecked, keyboard drenched outer outer outer space rock. Think just the jams from all the best Hawkwind songs, or the dreamiest mellowest bits of your favorite Monster Magnet tracks. Mix in some Neu! and some Faust and even some Stereolab at times and you'll just be scratching the surface of White Hills' sound. The opening track is a grungy, lowslung garagey drug addled space rock stomp, think the Stooges dropping acid until they started drifting off and began to sound more like Hawkwind, a killer hypnotic riff, a simple shuffling drum beat, mumbled vocals buried in the mix, and a swirling squall of wigged out guitars and all manner of synthesizer squiggle and swoon. It sounds quite a bit like Circle too, that riff just repeating and repeating, mantra like, a super tranced out rock that you want to go on forever. The centerpiece of the record is definitely "They've Got Blood Like We've Got Blood", a near static synth swirl over a shuffling tribal rhythm, while guitars just sort of drift and float lazily amidst the whir and drone. Sounds a little bit like Brian Eno jamming with Crash Worship while somebody goes apeshit in the background on the synths. A gloriously mesmerizing hypnorock. Then a brief blast of straight up blown out, super distorted Neu! worship before the drifting ambient closer "Ulan", an abstract synthesizer soundscape that sounds like some lost Tangerine Dream jam. Blissy and totally dreamlike.
This is supposedly the final pressing, limited to 222 copies.
Recently, through several friends of aQ, we've been introduced to a bunch of really cool indie rock from China, Boyz & Girl (reviewed elsewhere on this week's list), Pairs, Snapline, Mr. Graceless, Carsick Cars, Duck Fight Goose, but the one that really grabbed us the most was this one right here, the oddly monikered White+, which is in fact not really indie rock at all, but is in fact an experimental offshoot of the Chinese indie rock group Carsick Cars. This duo describe themselves as being a "hardware electronica band", although the friend who turned us on to these guys, described them as sounding like Neu! crossed with Yellow Magic Orchestra, which thankfully is pretty dang accurate. Utilizing a set up of customized keyboards, pedals, samplers, loops and live drums (and the occasional bit of spare ethereal vocals), White+ lay down some droned out, super mesmerizing, darkly motorik krautrock influenced electronic hypnorock, that sounds like a weird hybrid of Circle, the Boredoms and Fabulous Diamonds, or something like that, just check out the opening track here. A cascade of skittering programmed beats, looped and layered, chopped and collaged voices, live tribal drums, swirling electronics, dizzying FX, the sounds warped and constantly shifting speed, the vocals processed into strange streaks of psychedelic melody, the various other loops slipping from crunchy chug, to spaced out shimmer, the whole track churning and propulsive and utterly hypnotic. The second track is where the Neu! first pops up and shines through big time, the band locked into a serious psych-kraut groove, a sound that positions these guys squarely in the current movement of kraut-psych space rock revisionists, but their sound is definitely more electronic, and much more beholden to classic krautrock, albeit here wreathed in psychedelic effects and layered with warm washes of keyboard melody, not to mention clouds of swirling FX.
And here's where we'd usually say something like "and that's how it goes from there on out", but these guys aren't so simple to peg. The next track takes seriously driving drums, and adds some electronic bagpipe sounding synths, the result some twisted Amps For Christ / Maserati hybrid, with brief bursts of twisted FX heavy warpage, where the sound slips into near Aphex Twin territory.
From there on out, all bets are off, bloopy and bleepy, skittery and playful one moment, all lilting melodies, and hazy dreamlike kraut-age shimmer, brooding buzz drifting atop wild dense drum damage the next, all supporting soaring echo drenched vocals, the vibe ritualistic and trance-like, definitely a sound that fits perfectly alongside modern day Boredoms. The live drums are really what make the band, even the most ethereal sprawl of soft focus electronic ambience, takes on a whole new vibe when anchored by some pounding rhythms, and the mix of programmed beats and real drums makes for a heady rhythmic concoction, with the surrounding sounds just as compelling, equal parts melodic pulsation, kosmische cascade, and tripped out sonic swirl, some tracks sounding like a full on, heavy as hell hypnorock band, others like ultra abstract avant kraut experiments, the vocals transforming some of the tracks into near popsongs, but more often than not, the vocals splinter and are transformed into something more textural or rhythmic, the song following suit, taking that pop element and wedding it to something much more abstract and psychedelic.
A unanimous new aQ favorite, and literally every time we play this in the store, we sell a copy! We have a whole bunch, but when we sell out, we'll have to get more from China, so might take a couple weeks. Needless to say, grab one NOW! Super deluxe packaging too, sweet design, massive booklet, obi, etc.
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We first discovered French electro-grind-metal-psych-whatthefuck duo Whourkr a year or two back when we got their debut record, Naat, which totally blew us away, it sounded like a malfunctioning metal record and a freaked out techno record, all scrambled up together, tangled up and spit out, a skittering, skipping, looped, grinding chunk of electronic metal weirdness. The vocals would howl, but then get processed and looped and would become something else altogether, the drums and guitars were so gnarled and stretched and twisted up, that the band could explode into flurries of rapidfire mathematical grind, way faster and more complex and convoluted than any human could possible play. It was a total headfuck. Like the fastest freakiest grind, made even faster and freakier, but with a little techno thrown in for good measure. Remember the Drum>MachineGun compilation, of insane drum machine driven grind? Whourkr makes that stuff sound so so tame in comparison.
We tried and tried to track down copies for the store, but never had any luck, and then we heard that Crucial Blast would be releasing the NEW Whourkr, so we waited and waited, and now it's finally here, and it's totally different than the first one (or at least how we remember the first one), way poppier and more melodic, like the band are now actually composing songs instead of throwing all the sounds in a blender to see what comes out (not that we don't dig that too!), it's way poppier, catchier, but still totally and utterly freaked out and glitchy and fucked up beyond belief.
Chugging guitars and shrieked vox are chopped and spliced into a hyperspeed deathmetal Melt Banana, all the sounds constantly shifting, the tempo changing, the rhythms colliding and hiccuping, occasionally coalescing into full on grooves, other times splintering into bursts of electronic freakouts, and there are serious hooks happening too, it doesn't seem possible that music like this could be listenable, let alone catchy, but it is. Big time. We'll be the first to admit, that the other Whourkr record was difficult listening, brutal and to many ears annoying, and yeah, the same might be said for Concrete as well, but the band are so much better now, in terms of composition and songwriting, that once you're immersed in their fucked up and freaked out soundworld, it becomes surprisingly easy to acclimate to the rapidly and constantly shifting sounds and rhythms, in order to enjoy the songs themselves. Plus the vocals seem to play a much larger role, not just howls and shrieks, there are plenty of clean vox, soaring almost operatic, low AND high, wrapped around frenzied riffing, wound up into spiralling psychedelic freakouts, or like the instruments, chopped into crazed stutterscapes.
Take the track "Santo", with its deep crooned vox and acoustic guitars, sounding almost like Circle, the electronic effects very subtle at first, before the track lurches into full on doom, the voices and guitars just slightly glitched, eventually giving way to gorgeous delicate piano, only to be obliterated by the next track "Skovsnails", a little burst of drums, and a crazy clipped main riff, it almost sounds like some insane DJ remixing Orthrelm, the song stutters and lurches and hiccups, totally frenetic and relentless. The record dips its toes into all sorts of weird sounds, loping moody electronic downtempo, albeit a little fractured, head spinning hyper grind, shot through with unlikely pop hooks, glitched out death metal, soaring slow building post rocky drama, and more Melt Banana-esque grind pop, but nothing here sounds thrown together, or hodge podge, this is a baffling collection of sounds, but one that is meticulously composed, performed and recorded, and for those in the market for something truly demented, insane, extreme and heavy, not to mention out-there, and pretty much entirely unlike anything you've ever heard before, be next to impossibly to top Whourkr. Definite contender for metal record of the year, even though calling it a metal record is selling it WAY short. Regardless, absolutely recommended.
And, for a limited time (next couple of weeks, until February 2nd 2010), we'll be selling this for a special $2 discount off the regular price, which would normally be $13.98.
Right now I can almost hear the groans of the 60% of AQL readers that will think we are absolutely nuts in our enthusiasm for this recording. "First they try to convince me to buy a cd of some damn elephants banging on trash can lids and blowing on harmonicas
Gosh there's a lot to say about this record.
[1] THE MUSIC: The sonic trajectory Wilco seemed to be on with their last album, Summerteeth, led us to believe the new one would be even more perfect pop-like. But they've gone and thrown us a curve ball. That's right, this is Wilco's weird experimental record. OK, it isn't *that* weird; and if you're an AQ customer then you have far more experimental records in your collection, but it *is* unusual for Wilco. Like a mix between the doleful Giant Sand and the fanciful Latin Playboys (Los Lobos' weird experimental side project), this new Wilco record doesn't have half as many hooks as previous efforts. While it certainly has the tried and true strummed acoustic guitars, lyrical piano, sad fiddles, and alterna-country tone that the group is famous for, they make you wait and wait and wait for the hooks and the melodies, or else they bury 'em in a scattered, cathartic wash of melancholy. Jeff Tweedy, leader of the band and one half of the late great Uncle Tupelo, is a-wanderin' and a-thinkin' out loud and he's a-lettin' the songs write themselves, so they meander a bit, but it's ever so heartfelt. If you can handle the assorted odd sonic elements that pop up all over -- wooden bonks 'n clonks, piano plinks, toys, static and scrapings, feedback, stereo separation novelties, strange rumblings that threaten to overtake the music, etc -- then you'll like this record. (Rumor has it several members of Wilco *couldn't* handle the weirdness, and quit the band.) And even though the ubiquitous Jim O'Rourke mixed the album and you'd think he brought in all random noises, actually the band claims the record was way more weird *before* O'Rourke worked on it. Huh.
[2] THE EXTRAS: Comes with stuff you can play on your computer: a video for one of the songs, plus links to the trailer for the upcoming doc being made about 'em, plus special access to a hidden webpage that's only for folks who've bought the album.
[3] THE SAGA: Wilco's shortsighted major label Reprise decides that sales of 162,000 copies of Wilco's last album isn't enough, and they don't like the new album, so they want the band off the label. Wilco buys back the masters for less than it cost to record them, and sign with Nonesuch (who btw also signed Magnetic Fields). In a nice example of corporate stupidity, Nonesuch and Reprise are owned by the same corporation, so in effect AOL Time Warner paid for the album twice. Ha. Before they signed with Nonesuch, Wilco made this new album downloadable from their website, and thus it even showed up, without ever having been officially released, on a few rockcrits' top ten lists from 2001. Ironically enough, now that the album's saga has been latched onto by the NY Times and NPR, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot will sell more copies than all of Wilco's previous albums, and someone at Reprise will get fired.
[4] CONET PROJECT ALERT: Hey all you fellow Conet lovers! Didja notice the title of this record? Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Yankee... Hotel... Foxtrot... Yes folks, this record was named after a track on the infamous Conet Project, the 4cd set that collects mysterious shortwave numbers station broadcasts. (We're kind of proud to have sold more copies of this than any other store -- 387 and counting!) And yep, there's a Conet Project sample buried near the end of the record. It's uncredited, which is kind of lame -- I mean if Wilco are such ardent fans of the Conet Project, wouldn't they want to turn other people onto it? Nor did we find Conet credit given on Boards of Canada's Geodaddi, for that matter, but the makers of Vanilla Sky did!
Warped druggy psychedelic metallic noise rock trio Wildildlife, who just so happen to features a former aQuarian amongst their ranks, always had a bit of pop in their sound, even at their most tripped out and damaged, when they were channeling Butthole Surfers and Gaye Bykers On Acid and God Bullies and Lubricated goat, their wild rhythmic blowouts were always laced with primo hooks and loads of melody, and it was that subtle poppy undercurrent, that kept them from being just another noisy rock band. But the thing was, before now, it seemed that it was mostly about the heaviness, and they were indeed heavy, sidling up alongside outfits like Harvey Milk, spitting out churning elephantine riffage and skull caving flurries of drum damage, if we had our way, we wouldn't have changed anything about Wildildlife. That is until we heard this.
It's like they're a whole different band. Not sure if it's a natural progression or if it's the influence of their new producer, Jennifer Herema of Royal Trux, but the new sound is downright GLAMMY, swaggery, and power poppy, the vocals, which used to be distorted and sped up and processed into strange chipmunk squeals, is now actual and proper singing, and as if to drive that whole glam thing home, there's sax now, and we generally HATE sax, but this is like Stooges / Hanoi Rocks sax, which means it rules, and it somehow just makes things sound even cooler.
The opening track might just be our new favorite jam, right out of the gate, it's total soaring fuzzy pop, chiming guitar melodies, warm synth swells, and then when the main riff kicks in, we're in classic Kiss territory, suddenly the picture on the back of the lp, that has the band all in white, the lens all vaselined, looking like seventies rockers Angel, makes WAY more sense. And actually, after more listens, it sounds less like Kiss, and more like Redd Kross cover Kiss, which is even better, slithery and swaggery an snotty and hooky but still heavy, but so glammy, right down to the little sexy exhalation of breath in the super short break. And somehow it seems appropriately self defeating that their catchiest and most accessible song is titled "Fuck That".
The follow up "I Want You Out" even furthers the whole Redd Kross / Kiss thing, but we're talking old Redd Kross, circa Teen Babes From Monsanto, when they were still heavy and a little dark, and way drugged out and psychedelic, "I Want You Out" is all big tribal drumming, downtuned riffs, even some handclaps, and more of those new vocals, and lots of bleating/skronking sax, that once the song gets going sounds like a glam metal version of Fleetwood Mac's "Tusk". Not sure what the hell happened, but we most definitely want some of what they're having.
And the rest of the record unfurls in a similar fashion, classic rock riffs, are all wound up in a glittery haze, hooks are doused in fuzz and buzz and sent spinning into the space rock ether, but the band continue to mix it up, to confuse and confound. "Sometimes" is a folk ballad, dubbed out and drenched in low end synth buzz, acoustic guitars wrapped in reverb, the result a sort of apocalyptic doom folk, glitter style, only to lurch right into "Give In To Live", another Kiss/Thin Lizzy style glamrock groover, but here underpinned by some serious double kick drumming. "Stormbringer" (possibly a Deep Purple cover?) is an epic slow build of distorted vocals, gurgling synths, big drums, but instead of launching into full on glammed out noise rock mode, they lay back, and groove out, a sort of old school Hawkwind style space rock brooder that KILLS, and should have gone on for another 6 minutes. "Shiv" is a low slung, super distorted fuzz heavy churning creep, laced with glammy filigree, and finally, "Permanent Vacation" is the ultimate send off, you can almost imagine these guys on a huge stage, lit from behind with blinding showers of pyro, the drummer standing on his seat, winding up the crowd to clap along, the vocals gnarled and twisted, the guitars chiming and soaring, but instead of launching into the song proper, these guys stretch it out, adding weird rhythmic shifts, bits of mathy weirdness, all the while building and building, totally epic and majestic, before all the sounds are stripped away, leaving a weird warped melody, and some twisted drum machine skitter.
Remember about 1000 words ago we said something about never wanting these guys to change? What the hell were we thinking, sure we might miss the sheer heaviness and drugged out crush of the old Wildildlife, but it seems like a more than fair trade for the new, glammed out, super catchy, weirdo noisepop Wildildlife. Fuck yeah.
While they last, we have the super limited version on AMAZING colored vinyl, they are mostly clear, with weird spurts of color in the middle, mine looks like a bloody egg or something, and all the lps include a download coupon for a digital copy of the record as well!
The awesomely titled Might Of The Planet Eater is the latest from mysterious Finnish one man band Will Over Matter, which just so happens to be the work of a fella by the name of Harald Mentor, who you might know better as the maniac behind avant outsider not-quite-black-metal weirdos Ride For Revenge. So if the low end rhythmic weirdness that is Ride For Revenge is one step removed from black metal, imagine Will Over Matter as about 5 or 6 steps past that. Not black metal at all, but more like some sort of outsider electronica.
Our obsession with Ride For Revenge stems from the fact that over the course of their career, their sound has changed to the point where they are now totally subverting and transforming the idea of black metal into something much more primal and rhythmic, forgoing the buzz and blast and replacing those obvious BM tropes with looped mesmer and tribal pound, stripping the sound down to its essence, and then slowing it down as well, sounding more to us like Aluk Todolo than Beherit. Although the mention of Beherit, another Finnish black metal institution seems particularly apt here, in that Beherit are infamous for their non-black metal output, their experimental electronics, which is precisely what Will Over Matter is. If Ride For Revenge is Mentor's twisted take on black metal, well then Will Over Matter is his skewed attempt at power electronics, or industrial music, channeling the spirit of Throbbing Gristle, SPK, Whitehouse, and all the rest, but filtered through some sort of cracked and damaged blackened Finnish lens.
Will Over Matter combines the stripped down rhythmic minimalism of Ride For Revenge with experimental industrialism, melding lumbering beats to fields of spaced out static, wrapping sheets of Merzbowian noise around shuffling low end thrum and machinelike beats, adding distorted alien vox to squalls of glitched out electronics, or winding multiple streams of electronic information into strangely twisted sonic barrages.
The opening track here is a bizarre soundscape of chittery electronics, of twisted feedback and growled super distorted vocals, pelted by grinding crunch and skittering squelches, a strange array of bleeps and bloops, and buried within, a sort of almost rhythmic bit of ever shifting static, which leads directly into the next track, a droned out stretch of pulsing electronic shimmer, which manages to sound spaced out and sinister at the same time, the tone and timbre switching constantly creating, again, it's own sort of psychedelic rhythm. It's not until "Read The Signs", track number three, that the various elements coalesce into what is really the core of WoM's sound, another fluctuating field of static, of strange space-y electronics, bits of glitch and hiss, but wound around a lumbering, skeletal beat, some sort of alien krautrock, before switching gears, and becoming a weirdly propulsive throbbing electronica, but with elements of kraut/post/space rock, at it's most propulsive sounding a bit like Bastard Noise offshoot and former Record Of The Week-ers Geronimo, and at its least, like nothing you've ever heard before. The track offers up strange electronic squiggles, sinister high end buzz, all in the surface of trailing behind that motorik beat, which itself is in constant flux, cymbals popping out of the mix, processed and all dubby, while the various electronics get more and more tangled and frantic.
Then there's the sprawling 24 minute "Stone Cold Heart", a super spare and abstract stretch of blackened rhythms, and distant buzz and shimmer, that buzz, growing ever more insistent, the vocals here not so distorted, more ominous and intense, intoning some sort of ritual, over what almost sounds like a black metal Pole, minus the barrage of wildly buzzing synths, and primitive analog electronic tones.
One of our favorite tracks is the gorgeously droned out and hypnotic "Forever Nameless" that seems to inadvertently channel John Carpenter and Goblin, into something much more dark and sinister, a totally mesmerizing rhythm, wound up in a thick, corrosive buzzing low end melody, while way off in the distance, a Burzum like synth melody plays out, again reminding us of a less noisy Aluk Todolo, totally hypnotic, the vocals here are almost sung, wrapped in a weird warped distortion, the end result like some sort of doomy drone pop slowcore or something.
Throughout the remainder of these two discs, WoM stretch out strangely stiff rhythms, or pull apart robotic electro beats into weirdly metallic anti-grooves, which unwind lazily beneath hazy streaks of static, creating a series of tarpit crawls, often swallowed whole by heaving walls of electronic sound, that seem to emulate the sheer crumbling power of SUNNO))-like doomdronedirge, but are more often left to pulse, and pound, and throb, a strange alien death march, as the label describes these rituals, each ritual an "epic journey through inner knowledge, lunar madness and cosmic superpowers of satanic possession", the twisted bastard child of some dark forest, outer space ritualized mating of industrial music, black metal, power electronics and krautrock, brilliantly baffling and maddeningly mesmerizing, by now, it should be easy for you to tell if this is your cup of seriously spiked tea or not, and for most of you, we imagine it must be. Fans of Ride For Revenge, Aluk Todolo, Geronimo, Mammal, Bastard Noise, This Heat, spaced out ritualistic blackened electronics and fucked up Finnish weirdness, this one's for you...
Back in 2011, we made Might Of The Planet Eater, the debut from weirdo minimal blackened power electronic one man band Will Over Matter our Record Of The Week. We initially discovered WOM via the fact that the 'one man' behind that one man band, was none other than Harald Mentor, mastermind of aQ beloved Finnish rhythmic black metal minimalists Ride For Revenge, who for some crazy reason, we just realized, have never nabbed Record Of The Week honors, cuz in retrospect, any/all of their previous records were more than deserving.
As we mentioned in our reviews of the other Will Over Matter records, if you thought Ride For Revenge were weird, then prepare theyself to be blown away, baffled, confused, frustrated, thrilled, unnerved, disturbed, most likely all of the above. Will Over Matter takes the dense rhythmic churn, already sort of spaced out and abstract, and replaces the bass and drums and traditional instruments, with what sounds like a battery of cobbled together electronics, home made machines and invented instruments, it's tough not to envision Mentor as some sort of mad scientist, in his murky musical laboratory, surrounded by walls of primitive electronics, old computers, blinking lights, blown speakers, a room full of towering obelisks of obsolete technology, harnessed into something otherworldly, and improbably next level. The sounds these machines emit glitchy and gristly, jagged and hiss-drenched, in some ways the template for WOM is the same as it was for Ride For Revenge, the 'band' locked into simple, lurching, lumbering motorik grooves, the 'beat' wrapped in dense sonic swirls, thick fields of static, everything glitched out and in-the-red. A head spinning sprawl of blackened kraut-noise synth-drone power-electronic minimalism, that RULES. Which brings us to the latest missive from Mentor, which is another psychedelic minimal electro-noise WTF doozy, the vocals kept to a minimum this time, the three lengthy tracks, spaced out and droney, slow shifting layers, constantly morphing textures, pulsing and pulsating, the sounds raw and gristly, the tracks maniacally repetitive and cyclical, in a way that to our ears is total tranced out bliss, but to less adventurous ears, might be just the opposite. The lack of 'song' and 'structure', not that there was that much of either on past WoM release, but even less so here, is precisely what makes Phenomenal Highways a whole different beast, at times, it's like past WoM records stripped down to their very skeletal essence, the opening track some sort of primitive kosmische ritual, a single synth locked and looped into a seemingly endless cycle of simple pulses, weirdly warbly and super distorted, a heartbeat like pulse wreathed in filthy, crusty synth squelch, that squirms and oozes, occasionally shaped into actual melodies, but more often than not droning and buzzing hypnotically, the final few minutes, finds the sounds transformed into weird lazer blast like blurts before suddenly blinking out.
The second track is even MORE minimal, a super spare soundscape that sounds like some mysteriously manipulated alien field recording, something you might here on Editions Mego, a field of crumpled low end crackle, muted and murky, peppered with little bits of percussion, the sound a weird bit of grinding muddy noise, it's not until 7 minutes in that the sound splinters, the background smoothing out into a whirring distorted drone, while Mentor delivers some demonic sermon over the top, his voice processed and doused in distortion, before the track explodes into a field of grinding electronics, tangled melodies, swirling tones, a robotic psych-noise freakout that manages to be more listenable than it has any right to be, a head spinning psychedelic churn that blossom into a final super blown out speaker shredding blowout, before oozing into the final track, a weird shuffling sprawl of rib cage rattling low end, dense subsonic tones delivered through what sounds like slow motion helicopter rotor wash, weirdly rhythmic and mesmeric, this minimal ooze and creep soon joined by strange curlicues of melody, the deep tone gathering all sorts of acoustic crunch as it goes, and once again, about seven minutes in, a super distorted blast of fractured blown out melody surfaces, giving the whole thing a seriously psychedelic vibe, those tones totally overtaking the rest of the sound, before fading out, and returning us to the slow-swell pulsations of the first half, only to fade out into a crackly sprawl of sculpted feedback, wreathed in hiss and hum, the sound smoldering and sinister, draped over a buried barely there rhythm, some echo drenched vocals in there too, everything sort of washed out and blurry, drifting beneath sheets of feedback and fields of staticky hum, all culminating in a final freaked out psych-noise squall, that does little to disguise the haunting melodic beauty that lurks within.
As always, amazing, bizarre and bafflingly brilliant, a dizzyingly abstract, twisted industrial psychedelic drone-noise masterpiece. That is of course also extremely limited...
A while back we reviewed a super limited tape of ultra obscure early nineties proto-trip-hop from a woman named Leslie Winer, who recorded much of her music under the mysterious symbol/moniker ©, and who was in fact a former model, a pal of William Burroughs and Jean-Michael Basquiat, not to mention a sometime guest vocalist on records by groups like Bomb The Bass. Apparently Winer ditched modeling, and soon dropped off the map, but not before making a record called Witch, considered to be an essential early chunk of skittery, hazy, woozy, trip hop style electronica, well before there really WAS trip hop. The record featured Jah Wobble among others, and was/is a gorgeous chunk of druggy, dubbed out minimal electronic murk that most obviously referenced Tricky, Massive Attack, even Portishead, but predated all of them (with much of Witch having been recorded in the eighties).
On this new cd collection, on the newly launched Wormhole imprint (and offshoot of the kick ass Tapeworm label that put out the Winer tape we first heard), that tape is expanded to include even more mysterious sounds from Winer's mostly unheard back catalogue, a sprawling selection of tracks recorded throughout the eighties and nineties, including several collaborations with Vincent Gallo which appear here for the first time. Long sprawling horn flecked dubscapes, rife with barebones rhythms, tripped out FX, warm muted chordal swirls, plenty of downtempo weirdness and creepy crawly late night shimmer. A dark skeletal avant dub, softly roiling morass of blurred sonics that underpin Winer's strange vocals, hushed and whispered, a sort of slow motion toasting, spoken one second, crooned seductively the next, occasionally multitracked into dreamy harmonies, but just as often slipping into something far more sinister. The tracks expanding into billowing clouds of thrum and whir, anchored by loping rubbery basslines, and wreathed in slowed down samples, fragments of reggae guitar, disembodied horns, all woozy and warbly, everything wrapped in a gauzy haze of record crackle, tape hiss, smeared psychedelic ambience.
Here and there the drums are cranked up into something more block rocking, but even then Winer transforms it into something more murky and surreal, the bass gets super distorted and fuzzed out (some dubstep foreshadowing for sure), everything wrapped around effected acoustic guitars, sampled, layered, recontextualized vox, Winer's vocals slipping easily into lower registers, and sounding a lot like Tricky, due in no small part to the rhythmic murk they're wrapped in, and throughout, strange little flurries of percussive filigree, all of these swirling abstract elements woven into a mesmerizing sprawl of shuffling tripped out, psychedelic downtempo moody muddy groove, that should definitely appeal to fans of witch house, as well as the warped fringes of modern downtempo electronica (Burial, Holy Other, Balam Acab, James Blake, How To Dress Well, etc.).
Super swank packaging to boot, an oversized A5 glossy cardstock insert, liner notes on one side, art on the other, as well as a fold out poster, everything printed in metallic silver ink, and all in a thick PVC sleeve.
Why it has taken so long for this to be reissued is baffling, but we're just so glad it's finally here. We have raved about Leslie Winer's musical work on two previous archival releases from Tapeworm and its offshoot label Wormhole, but those really only hinted at the genius of Witch, her only previously released record, from 1993 (though much of it was recorded in the late eighties). Records don't get more cult than this. Released on a white label, using the copyright symbol as her moniker, here designed as a circle of Ourobouros that was originally hand stamped onto blank white sleeves. Even the album and song titles with their alphanumerical wordplay ("N1ear", "1nce Upon A Time") would fit right at home with the obscurant syntax of witch house, even though this was recorded nearly 20 years before. Witch has been labeled as "proto-trip-hop", which it sort of is, as this record predates what Massive Attack, Portishead and Tricky were doing just a year or two later, and even Winer herself has been called by NME "The Grandmother of Trip Hop", a label she has rejected and rightly so. "Grandmother" doesn't have the same aura of respect as what the music press names male musical innovators such as "Godfather" or "King", and Winer, a poet and formal model with a chic androgynous style who was close friends with both William S. Burroughs and Jean-Michel Basquiat is hardly a little old lady.
Witch is both a product of its time and far ahead of it. On the surface, it's not that far removed from Sinead O'Connor, especially her song "I Am Stretched On Your Grave" with its James Brown drum sample and spoken intonations, but Witch is much darker, cooler and more subdued. It has a very London feel to it, a feeling of frustrated action against cultural stagnation and trying to create something new out of nearly nothing. Winer doesn't necessarily sing as much as observe and respond with cool detachment, a sort of soundtrack of her experiences relayed poetically to an unknown listener as beats, dub rhythms (from Jah Wobble no less), and musical samples and snippets of dialogue coalesce around her. It's a heady mixture, definitely dreamy and druggy, but she refreshingly doesn't try to endear the listener to her own personal entanglements and positions on gender, beauty and social norms. It's more like she's having a searching complicated conversation with herself.
Musically, what Witch really predates is the contemporary woozy and warped electronica of Peaking Lights and Maria Minerva, especially in the layering of breezy dub rhythms in hazy reverb and abstract murk. It's a beautifully extraordinary work that continually rewards the more we listen. Big thanks to Superior Viaduct for making this more widely available. Incredible and soooo recommended!
Aquarius favorite Wobbly's first release for Kid 606's Tigerbeat6 label and it's possibly his best yet! Taking source material solely from S.F. Bay Area radio broadcasts, Wild Why is the end result of over two years worth of work which began originally as a live set before being slowly and painstakenly honed and sharpened into a carefully rendered studio project. Those who were fortunate enough to catch Wobbly's instore here early this year got a sneak peak at some of the insane plunderphuckery already. Given the nature of the source material (Destiny's Child, Eminem, y'know the type), and the artist's intention that they remain completely recognizable it's logical to expect that this would be a party pleasing mix a la the Kid's "Action Packed Mentallist...", but such a conclusion would be wrong. Wild Why is like a condensed and expanded homage to John Oswald's seminal "Black" or "Brown". Wobbly twists and turns the cliched utterances of contemporary hip hop in upon themselves rendering even the most macho posturing utterly slapstick. And if that's not enough to show Wobbly's dedication to the art of plunderphonics, then one needs only to open up the accompanying booklet to reveal a transcript of the entire vocal contents of the CD. Take and excerpt of track #18 for instance: "come buy, yo play radishes part (bola bo) judgement day (uh huh) I, I, I, I, quit. hey yo, me. Now now, now, now, lust two two three, back, you know what I'm sayin', we about to give you need y'all, jack d with the key, bounce, die peeps..." etc. So you can even read along with the disc. We asked Jon how long it took him to transcribe all this, but he merely chuckled, sighed and changed the subject. Highly recommended!
Seems kind of foolish to continue to proclaim different black metal bands the "weirdest ever" or "the most fucked up we've ever heard". We're quite tempted to take that route again with this bizarre Canadian horde, but the truth is, they were barely black metal to begin with, more a sort of Jeckish, Basinskian ambient blackness that bordered on the downright dreamy. Well, if anything the band has moved even further away from traditional black metal and into a distinctly, more damaged and significantly noisier world of sound.
Fortress Crookedjaw, Obey and Opex, the trio who make up this ensemble, have taken the strange scratched, looped sepia toned smear of their first record, and torn it apart, doused it in white hot sheets of crumbling guitar and damaged feedback, offering up an even more obscured black metal, a metal turned inside out so we can see the squirming guts inside, malfunctioning electronics everywhere, coating every single riff, every growled lyric, every snatch of barely audible drums, in a crackling sparking field of sonic solar flares. Like listening to Jeck's Surf on a busted car radio, where it's mostly static, but you can -almost- hear bits of melody in there somewhere. Or more accurately, listening to some old skipping 78's on Masami Akita's custom sound system, while Malefic from Xasthur sings along.
Some tracks are almost pure noise, the riffs and drums and anything else discernible as actual music, buried beneath an avalanche of Merzbowian skree, usually the vocals hovering atop, like another harsh jagged layer of sound. But occasionally, the noise abates, and we get a glimpse of some melancholy melodic murk inside, or a brief blast of black riffing, but more often than not, those bits are quickly subsumed and the record becomes a roiling chaotic black swirl once more.
A few tracks, like "The Field Hag", harken back to the first record, with the noise reeled in, and a haunting muddy soundscape allowed to drift and shimmer ghostlike, beneath a thick layer of fuzz and grit and a glass gargling demonic screech, and theoretically, every track on Screech Owl is like that, just some are more obscured and obfuscated than others. Tracks like "Windmill" and "A Sword Becomes Red With Fury" are so distorted and blown out, that they become Pan Sonic style glitch and buzz scapes, pulsing short circuited rhythms, spare and skeletal, with almost no trace of melody, metal or otherwise. Like that busted car radio when you go through a tunnel, all distorted and choppy with only little bits and snippets able to surface through the distortion and static.
Screech Owl weaves chaotically from blown out dreamscapes doused in furious fuzz, to crumbling damaged black loopscapes, to Whitehouse style noise, to soft focus looped ambience to ultra lo-fi black metal buzz, often in the same song. Distortion, noise, processed feedback, every track a delicate balance between huge pulsing flows of fuzzed out electronics, buzzing black metal madness and dreamy fuzzy drone and whir. Baffling and fucking brilliant!
By now, Wolves in the Throne Room have established themselves as one of America's most gifted and awesomely dependable black metal bands, and their third long player, Black Cascade, picks up right where their recent Malevolent Grain ep left off. All the elements of their expansive, blackened psychedelic approach are here: sprawling songs with a methodical attention to song structure, relentless drumming, perfectly interlocking dual guitars, tortured raspy vocals, and an ability to seamlessly merge synthy ambience with a furious but often very melancholy black metal onslaught. There seems to be a legion of haters out there, ready to label the band as a bunch of PC hippies who aren't adhering to whatever rules they assume apply to a style of music that is pretty nihilistic and iconoclastic by nature. But fuck those people. This band is great and truly deserves whatever accolades come its way.
The ever-present density of WITTR's sound is further heightened on Black Cascade, their bio proudly emphasizing the old school analog sound they have achieved through vintage recording gear and classic tube amps. While we don't want to ramble on about various pieces of musical equipment, it should be noted that these devices have certainly helped the band to capture a sound music nerds might refer to as "organic". Sure, we at aQuarius love all the homemade bedroom black metal that sounds as if it was recorded in a blender during a tornado... The sound on Black Cascade, however, is clear and upfront, though hardly refined or polished. It is quite rock n' roll in a classic sense, which works great when the band breaks out some Thin Lizzy-esque guitar harmonies on the first track "Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog". Mossy, ultra distorted guitars hang like a thick black cloud (or a sea of fog, if you will) in the atmosphere as the drums create the necessary propulsion that make a Wolves in the Throne Room song sound like it could, and should, carry on FOREVER. Song #2, "Ahrimanic Trance" is, true to its title, a hypnotic, trancelike black metal trip into some long forgotten wilderness. The song gives one a feeling of being transported at high speeds across the landscape while watching from the back of some primitive vehicle, a sense that is carried on in the next track, "Ex Cathedra". The final song, "Crystal Ammunition", starts life as a dizzying, hyperspeed slab of pure black metal before morphing into a beautiful lament that may (or may not) reference the melody from Malevolent Grain's "A Looming Resonance". It's seems like things will culminate in the ultimate fadeout. But, uh, what happens after the fade out? As everything gallops off into the distance, otherworldly guitar chords and tambourine are the only sounds evident. Eventually these too recede as they are overtaken by a phased out synthscape. Fucking awesome.
While this album was great from the moment we first put it on, repeated listens have been revealing more and more. To say this is a huge departure from what Wolves in the Throne Room have accomplished in the past would be inaccurate. It is, instead, the sound of a group who, with each record, becomes a more realized version of itself.
Olympia, Washington's black metal titans Wolves In The Throne Room follow up their acclaimed Two Hunters album with this lengthy two song vinyl only ep, the first to feature their new lineup, and the band's most focused and hypnotic creation to date. The formula has not changed, it's just sounding, well, better than ever before. More insular. While Wolves in the Throne Room has always possessed a talent for wrapping majestic melodies within relentless black metal riffing, Malevolent Grain most successfully blurs the distinction between blissed out beauty and brutality. The band is shrouded in an ever present haze of melancholy and despair that is just so much more genuine and effective than guys prancing around in corpse paint like some sort of old school black metal tribute act. They speak as a unique voice in an international scene where so many bands are preoccupied with their bullshit fairy tale take on satanism. All the while, they are heavy as fuck. A Wolves In The Throne Room song plays out as an expansive journey of multiple chapters before fading away into eternity. There is tons of ambience and atmosphere along the way, complete with gorgeous, clearly sung female vocals (courtesy once again of Jamie Meyers, formerly of Hammers of Misfortune), somber melodies, and warm waves of creeping distortion, but ultimately this is total BLACK METAL. Yes, all caps. "METAL" being the key word, the band never falls short on the blazing riffs, unstoppable drumming, and rasping vocals that they built their name on.
In keeping with Southern Lord's reputation for visual, as well as musical, awesomeness, Malevolent Grain comes housed in an appropriately hallucinatory jacket featuring blurry images of lush forest untouched by humanity and the band's new candelabra-esque logo embossed in stunning gold foil. Those who act quickly may be of the lucky few (er, lucky thousand, apparently) to receive the ep on cool "Dark Forest Green" vinyl. Oh, and a quick note, this record is to be played at 45 rpm. Considering how much we were digging it at the wrong speed for over six minutes, you know this comes to you highly recommended.
Previously known as Pussygutt, this male/female duo from Idaho continue to craft grimly powerful blackened folk flecked dronescapes that defy easy categorization. The name Pussygutt probably put off plenty of people, and while Wolvserpent perhaps better captures the group's ominous tone and black metal leanings, it still leaves much about the music, and its makers, quite mysterious.
Two sidelong sprawls, the first a haunting bit of dirgey folk, laid over lush shimmery drones, a gorgeous funeral lament, that only hints at the abject brutality these two are capable of, instead, simply invoking a darkly melancholic mood, eventually guitars drift in, plucking out simple sad melodies, while the strings continue to swirl and soar, gorgeously tense and intense, cinematic and soundtracky. It's not until nearly the nine minute mark that the drums come in, as do the electric guitars, laying down a sort of skeletal doom framework, a different kind of downtuned slowbuild creep, pounding drums, muted riffage, the strings and Sunroof!-like drones growing in intensity, a super intense bit of droney tribal drift, but with an odd start stop arrangement, peppering the lush droning plod with little bits of more traditionally metallic riffage. Eventually some shrieked vocals swoop in, and the song stretches out into a strangley psychedelic epic, a bastardized mix of Godspeed like post rock, avant ur-drone drift, funeral doom, and glacial black metal buzz, all muted and blurred as if mixed by Tim Hecker.
The flipside takes up right where the first side left off, long layered high end tones, a lush undulating upper register dronescape, haunting and hypnotically shimmery, before finally lurching into some seriously metallic crunch, a lumbering doomy dirge, buzzing riffs, caveman drums, all wrapped in swirling swaths of reverbed vocals and superdistorted streaks of ambient melody, erupting into occasional blasts of uptempo chuggery, but always slipping back into that stuttery creep, and constantly wreathed in a lush otherworldly sonic haze.
Like Pussygutt before, Wolvserpent continue to hone their unclassifiable sound, a melding together of dark hushed folk, minimal drone music, and blackened dooooooom. Their name change probably won't really make 'em much more commercially appealing, but who needs that, when you're ruling the darkened otherworld of psychedelic avant heaviness???
We made Wolvserpent's Blood Seed lp our Record Of The Week on list #358 back in November of last year, Wolvserpent being the group previously known as Pussygutt, a male/female duo from Idaho capable of crafting grimly powerful blackened folk flecked dronescapes that defy easy categorization. And as we mentioned then, the name Pussygutt probably put off plenty of people, thus the shift to Wolvserpent, and while that name definitely better captures the group's ominous tone and black metal leanings, it still leaves much about the music, and its makers, quite mysterious.
Yet for as much as we dug Pussygutt, and love their new Wolvserpent incarnation, we somehow managed to miss completely, the Wolvserpent lp that preceded Blood Seed, a record called Gathering Strengths. Thankfully, the mighty Crucial Blast have stepped in, and combined both Blood Seed AND Gathering Strengths into a handsome double disc compendium, the first disc of which, is the first time on cd for the aforementioned Blood Seed, two epic sprawls, the first a haunting bit of dirgey folk, laid over lush shimmery drones, a gorgeous funeral lament, that only hints at the abject brutality these two are capable of, instead, simply invoking a darkly melancholic mood, eventually guitars drift in, plucking out simple sad melodies, while the strings continue to swirl and soar, gorgeously tense and intense, cinematic and soundtracky. It's not until nearly the nine minute mark that the drums come in, as do the electric guitars, laying down a sort of skeletal doom framework, a different kind of downtuned slowbuild creep, pounding drums, muted riffage, the strings and Sunroof!-like drones growing in intensity, a super intense bit of droney tribal drift, but with an odd start stop arrangement, peppering the lush droning plod with little bits of more traditionally metallic riffage. Eventually some shrieked vocals swoop in, and the song stretches out into a strangley psychedelic epic, a bastardized mix of Godspeed like post rock, avant ur-drone drift, funeral doom, and glacial black metal buzz, all muted and blurred as if mixed by Tim Hecker.
The second 'movement' takes up right where the first left off, long layered high end tones, a lush undulating upper register dronescape, haunting and hypnotically shimmery, before finally lurching into some seriously metallic crunch, a lumbering doomy dirge, buzzing riffs, caveman drums, all wrapped in swirling swaths of reverbed vocals and superdistorted streaks of ambient melody, erupting into occasional blasts of uptempo chuggery, but always slipping back into that stuttery creep, and constantly wreathed in a lush otherworldly sonic haze.
Which brings us to Gathering Strengths, originally released on lp by Olde English Spelling Bee back in 2009, like Blood Seed, a single track split into two epic parts, the first, subtitled "Silence Within", begin with the chirping of crickets, which is soon joined by some haunting distant low end thrum, a dreamlike swell, which is soon joined by a more intense layer of buzzing tones, overlapping woodwinds, rife with mysterious overtones, a creepy harmony, the buzz and shimmer drifting in and out, the minimal drift gradually coalescing into an intense bit of dronemusic, like a blackened Phil Niblock, while off in the distance, barely there percussion surfaces, fragmented slo-mo rhythms, while more and more layers are piled on top, super intense and trancelike, until the woodwinds drift off, leaving a feedback laced stretch of blackdronedrift, softly clattery and corrosive, A wolf Eyes-ian industrial sprawl, that transforms into some hauntingly lovely gypsy like folk, driven by a mournful fiddle melody, the sound swells and smolders, all lilting melodies, and cinematic atmosphere, the vibe like a doom folk Astor Piazolla, that is until a MASSIVE avalanche of washed out downtuned doomcrush rolls in, that gorgeous fiddle now all tangled up in a heaving SUNNO)))-like churn, which manages to be both brutal and blackened, dreamy and so totally lovely. Impossibly pretty heaviness, this whole double disc worth it for that 5 or 6 minute stretch alone.
But there's still the second part, that one subtitled "Spirit Walker", this one starts off in seriously gorgeous drone-folk mode, the band laying down a lush, mesmerizing, hauntingly tense layered drone backdrop, over which the violin keens and cries, accompanied by simple shamanistic drumming, the result a darkly mesmerizing glimpse into some lost forest glade, where some shadowy priest like visages are gathered around dancing black flames, conjuring up spirits from another realm, but like the first track, this one too gradually grows heavier, with the addition of a slow thick dirge-y doomy riff, not super distorted or grumbly, but more softly buzzy, the chords ringing out and fading until they seem to bleed into the sounds around them, only to have the next chord take over, what we said about the last few minutes of the first track, well, we could say it about this whole track, worth the price of admission all on its own, a hazy tranced out chunk of heavy, heady, forest folk drone drift bliss.
Both records are incredible, and work amazingly well together, and like Pussygutt before, Wolvserpent continue to hone their unclassifiable sound, a melding together of dark hushed folk, minimal drone music, and blackened dooooooom. Their name change probably won't really make 'em much more commercially appealing, but who needs that, when you're ruling the darkened otherworld of psychedelic avant heaviness???
We have been wondering for a while now how long it would take for someone to reissue anything from this blithely influential but stubbornly obscurist brotherly duo, Woo, whose homespun DIY take on left-field new age-y electronic pastoral music has gone from largely ignored to rapturously revered over the span of 30 years since their debut. You can hear strains of their influence now in the music of Sun Araw, Ducktails, Nite Jewel, Animal Collective, Balam Acab, Washed Out and Caribou. But Woo's sound is not that easy to pin down, and It's Cozy Inside, the group's second album from 1989 (seven years on from their 1982 debut, Whichever Way You Are Going, You Are Going Wrong), is as ethereal and intangibly beguiling now as it ever was.
Woo can best be described as a mix of Cluster and Durutti Column, two outfits separated by time and geography that delved deeply into the gentler realm of pastoral music while at the same time pushing the sounds to the edge of experimental composition through texture and effects. Add to this the bedroom recording techniques of Cleaners From Venus, the classical exotica of Penguin Cafe Orchestra, the ethereal imaginary soundtracks of Bill Nelson, the wide-eyed romanticism of Virgina Astley's From Gardens Where We Feel Secure, and even the most genteel side of Throbbing Gristle or Chris and Cosey (of course at their most lethargic, far divorced from any heavy industrial sensibility) and we're getting closer to an apt description of the singular sound universe of Woo.
Yet this album is much much weirder then any comparisons we can attribute to it. Newly remastered, it still sounds like it was made for falling asleep to, its subtle textural effects of woozy synthesizers, clarinet and heavily affected acoustic guitar, don't necessarily create fully formed songs, but short serpentine instrumental vignettes that stream from one piece to the next, creating a strange filmic dream world that is difficult to get your head around. Its mutant take on new age and classical forms are hardly meditative kosmiche as much as they are a kind of worried ambient minimalism, the sound gathering in watery pools of texture and mood, breaking off and reforming in surprising ways. Eschewing a big impactful sound, Woo make a genial refusal of high-end sonic dynamics instead finding a softly-treaded yet eccentric path through a dazzling aural river that ebbs and flows in a way that most bands of the time would hardly dare to go. Woo's subtle brilliance may take awhile to unfold, but its rewards are plenty. With many bands mining vintage new age music, it's amazing that Woo's unique sound has rarely, if ever, been truly duplicated. Beautiful, mesmerizing and of course, highly recommended!
We made the 2012 Drag City reissue of Woo's 1989 album It's Cozy Inside, Record of the Week, but upon hearing this recent reissue of the group's 1982 debut, Whichever Way You Are Going, You Are Going Wrong, we knew with even MORE certainty that we had to make it a Record of the Week as well. We have been playing this constantly in the store for weeks, and with each listen becoming more enamored with its blithe mosaic of introspective soundscapes and quiet pop-jazz sensibilities. Reissued by Emotional Rescue a few months ago, we wanted to list this sooner, but the vinyl version had already sold out (it's being repressed, we're told), but we have the cd version while supplies last, so we recommend you act fast.
By the time It's Cozy Inside was released, the eccentric brothers Mark and Clive Ives' highly individualized method of making music using acoustic guitar, bass and clavinet processed through synthesizers to create strange hybrids of jazz and pastoral electronica was largely dialed in. But on their debut, with its compelling title and cover depicting a young child surrounded by the authority figures of religion, politics and academia all pointing in opposing directions and acting as a personal manifesto for forging ahead on one's own unique path, the sound is at once more open ended, searching and strange than the later record. Intermixing buoyant melodic passages with serpentine experimental sonic arrangements and rhythms, Woo sounds like a band made up of way more than just the two brothers. The opener, "Swingtime" is the perfect start. An intricate and bright melody punctuated by drum machine, labyrinthine bass and acoustic guitar, sounding like the crystalline guitar lines of Durutti Column, before suddenly dropping into the hot gurgling percussive ambiance of "Pokhara" with its Middle Eastern guitar sounds, made from sped up dubbed out rhythms. Each track melds into the next like an alien and otherworldly soundtrack, or more aptly, like aliens hearing the early jazz melodies of Django Reinhardt for the first time and trying to emulate that sound using modern technology. The sound is gentle, but never quite relaxing. Nothing stays at rest, but at the same time, nothing is rushed either. Moody and pensive, the layered acoustic guitar work is incredible, as it anchors the tenuous atmospheric backing of electronics and muddled loping rhythms. "Razorblades" channels the Brian Enoish side of David Bowie's Low into a dense and worried jazz deconstruction. The one vocal track, "The Attic" is a dreamy pop masterpiece seemingly transported from Factory Record's Benolux imprint or Les Disques du Crepuscule, two Belgian based labels that focused on the dreamier side of European new wave avant-garde pop in the eighties. Anyone who's a fan of those labels, and bands like Antena, early Thomas Dolby, John Foxx, Bill Nelson and later Tuxedo Moon as well as solo releases by Steve Brown, Benjamn Lew and Peter Principle, will find a kindred spirit in Woo's epic gentleness. We were playing this one day when ex-Yellow Swan Pete Swanson paid us a visit and he asked us what was playing. He had been told by many friends that he should definitely look into Woo, but listening to the track playing, he couldn't really understand why. But Woo is not a band you can just check out a track and get it right off. It's disarmingly soft in a way that may come off as wimpy at first, but it eventually gets under your skin in ways that are subtle and mysterious and then you can't stop listening.
A beautifully elastic and hard to pin down musical force. Limited!
It's hard to believe that it's been five whole years since Wooden Shjips effortlessly materialized into the psychedelic musical landscape. Between then and now they have become semi-hugely successful, almost right under our noses, and taken on the identity of sage-like masters of their psychedelic craft. Indeed, at the beginning, the Shjips appeared to be on the cusp of something new, not quite a "revival", but perhaps a much needed re-imagining of hazed psychedelic rock that sounded just as good in revved-up motorik excursions as it did in slow, confusional wanderings. Perhaps the one thing that bound it all together so perfectly was the band's patience and their ability to really bring out hypnotic grooves, starting with a perfect riff and just taking it all the way into the ever after. Each band member has a specific role within the group, and they know exactly what needs to be done for the song. Sure, a lot of bands will talk that game, but not many people are able to so expertly strip this music to its minimal core as the Shjips, and the formula has changed little over the years - a simple drum pound with no fills, a rumbling low end anchor of bass, wandering organ grooves, and a fuzzed out guitar that inevitably leaves the world behind to venture into clouds of acid-fried soloing. Sitting perfectly within the swirling instrumentation are the low crooned vocals that bring to mind everyone from Alan Vega to a sedate Lizard King to, hell, Elvis? The remarkable thing is how Wooden Shjips have managed to bring about so many comparisons while sounding only like Wooden Shjips.
Album #3 comes to us from the highly esteemed Thrill Jockey label, maybe the most ideal home imaginable for this band in 2011. Unlike the band's previous outings recorded in their practice space, West marks the first time Wooden Shjips have gone into an actual recording studio. How does it sound, you ask? Well, REALLY FUCKING GOOD to put it mildly. We loved the lower-fi murkiness of those other records but the clarity of the recording here brings out an expansiveness that wasn't previously there while also working itself into the record's themes of relocation and expansion to the American West. Ya know, like, San Francisco man. Freedom. Exploration. Rebirth. That kind of deal.
The record opens portentously with "Black Smoke Rise" and sets the tone for what is to come. It rides out with a cool midtempo biker riff while describing the crazy allure of the unknown. "Crossing" moves forward in a warm fuzz blanket with a tambourine clink keeping things nice and steady. Unlike what you might expect from the title, "Lazy Bones" is a hyped up jaunt with ominous little organ melodies adding to the confusion, before the slow burning "Home" brings things down a notch with an organ that has a bit of a Southern swamp vibe. "Flight" kicks in with a nice... uh, "boogie-rock" inspired riff that works really well against the devil may care rhythm and a super catchy organ line. This is probably the closest the band will ever get to making a song to strut down the street to, and it's a motherfucker. "Looking Out" is another uptempo romp with percolating organ chords and the tremeloed guitar shifting hazily in the speakers. Strange, sitar-like guitar notes that could have been beamed in from Sandy Bull, wherever he is, come and go and present a lovely array of musical notes that expertly do as they please. The closing number "Rising" brings things full circle by reversing "Black Smoke Rise" and stretching out the ambience with the rhythm provided by that awesome backwards swooping sound we all love.
Making this Record Of The Week is a no brainer. We've loved watching Wooden Shjips' journey unfold over the years, and they have yet to disappoint. They are a quintessential San Francisco band, and wherever they go, we're along for the ride.
While supplies last (which might not be long), the vinyl lp version of this comes with an exclusive limited edition bonus 7" single. Non-album track "Photograph" b/w a Peaking Lights remix of "Looking Out" from the album (re-titled "Lights Out"). In sleeve with full-color artwork. Definitely a collector's item, only available from a very few lucky stores (like us) and super limited. Sorry cd folks, no bonus with that format...
From right here in our sunny San Francisco neighborhood, comes an eagerly anticipated new release that clinches its Record Of The Week status not only by comprising a fantastic debut full-length album of hypnotically searing garagey psych jams, but also by including a BONUS disc (limited edition, first 2000 copies only) in a cardboard sleeve shrinkwrapped to the jewel case, featuring all the tracks from the now-out-of-print 10" and 7" vinyl records released last year that first made us -- and so many others, foremost among 'em Tom Lax of Siltbreeze/Siltblog fame, and Byron Coley at The Wire -- into drooling Wooden Shjips fanatics.
And yes, if you haven't run into them before, it's Wooden ShJips with a J, that's not a typo, just a way we guess of making their moniker more psychedelic (and easier to Google, too). They've garnered a lot of deserved attention from folks into minimalistic psych throb, that's for sure, and further whetted everyone's appetites for this album with the "Summer Of Love" 7" single that came out a couple weeks ago and has already sold out (2nd pressing in the works, be patient).
So, this new self-titled album follows on from that single with five more fuzzy, super groovy, guitar/organ/bass/drums slowburners, somewhere between Comets On Fire and Circle, with a definite Doors-y vibe as well, in part due to the keys which give this an almost loungey relaxed feel at times, and in part due to the occasional laidback Morrison-ish vocals of guitarist Erik Johnson. Erik also makes us think of Neil Young as well, as his more "out" guitar solos -- some if 'em SCORCHING -- could be off of Young's feedback-filled Arc. Or a Les Rallizes Denudes record! Track four, "Blue Sky Bends", having the best Rallizes-ish drone-factor of the disc. Overall, we'd say that these tracks, as a development from their earlier material, exhibits more and more of a throwback to the ballroom Frisco style of the sixties... now they just need to get a light show happening! But something tells us they'd be all about stark bright white strobes and dark black shadows only, maybe some b&w op art spirals, if their monochrome packaging aesthetic and the general heavy lidded mood of the music is anything to go by...
And then there's the limited bonus disc. Don't dawdle, you don't want to miss it (particularly if you didn't score the original vinyl releases). It's got the three tracks from their debut Shrinking Moon For You 10" (the one that they didn't even tell us about even though we see these guys on the street every day, we had to find out about it from Mr. Lax's blog!) and both cuts from their Dance, California / Clouds Over Earthquake 7". We'll try to summarize what we said about these songs before. The music from the 10" starts off with the title cut, a fuzzy garagey stomp, a groove that locks in and plows forward relentlessly. We began to feel like we were listening to some sort of garage rock Steve Reich. Guitars just sort of buzzing along, blooping new wave bass right underneath, simple solid drumming. But then in swoops some super feedback guitar that sounds like a demented horn section, and before you can examine it more closely it disappears, and we're back to the groove. That happens a few more times before the vocals kick in, sort of sing songy, but SO drenched in delay that the words get all jumbled up and are sort of jettisoned into outer space. There is also a subtle wash of fuzzy keyboards giving the whole thing a sort of Loop vibe. the second track is quite similar except the vocals are a bit more distinct, sort of laidback and mumbly. After a few listens, it became clear that there is some sort of minimal thing going on, but it's more like some lost Velvet Underground track arranged for Reich and Riley. Droney and drifty and druggy and totally mesmerizing. The third track bucks the trend and instead veers off into some tripped out ambience, with drifting motes of guitar fuckery, random sounds and noises, and some cool creepy backwards vocals. Sort of like an indie hipster freenoise "Revolution #9." Cool.
The two tracks from the 7" are also quite sonically similar to the 10" cuts. First up, surprise surprise a buzzy lo-fi garage groove, beneath bizarre super distorted insectoid guitar leads, buzzing WAY up in the mix and sounding almost like some primitive malfunctioning synth. But the whole time, beneath the alien buzz, the groove just hums along, like some extra baked Velvet Underground outtake. "Clouds Over Earthquake" is way more laid back, some blown out sun baked riffage, a super lazy groove, like Loop played at 16rpm, decorated with warm hornlike melodies that eventually stretch out into some serious outerspace psych rock explorations. The vocals we loved so much on the 10" resurface here too, laconic, drawled sung/spoken and super affected, very Lou Reed sounding albeit buried way down in the mix and absolutely drenched in thick reverb and fuzzy delay. Awesome!
So those tracks are all here (not in that order though) along with a radio edit of "Dance, California" for completists. These are the songs that had us jonesing for a full length, which you've just read about up above, and now all this music is together in one crucial package, while they last.
FYI, a vinyl version of the full-length is to follow in a month or two we're told... and maybe Holy Mountain can come up with some better cover art for it too? We were a bit underwhelmed by the blurry black & white photo of the band sitting around on the steps to someone's house, but then again their vinyl releases were in clear sleeves with no art to speak of, so I guess elaborate packaging ain't their thing. But motorik minimalist krautrocky pulsations, mellow Doorsy '60s groove, and out and out geetar psych-splosions are, so we can't complain!!
Ah, Woods. It seems like maybe some of us here haven't given these guys as much attention as they deserve. Of course, some of that has to do with the difficulty in getting very many of their singles, and maybe we were just blasted with so many releases on the Woodsist label (which, you guessed it, Woods own and operate) that we overlooked them... not too sure, maybe we're just quibbling. But we will quibble no more, because At Echo Lake has our undivided attention.
This album exhibits an effortless but impeccable attention to songcraft, and even though it clocks in at under 30 minutes, its all encompassing greatness causes you to lose track of time and space, just like a good album should. While Woodsist has earned a reputation for blown out garage pop, Woods themselves are more on the folk side of the spectrum. Words like "lo-fi" will undoubtedly be thrown around, and not without good reason. This IS lo-fi, but instead of hiding behind tape hiss and distortion, the songs make perfect use of the recording quality for an album that is lush, dreamy, and above all, BEAUTIFUL. Singer Jeremy Earl's falsetto croon has earned many comparisons to Neil Young, but we're still trying to figure out who else he reminds us of. Some sort of Jad Fair/Elliott Smith hybrid on helium? Chris Gunst from Beachwood Sparks? Eh, why bother, because we imagine before long it will be Earl other people are being compared to when everyone is ripping his band off. This stuff is just so great that we can't imagine Woods NOT ascending to the next level in the indie world.
Lightly psychedelic opener "Blood Dries Darker" gives off a hazed summery feeling, its warm acoustic (we think) bass recalling the sounds of groups like Dead Milkmen or even Violent Femmes, but also sounding very appropriate for 2010. "Suffering Season" finds Earl and Woods' other half Jarvis Taveniere sounding a bit more like a ramshackle Beachwood Sparks with a ridiculously catchy chorus asking "Who knows what tomorrow might bring?"
The instrumentation on this one should appeal to anyone who dug other recent aQ favorites the Smith Westerns, as both bands seem to inhabit a world where the whole lo-fi thing is not just an excuse for not going to a real studio. Many numbers, like "Time Fading Lines" aren't necessarily "sad", but definitely a bit melancholy. A lot of these songs give off a sense of longing, not in a super defined way or anything... ultimately, though, the vibe here is pretty triumphant, some real feel good kind of stuff. Woods also know how to shake things up a bit, like on the instrumental "From The Horn", hands down the most rocking song here. Skittery guitars and some more aggressive than usual drumming have the band letting loose, and the addition of the cool backwards tape sounds actually reminded us a bit of Faust, as strange as that may sound.
Woods have created their own magical world, perfectly captured in Earl's awesome artwork, which adorns all Woodsist releases but not surprisingly make most sense on his own record sleeves. It's strange, but also very intriguing, a perfect visual accompaniment. The best thing about Woods is how they manage to be mysterious but inclusive, making tunes that will surely please all types of music lovers. It's always great when an album unexpectedly knocks you on your ass. At Echo Lake is one of those albums.
And fyi, for the next two weeks, we'll have the cd format of this on a special $2 off sale, so it's $11.98 instead of the regular $13.98, until 5/21/10!
We've thrown around maybe every possible adjective to describe Woods' instantly recognizable lo-fi-ish, reverb-happy, poppy psychedelic folk: "summery", "dark", "hazy", "jangly". But amidst the flurry of shape-shifting sound over their now nine-full-length career, Woods have consistently remained one thing: really fucking good.
Their newest album, City Sun Eater In The River Of Light, pushes them in a direction we haven't heard yet - with dubby beats and wavery organ, this album adds something especially slinky and groovy to their usually jammy sound that even suggests to us Jamaican reggae or Ethiopian jazz (a la our favorite Ethiopiques discs). We're hit with this right off the bat on opening track "Sun City Creeps" (named for seminal aQ faves Sun City Girls), which also features muted horns that serve well the fuller arrangement Woods have been moving towards on recent releases. The mood switches quickly but not unnervingly on third track "Morning Light", which opens with a sweeping steel guitar, recalling Harvest Moon era Neil Young. The straight up groovy rhythm section on "Can't See At All" creates something which, in the best way possible, belongs on the soundtrack to an action-packed '70s cop drama.
A Woods record would, of course, not be complete without a requisite dose of dark psychedelia, and City Sun Eater delivers on the second half of this album, especially in the powerful, woozy breakdown of "The Take", while "I See In the Dark" seems to be channelling the relaxed motorik drive of Can. This album really covers its bases in highlighting all the aspects of their unique sound and is tied together as always by the silvery thread of Jeremy Earl's delicate, signature falsetto.
Woods have masterfully mixed the richer, reverent production of their recent releases and the experimental shroomy weirdness of their early albums. Side two's "Politics of Free" proposes "in a world of shit, let's tune out tonight", and we can't wait to do just that again and again to the sounds of City Sun Eater In The River Of Light. Unforgettable.
A couple years ago we reviewed an obscure, DIY cd-r release, In The Stars, by this band Wormsblood. As you might guess from their name, they're an underground black metal free noise new weird America psych folk cd-r band... oh wait you might not guess that. But you'd get the idea this is something dark and strange and evil, right? Not some normal indie rock band that's for sure. And you know this, if you remember our review of that previous release. So, band leader Wyrdskull (an alter ego of Clay Ruby from freak folksters Davenport and psych doomsters Jex Thoth, we have reason to believe) and cohorts are back with a new release, an actual cd this time, though the music is still way DIY and lo-fi (like we like it!), consisting of three "demo" sessions recorded between 2004 and 2008. Though without that info you wouldn't know this wasn't conceived as all one album. Ten tracks total, about 38 minutes of very, very fucked up "metal". Like, if Ariel Pink did even -more- drugs and then tried to produce a black metal album. Or, imagine a black metal Faxed Head (as we said about 'em before). It's that weird, that WRONG. And thus damn right in our ears. 'Cause if we know anything, we know our fucked up black metal. Dead Reptile Shrine, Varghkogargasmal, Vorak, Dead Raven Choir's Cask Strength stuff, old Necrofrost, Wold, etc., this fits right in, not that it really fits in anywhere.
The disc starts off with the amazing/retarded "Fragments Of The Witch" which will either convince you this is the best thing you've heard since you played the Weakling album backwards through a malfunctioning Kaoss pad while screaming at the top of your lungs, or convince you to turn it off. Obviously, we're part of the former camp. A murky, palpitating admixture of primitive, clanking rhythms, truly over-the-top gargled and anguished kokills, dim distorted guitar riffs and woozy synths dealing out Skeptical doom plod. All of it mired in an echoey, almost dubby "production". The next track, "Hollow Cost Nothing", ups the ante with even more majestic, messed up melodies. It dawns on us that whomever is on guitar can really play. Somehow this makes Wormsblood sound even more insane. It also suggests that maybe one way to look at this isn't as an attempt at making tr00 cvlt black metal primitivism, but rather as simply a very, very, VERY damaged version of traditional '80s heavy metal (and we recall they did do a Manilla Road cover on the In The Stars cd-r)...
Then, there's a track that also appeared on that cd-r,"The First Dim Shinings (Of Those About To Awaken)", which takes a turn into ritualistic ancient folk musick, with a military snare and Muppet-on-meth vocals. It's like Ghost meets Abruptum. Or ESP-Disk's Cromagnon gone metal. That's followed by "Sig Bind", which begins with abstract, Jewelled Antler-y atmospheres before erupting with high-end guitar neck strangle, kind of like a Kemialliset Ystavat meets Krallice mashup. By the end of this track, it's a madhouse of maniacal voices, harshing the mellow with which it began. And on it goes, this disc of demos delving backwards in time, the recordings getting boombox-ier and buzzier, the songs even less songlike and more soundscapey if possible. "Goodnight" opens a can of that Striborg-style aersol spray, a grim sonic mist of vibrating electric strings and hissing exhalations. "Obsessed By The Bloodstone" (is that shout-out to cult pulp fantasist Karl Edward Wagner?) is an ambient piece for keyboard - and barking dog! And then sometimes, they get it together for an extended spasm of, uh, song, full of high pitched singing/shrieking and chaotic drums/guitars.
Now, you might be thinking, there's other black metal releases on this week's AQ list. Yet this is the only one we chose as a Record Of The Week. Does that mean it's BETTER than those other black metal albums? Better than Ayat, or Moloch, or Nav, or the new Satyricon, for example? Well, no, not exactly. But we're not judging this purely as a black metal release. We figured this was something that AQ customers into any sort of bizarre, fucked up music (many of whom love black metal, to be sure) would find intriguing. 'Cause as metal as this is (and it IS, really metal, if you listen close) it's equally something else entirely. There's whole passages of "music" here that sound more like that fake field recordings disc Jurassic Soundscapes, but with lonely werewolves wandering around in the prehistoric swamps. And drugged up pterodactyls swooping about overhead. Wormsblood's sound is as much recognizable metallic instrumentation (guitars, drums, vocals) as it is wyrd sound FX and destroyed noise, rustlings and clankings and howlings.
As befits this music, this comes packaged in black and white and grey, bearing disturbing, fantastical, hellish yet cartoonish line drawings that look a bit like Mike Diana's notorious art... get the LP if you want to study the drawings in detail.
So far, we've reviewed two Woven Hand records, and each time, we invariably slipped completely out of objectivity and giddily gushed about the sheer brilliance of this band, and we hate to break it to you, but this time is going to be no different. In fact, it's bound to be way worse (or better) because if you can believe it, this record is even better, and darker, and more suffocatingly apocalyptic, more biblically brutal, more overtly religious, more instrumentally obstuse, more sonically unpredictable, more soul-shearingly heart-breaking and quite possibly the best record of the year.
Woven Hand is David Eugene Edwards, who fronts the equally brilliant Sixteen Horsepower, a dark and doomy swamp folk outfit that peddles gorgeously dreary ballads of death and destruction. Woven Hand takes the sound of Sixteen Horsepower even further down that dark and seldom travelled path. Tales of an angry God, fire and brimstone, confusion and misery, the coming Rapture, lost souls, death and misery and the long hard road to salvation, all set inside mini epics of biblical proportions, acoustic guitars, mournful piano, throbbing upright bass, shuffling drums, weeping strings, creepy fuzzy ambience, and Edwards' gorgeous throaty moan of a wail. But it's not just pretty and sad and creepy, it's absolutely menacing, and intense and as heavy as a band like this can be. Imagine the Swans playing country ballads or a born again Nick Cave with a bayou pick up band forced to play the devil for their souls.
Not sure what else to say about this record. It's just so goddamn good. And so utterly soulful and important. It's everything music should be. You don't need toagree with his spiritual bent, or even understand what he's on about. This is passionate and pure and heartfelt and disturbingly personal and is thus more important than 90 percent of the music that gets made these days. Listening to the Woven Hand, you can't help but imagine them playing atop a crumbling mount, as the cities below them lay in ruin, flames and famine, death and pestilence ravaging the land, while the band, suffused with a heavenly glow, plays one last dirge, a skeletal ode to death, a bittersweet funereal lament, as the human race sinks into oblivion and the world prepares to begin anew.
As any avid reader of the AQ list can no doubt attest to, we have long been huge fans of Mr. David Eugene Edwards, formerly of Southern Gothic swamp folk outfit 16 Horsepower, currently performing as Woven Hand, a band that takes the swampy folk of 16HP somewhere even darker, a world of imminent damnation, and dreams of glorious salvation. The music of Woven Hand is a dark and brooding, fire and brimstone, apocalyptic doom folk, with Edwards testifying like his life depended on it. And maybe it does. Edwards makes no bones about being a Christian, and the music of Woven hand plays like the Old Testament come to life. Damnation and suffering, a cold cruel world, the only hope of life everlasting is to somehow weather the harsh and hellish, to bow down and be lifted up. And the thing is you don't necessarily have to be religious to be terrified of death and suffering, or eternal torture, and even the staunchest atheist might think twice if offered a chance at eternal life, and eternal happiness. Typically, the word of God, the usual messages from on high, repent or die, do unto others, are hugely heavy handed, granted, they are meant to be as they do concern your eternal life, but when delivered in the context of the Woven Hand, some of us find our agnostic selves chilled to the bone, the fear of God, -some- God anyway, gets us quaking in our boots. But it's more about the delivery than the message for us, and from a purely musical approach Woven Hand's music is gloriously grim, an expansive and minor key world of darkness and drama, lost souls and true love, simple strummed guitars, dramatic understated strings, fiddles and wheezing accordions, haunting arrangements, bizarre percussion, strange FX and incredibly intense ambience, and of course Edwards' gorgeously affecting croon: dramatic, intense, emotional, but so obviously troubled, conflicted, hopeful too, yet streaked with a dark despair.
So although Woven Hand's chillingly morose gothic twang is perfect on its own, when tangled up with Edwards' moody tales of punishment and salvation, of love and death, it takes on even more emotional weight. And compared to the first Woven Hand record, Edwards seems to slowly be moving away from the sound of 16 Horespower, the first Woven Hand could have been another 16HP record, but such is the way with records like that, a 'solo' record from the band member who wrote most of the music for the band he just left. But each record has been getting darker, more personal, disturbingly so, but at the same time, more epic, more cinematic, and more and more beautiful.
Oh, how we wish sometimes that we had more time to spend with some of the records we review. In some cases, it's an hour or two, maybe 2 or 3 times through an album, sometimes, unfortunately, it's even less than that. With so many records, it's not always possible to totally immerse yourself, and some music requires that sort of immersion, for it to be fully appreciated, for the sounds to open up, the layers to peel back, revealing the music's beating heart. Such is the case with the music of David Eugene Edwards, formerly of 16 Horsepower, now spreading his dark apocalyptic folk gospel via Woven Hand.
The music of Woven Hand, as is evidenced by past aQ reviews (3 of the past 4 WH albums, well, now 4 out of 5, were aQ Records Of The Week, and when we try to figure out why the other one wasn't, for the life of us, we just can't), is the rare music that moves and inspires, sends shivers down our spines, gives us goosebumps, brings us to the edge of tears, a music powerful and personal, and so so intense. The sounds of Woven Hand, while gorgeous, are also ominous and haunting, the message even moreso. Edwards' lyrics deal almost exclusively with death and damnation, sin and salvation. He, more than any modern performer is the rock equivalent of a revivalist preacher, testifying like his life depended on it, and perhaps it does. The music backing up Edwards' passionate vocals, is a dark swirl of backwoods folk, of gothic rock (not to be confused with goth-rock), sweeping cinematic soundscapes, old time blues, lush and almost orchestrated, strings moan, sweet sad melodies are plucked out on old pianos, or unfurled from wheezing harmoniums. Woven Hand is the sound of some old dusty ghost town, or some strange traveling minstrel, set up on the back of a rickety old wagon, playing for coal miners, and forest folk, lit from below by flickering firelight, shadows dancing behind the band like some sort of mysterious back up band of spirits.
Ten Stones remains true to the first few books in the Gospel of the Woven Hand, from the first few notes, this could be nothing else, Edwards' super dramatic rich velvety croon, the tone of the guitars, those melodies, minor key yet shot through with some sort of hopeful warmth, some ineffable otherworldly glow, the one thing that is different, is just how rocking some of this is, almost heavy at points, the guitars thick and growling, the drums pounding and frenzied, strings singing, but all kept in check by Edwards' vocals. This new found heaviness is not a new direction, just another arrow in Edwards' musical quiver, as many of the songs still slither and crawl through those lost backwoods of tarnished souls and wasted lives, the twang left to drift in wide open spaces as often as it's wrapped around the heft of crunch and bluster. The record does manage to move in unexpected directions, the accordion driven filthy blues jam that is "White Knuckle Grip", or the moody torch song shimmer of "Quite Nights Of Quiet Stars", the pounding bluegrass buzz of "Kicking Bird", but even those anomalous excursions, somehow fit perfectly into the long winding musical road of Ten Stones. The last three tracks finish off things about as perfectly as possible, "Kingdom Of Ice" is total apocalyptic drama, the twang of banjo beneath a buzzing drone, Edwards's spitting fire, "His Loyal Love", a swoonsome, murky drift of soft smeared guitar buzz, shuffled percussion, and haunting reverb drenched vocals, the entire song wreathed in a swirling gauzy fog, and finally the untitled closer, a deep whizzing, nearly static drone, long tones slowly shifting, thick distorted guitar rumble and sweet soft tones, shimmering and spread out into a kaleidoscopic soft focus blur.
Another stirring apocalyptic missive, from one of the few, true remaining musical prophets, and even if your soul doesn't need saving, Ten Stones will have you wishing it did.
Musical salvation is at hand!
When we hosted our first South By Southwest showcase last year, with our pals at WFMU, and were preparing out dream lists of bands to play, Woven Hand was right near the top of our list, after all, we'd made 4 of the 5 Woven Hand records our Record Of The Week (5 of 6 counting this one), and had somehow never seen them live. So when they confirmed, we were ecstatic, how could it not be totally amazing? But the biggest surprise wasn't that it WAS in fact, amazing, or that it was powerful and moving and intense, it was that they were so LOUD and so HEAVY, the room packed, the sound ALIVE, a crackling energy coursing through every note, the volume deafening, but somehow it was perfect, just a huge swirling mass of intense apocalyptic swampy doom folk, the drums thunderous, the guitar jagged and howling and heavy, and the vocals, on record it's some sort of testifying, but live, we were almost ready to convert, and become born again. It was that intense, that inspirational, that emotional.
And the thing is, Woven Hand records do a pretty amazing job of capturing that emotion and energy on record, no small feat considering how many of the most amazing bands live, fall flat recorded, but that has never been a problem with David Eugene Edwards and his Woven Hand, or even Sixteen Horsepower, the band that came before (and was also a Record Of The Week honoree). The records are holy documents of sound, Edwards' fundamentalist Christianity, that would normally rankle, in the context of Woven Hand becomes so much more, the power of belief, the power of the spirit, of faith, rendered in sound. It helps that the sounds is a harrowing, brooding, apocalyptic swampy folk, rife with tales of damnation and salvation, hellfire and misery and suffering, the music simultaneously a cautionary tale, and a song of praise, the two often wound up tight, making the message, and the music, that much more mysterious.
On The Threshingfloor, Woven Hand sounds as dark, and haunting, and heavy as ever, the various Eastern and world music elements that were definitely present on past records, here are much more of an essential component, adding an exotic vibe to the already intense doomfolk. The record begins with a haunting almost acoustic ballad, lots of buzzing steel strings, a moody minor key melody, minimal percussion, and Edwards' powerful vocals, all underpinned by thick droning swells. It's on the next track, the title track, that we revisit the power of that live show we witnessed in Texas, a frantic chunk of jangle and strum, lots of extra percussion, anguished super powerful vocals, an acoustic guitar wielded like a battle axe, Eastern melodies woven throughout, a seriously powerful bit of musical conversion. "A Holy Measure" is more stripped down and folky, but no less powerful, followed by the doom folk dirge of "Raise Her Hands", creepy and menacing and yet still utterly lovely.
One new element, that we never noticed before was what seems to be nods to groups like Joy Division, low slung gloomy basslines, deep tortured vocals, on one hand it seems like maybe it was always present, but here, that vibe is huge, try to imagine some sort of Christian apocalyptic doom folk cold wave, and you'll be getting closer to tracks like "His Rest", or "Behind Your Breath", gothy and grim, but still flecked with twang and shimmer and strum.
Elsewhere, "Singing Grass" is a gorgeous and utterly heartbreaking ballad/dirge, all acoustic guitars and moaning cellos, and the vocals, so dark and mournful, easily the most moving track on the record. "Wheatstraw" is only a minute long, but it's darkly evocative, a haunting dronescape, gauzy and hazy and ghostlike. "Orchard Gate" is a gothic folk epic, fire and brimstone made sound, but again, for all its darkness and misery, it's just so breathtakingly beautiful.
The strangest moment is the record closer, "Denver City", a weirdly rocking skiffle folk rocker, with distorted vocals, and surprisingly major key chord progression, which sounds more like Railroad Jerk than Woven Hand, it perhaps doesn't fit the dour mood of the rest of the record, but maybe that's why it's at the end, the light at the end of the tunnel perhaps. But if light is the last thing you want from Woven Hand, then bail out before "Denver City", and you'll emerge from The Threshingfloor still wholly under its dark spell....
I hate to gush, but gush I must. This is my (Andee's) RECORD OF THE YEAR. Done deal. It doesn't matter what happens for the rest of the year. Kurt Kobain could come back from the grave and record a new Nirvana record. Laddio Bollocko could get back together. Earth reunion. It doesn't matter. This is it. THE ONE. It's magical, dark, mysterious, sinister, gorgeous and moves me like very few records do. But I digress.
Woven Hand is David Eugene Edwards from Sixteen Horsepower's solo project. If you're anything like me, you're always wondering why people have solo projects that sound just like their 'actual' band, and often not nearly as good. But fear not. While Edwards' Woven Hand is similar in many ways to 16HP, it takes things in a direction even darker, dreamier, creepier, and more religious (more on that later) ending up sounding EVEN BETTER than 16HP. Hard to believe, especially if you loved 16HP's 'Folklore' that we made record of the week a few weeks back as much as we did! Woven Hand is like a Cormac McCarthy novel put to music. "Blood Meridian" arranged for rock band. "All The Pretty Horses" sung by wandering minstrels. Desolate and dreary, violent and cathartic, but not obviously so, more like a creeping seeping sickness, death and destruction and human sin as it swallows souls and destroys lives. The instrumentation is similar to 16HP, a dark and dreamy gypsy swamp-folk, but more lush, with thicker, richer atmospheres, and murky, almost impenetrable instrumental backdrops, underpinning Edwards' tales of redemption and forgiveness, sorrow and apocalypse. The lyrics are way more blatantly religious, biblically themed, and aimed at touching our souls. Which for some reason doesn't bother me as much as you think it would. The words are poetic and symbolic, simple and timeless, just beautiful stories and poems, like much of the Bible. Removed from the Christian tradition (thousands of years of hypocrisy and murder and keeping people from thinking for themselves), Edwards' biblical testifying almost has me bowing prostrate hoping to appease a stern but ultimately forgiving God. It helps that Edwards delivers these parables in a rich, throaty rasp, a gorgeous gruff tenor, like a mix of Mark Lanegan, Chris Grigoroff (Souled American) and Nick Cave, that sounds like it has the power to make men sob and women swoon. It all comes together, sound and fury, voice and instrument, in a rich tapestry of fear and hope and death and the cycle of life and desperate dreams of an afterlife. It's rare to really hear music so powerful and so evocative that it manages to become more than just 'rock music' or 'that pretty cool band.' This record brings me to the verge of tears, makes me shiver...I feel it in my brain and in my heart and in my soul. Seriously. This is what music should be to me. Intense and emotional and heartfelt and brutally powerful. There's a creepy crawly version of Bill Withers' 'Ain't No Sunshine' that manages to be even better than the original, due in no small part to the dark, funereal treatment it gets from Woven Hand, that under the right circumstances (or wrong circumstances) could crush me into a weeping, sobbing heap, with my heart broken into a thousand pieces. I wish all music could do that...
There are lots of remarkable things about this latest Xasthur disc. It was released on his own Disharmonic Variations label for one thing, instead of Hydra Head, his home for the last few records. It features the vocals of folk chanteuse Marissa Nadler quite prominently, which was definitely a bit of a surprise! Even more surprising is that according to Malefic, the man behind Xasthur, now referring to himself by his given name Scott, this is the very last Xasthur record. EVER. He's not giving up music, just black metal. Which might seem less surprising once you've heard Portal Of Sorrow. Whose sound is at once a continuation of the last few Xasthur records, but at the same time, a total departure. Right out of the gate, the title track, is all acoustic guitars, and cooing wordless vox, more some sort of ethereal depressive doomfolk than black metal. Haunting atonal chords, folky guitar strum, wheezing organs, everything warped and warbly and really quite beautiful. Some more 'metal' guitars enter into the picture but they just serve to add filigree to the folky gothic dirge. Pretty weird and fantastic for sure. And for sure to bum out legions of true grim black metallers. The second track is more black metal, but if anything it's WAY weirder than the first track, with what is either the worst, or best production yet, the guitars detuned and atonal, the drums insanely produced cardboard box thumps WAY up in the mix, Nadler's often wordless vocals again soaring and dramatic, while Malefic croaks along in the background, a gloriously stumbling bit of blackened freak folk buzz, moody and murky, with some serious chug part way through, but that chug is accompanied by PIANO, which renders it more some sort of blackened chamber music.
And so it goes, the whole record is not only strangely composed, but the sound itself is totally alien, it sounds accidental, but a sound this twisted and warped and idiosyncratic MUST be by design.
"Shrine Of Failure" begins with clean guitars and floppy bass, a constantly descending melody, the vocals singing right along, before the heavier guitars kick in, but instead of making the song heavier, they seem to float above the already in progress weirdness, adding a layer of distorted buzz, and alternately wild psychedelic squiggles of tangled lead guitar. "Stream Of Subconsciousness" is another washed out doomic dirge, driven by Nadler's angelic croon, and Malefic's warbly guitars, the swoonsome synths, leading to an ambient drift, and then more murky stumble. "Horizon Of Plastic Caskets" is all minimal drumming, swirling synths, distant vocals, a sort of black ambient post rock lope, peppered with Malefic's maniacal screams, which do nothing to take away from the track's haunting cinematic vibe.
"The Abyss Holds The Mirror" opens with some seriously lovely multitracked vocals from Nadler (she's credited with "choir, vocal flashbacks, vocal instrumentation") before the song proper kicks in, and it's a dirgey doomy deathmarch, with church organ, croaked demonic vocals, all set to a heartbreakingly melancholy melody, the whole second half is just organ and vocals, and is the last thing you'd expect to hear on a black metal record.
"Released From This Earth" is all struggling drumming, atonal piano pound, and more of Nadler's heavenly crooning, in some ways, this almost plays out like a Marissa Nadler record, with Xasthur as his band, no disrespect to Malefic, in fact, that's what makes this record so good, it's less about having some token guest vocals, and more about true collaboration, which is exactly what makes this record so fucked and far out and special. Even at it's blackest, it's about as far removed from black buzz and grim blast than you could imagine. Which is what keeps us from mourning the death of Xasthur, and instead has us anxiously awaiting the future rebirth, and phoenix like ascension of whatever comes next.
This Record Of The Week from last year, now available in the vinyl format, via Kemado! Limited. numbered, gatefold sleeve, download code. Here's what we said about the original compact disc edition:
There are lots of remarkable things about this latest Xasthur disc. It was released on his own Disharmonic Variations label for one thing, instead of Hydra Head, his home for the last few records. It features the vocals of folk chanteuse Marissa Nadler quite prominently, which was definitely a bit of a surprise! Even more surprising is that according to Malefic, the man behind Xasthur, now referring to himself by his given name Scott, this is the very last Xasthur record. EVER. He's not giving up music, just black metal. Which might seem less surprising once you've heard Portal Of Sorrow. Whose sound is at once a continuation of the last few Xasthur records, but at the same time, a total departure. Right out of the gate, the title track, is all acoustic guitars, and cooing wordless vox, more some sort of ethereal depressive doomfolk than black metal. Haunting atonal chords, folky guitar strum, wheezing organs, everything warped and warbly and really quite beautiful. Some more 'metal' guitars enter into the picture but they just serve to add filigree to the folky gothic dirge. Pretty weird and fantastic for sure. And for sure to bum out legions of true grim black metallers. The second track is more black metal, but if anything it's WAY weirder than the first track, with what is either the worst, or best production yet, the guitars detuned and atonal, the drums insanely produced cardboard box thumps WAY up in the mix, Nadler's often wordless vocals again soaring and dramatic, while Malefic croaks along in the background, a gloriously stumbling bit of blackened freak folk buzz, moody and murky, with some serious chug part way through, but that chug is accompanied by PIANO, which renders it more some sort of blackened chamber music.
And so it goes, the whole record is not only strangely composed, but the sound itself is totally alien, it sounds accidental, but a sound this twisted and warped and idiosyncratic MUST be by design.
"Shrine Of Failure" begins with clean guitars and floppy bass, a constantly descending melody, the vocals singing right along, before the heavier guitars kick in, but instead of making the song heavier, they seem to float above the already in progress weirdness, adding a layer of distorted buzz, and alternately wild psychedelic squiggles of tangled lead guitar. "Stream Of Subconsciousness" is another washed out doomic dirge, driven by Nadler's angelic croon, and Malefic's warbly guitars, the swoonsome synths, leading to an ambient drift, and then more murky stumble. "Horizon Of Plastic Caskets" is all minimal drumming, swirling synths, distant vocals, a sort of black ambient post rock lope, peppered with Malefic's maniacal screams, which do nothing to take away from the track's haunting cinematic vibe.
"The Abyss Holds The Mirror" opens with some seriously lovely multitracked vocals from Nadler (she's credited with "choir, vocal flashbacks, vocal instrumentation") before the song proper kicks in, and it's a dirgey doomy deathmarch, with church organ, croaked demonic vocals, all set to a heartbreakingly melancholy melody, the whole second half is just organ and vocals, and is the last thing you'd expect to hear on a black metal record.
"Released From This Earth" is all struggling drumming, atonal piano pound, and more of Nadler's heavenly crooning, in some ways, this almost plays out like a Marissa Nadler record, with Xasthur as his band, no disrespect to Malefic, in fact, that's what makes this record so good, it's less about having some token guest vocals, and more about true collaboration, which is exactly what makes this record so fucked and far out and special. Even at it's blackest, it's about as far removed from black buzz and grim blast than you could imagine. Which is what keeps us from mourning the death of Xasthur, and instead has us anxiously awaiting the future rebirth, and phoenix like ascension of whatever comes next.
Back in stock!!! Last list's RotW...
We normally don't make "now available on cd" releases Record Of The Week. But there are plenty of reasons to do just that with this one! First off, C'MON! It's LEVIATHAN and XASTHUR! On the same disc! Two of the most important, and musically creative black metal one-man-hordes in the new wave of west coast black metal (NWOWCBM?) teamed up for the ultimate NWOWCBM one two punch. Singlehandedly (doublehandedly?) putting USBM back on the black metal map, and completely redefining the genre, grim and brutal and black for sure, but also totally bizarre and avant and experimental. Plus even you folks who picked up the vinyl versions will need this, as there are 4 bonus tracks, three of them are from Xasthur, a brand new unreleased track, a rehearsal track from 2004, and a Katatonia cover! The other bonus track is Leviathan's amazing version of Judas Iscariot's "Where The Winter Beals Incessant"! But even without the bonus tracks, this clash of the black titans is totally essential, some of the most beautifully blackened and furiously fucked up black metal you are ever likely to hear. Xasthur from Southern California and Leviathan from right here in SF are blackened brothers, both exploring similar themes of hate and misery, darkness and death, but coming at 'em from completely different sonic angles. Xasthur is more about mood and atmosphere, with thick swaths of fuzzy riffery, galloping drums, rumbling bass and agonised howls of despair, all dense and dark and claustrophobic. Leviathan is much more technical and a lot weirder, but no less moody, with ultra complex and bizarrely arranged parts, insane drumming, buzzing riffery, and hints of doom and progrock mixed into his bleak and blackened metalscapes. ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL!!
For all the things that are truly great about working in a record store, on of the only real bummers is that sometimes it's kinda hard to be surprised by new music, in most cases, we know when a record is coming long before it's out, and often we get to hear albums before they're released, so some of the musical excitement we grew up with is gone, and we sometimes really miss that thrill of making a special trip to the record store only to discover some record you didn't even know about. So when it does happen, we freak out big time. Similarly, being the music nerd obsessives we are (and most of you are too), we're constantly on the hunt for new sounds, and for new favorites, and the one thing we DO still experience, is stumbling upon a record, and being blown away by the crazy cover art, or the weird name, or both, only to find that the music inside more than lives up to that unspoken promise, which is precisely what happened with the oddly monickered Yamantaka // Sonic Titan (and yeah, that double back slash is part of the name), not a split between two bands, but a duo, who the label describe as being a "pan-Asian cultural collective" based in Canada, whose two person lineup is expanded to eight members for this record, and whose eclectic lineup includes a traditional Mohawk singer, and the sound, WOW, not just a pleasant surprise, but a total revelation. The label describe YT // ST as being "for fans of Boredoms, Flower Travellin' Band, Taj Mahal Travellers, Deep Purple, J-Pop and Chinese Opera", and whenever you read such an over the top impossibly rad comparison, you sort of feel obligated to call hyperbole/bullshit, but the weird thing, as impossible as it seems, we might have come up with something similar, although we would add something about math rock / post rock / noise rock, and would definitely include Blonde Redhead, the vocals are occasionally a dead ringer for Kazu Makino, albeit much more washed out and druggy, and there's definitely some of the hyper Magmoid prog of Hundred Sights Of Koenji / Koenjihyakkei going on, but not so hyper, a little more toned down and stretched out into woozy rhythmic mesmer. As with all great records, this stuff is actually really difficult to describe, although odds are by now, some of you are already flipping out over the above comparisons.
The record opens with a brief bit of ritualistic ambience, the sound of rainfall and distant thunder, reverbed vocal harmonies, like the chanting of some astral female monks, all swirly and druggy and ethereal, which leads directly into "Queens", which unfurls in a haze of strange looped voices and whirring Deep Purple like organs, the vocals come in, and the sound is transformed into a sort of psychedelic indie rock, the melodies though reminiscent o seventies British acid folk, the rainfall present throughout, haunting and liturgical, epic and mysterious, and then the drums kick in, super distorted, in-the-red, the guitars coalesce into some serious riffage, splintering off into psychedelic swirls, the sound blown out, but dreamily so, until the blown out indie rock haze devolves into some seriously heavy, churning mathy pound and crunch, the vox processed into dizzying loops, blurred into the organs and the swirling psychedelia. So good. Imagine a way heavier, mathier, tripped out psychedelic Blonde Redhead and you might be close. But it only gets better/weirder from there.
After a brief bit of ethereal haze, that sounds like a grittier spaced out lo-fi take on Kate Bush / Cocteau twins, those British folk melodies here rendered in thick corrosive streaks of warm woozy guitar buzz, underpinned by powerful drumming, the sound coalescing into a brooding ballad, heavy and dark and broodingly beautiful.
But then comes "Reverse Crystal // Murder Of A Spider", which feels like the record's centerpiece, beginning with a grinding, crumbling bit of blurred orchestral swell, wreathed in clouds of decayed FX and fractured muted rhythms, the song explodes in a twisted mathy progged out frenzy, like the Ruins meets Nomeansno, only to immediately blossom into a super distorted heavy post rock lope, and then the soaring crystalline vocals come in, and the song is transformed into a bass heavy math prog groove than manages to be impossibly catchy at the same time, with what sound like wordless vocals unfurling a gorgeous and irresistible melody over some serious organ drive prog that sounds almost carnivalesque at times. After a brief tangle of abstract noise and processed tape, the song shifts into its second movement, a muted, rhythmic, almost krautrocky groove, that sounds like This Heat by way of Tortoise, and as the song progresses, the drums distort, the sound gets darker and heavier, the vocals surface adding a swirling spectral layer to the churning rhythmic low end below, before gradually getting more and more abstract and then finally fading out. YT // ST manage in one song what most bands can barely pull off on a whole record.
"Hoshi Neko" starts off sounding almost like some alien Christmas carol, a music box melody over a hushed tinny rhythm, all blurred with FX, and then in come the big distorted drums, and the band locks into a dark sinister groove, that almost sounds like a heavy creepy Stereolab, the vocals here are dramatic, transforming the song into what sounds like some classic sixties girl group songs reimagined as some sort of rhythmic post rock churn. "A Star Over Pureland" is the other long song on the record, and in some ways is competing with "Reverse Crystal // Murder Of A Spider" for sonic centerpiece privileges, and definitely makes a good case, although it's less fully formed songwise, instead it's a killer mathprog workout, the drumming particular, intricate and intense, while the guitars grind and crunch and howl, occasionally splintering into full on psychedelic squalls, there's definitely some sort of White Heaven / Fushitsusha classic Japanese psych going on here, but filtered through groups like Aluk Todolo and the Psychic Paramount, the track constantly morphing, locking into a very Ruins-y groove about midway through replete with strange effected vocal barks, wild Yoko Ono like warbly wails, and some thick buzzing bass, only to return to that strangely hypnotic lurching and stuttering groove and riding it out until the end.
Finally, the record closes with the awesomely and evocatively titled "Crystal Fortress Over The Sea Of Trees", which opens ominously like some sort of John Carpenter cinematic creepfest, but instead launches into some serious mathy post rock, only to have that Carpenter-y synth return, to help the song transition into something more swirling and surreal, but it only briefly, as the drums crash right back down, and the song returns to that opening post-math-psych-prog groove, the sound noisy, with all manner of guitar shards and fragmented melodies and bits of keyboard and strange voices swirling all around it, the song building to a strangely choral sounding drum and vocal coda, before devolving into burst of bass buzz and drum pound before clipping out abruptly, leaving a long stretch of near silence, a barely there distant blur of tinny vocals and ghostlike shimmer.
Definite contender for record of the year, it's available on both cd and lp, the vinyl limited to 500 copies...
The press release for this described Yat-Kha as "Tuvan music -- with a punk rock twist", which doesn't quite get it right so, in an effort to clarify this remark they say elsewhere: "OK it's not the Sex Pistols kind of punk -- think Joy Division", which is
They never ever disappoint, in fact more often than not, they totally blow us away. And with Popular Songs, Yo La Tengo remind us once again why they are one of the best bands of the last quarter century. From start to finish this is an album with so many different sounds, styles, moods and motifs, yet it's all so deliciously Yo La Tengo! Like their best albums, the first time you hear this record you know it's going to be an album that you'll listen to for the rest of your life. And in this day and age of disposable culture it's so incredibly refreshing to have YLT, whose music has such a timeless element, and sounds so personal and passionate, and will undoubtedly stand the test of time. YLT never aspired to be the hippest or trendiest or coolest band around. Simply stated, slow and steady wins the race! They've definitely won, and continue to win, and in turn so have we. They've made their indelible mark by just being themselves, and when it comes to pure substance it just doesn't get more richly rewarding than YLT.
Popular Songs is like an album that represent the best friend we all wish we could have. Someone you can turn to when it's time to get deep or vent some bittersweet sadness, someone you can also have fun sleepover parties with and let loose and experience total joy together. These are a set of songs that really do hit at almost the entire spectrum of emotion, and the pacing/sequencing of the album just couldn't be more perfect. Whether being melted away by one of Georgia Hubley's beautifully aching drift-away numbers or being swept up in a Motown like fury or rocked by a straight ahead burner, there is such immaculate skill in the crafting of each song.
The album features wonderfully lush string arrangements provided by Richard Evans, the legendary soul pioneer who contributed so much to the amazing '60s Chicago/Cadet soul scene, who many of you might know and love for his work on the great Afro-Harping album by Dorothy Ashby. So awesome, and yet after taking so many wonderful twist and turns, it is the ending of the album that really leaves us so stunned and in awe.
The last two tracks are very long and mostly instrumental. "The Fireside" is eleven minutes of total shoegaze bliss, that puts most actual 'shoegaze' bands to shame, letting the listener get lost in a slow glowing haze. And then the album's closer "And The Glitter Is Gone", an almost sixteen minute sonic smolder brimming with a droning and triumphant psychedelic spirit that we could listen to forever.
One of those rare records that is all 'favorite songs', every listen, a new song gets stuck in your head and fills your heart, only to be supplanted by another the next time, and on it goes, favorite after favorite after favorite. We think it's fair to say this is a total masterpiece from one of our favorite groups!
We went a little nuts for the skewed not-quite-black-metal of the oddly monickered Yoga, whose split with Ghast we reviewed a while back. Their sound not really buzzy and brutal as much as warped and twisted and blackened, more like a blurry shadow of black metal, the murky muddy underbelly of a sound more traditionally buzzy and black. Or as someone here opined, it's not black metal, but it wouldn't exist without black metal.
We'd been anxiously awaiting more, having played that split to DEATH, this full length definitely one of our most anticipated records of the year, and an inevitable Record Of The Week. The band do not disappoint. Once again, exploring all manner of spaced out otherworldliness, the blackness more implied, the buzz doused in druggy FX and wrapped around twisted streaks of fragmented pop and sprawling deconstructed dronemuisc. The core of the sound a sort of blissed out, uneasy, lo-fi dronescape, infused with fragmented riffage, pounding drum detritus, and super effected howling vox. There are definitely moments on Megafauna where Yoga begin to resemble an actual and proper metal band, but even then the sound is ragged and off kilter, effects swooping and swirling, the repetitive buzz becoming mantra like, the various strands of melody unraveling before your ears, like a live, metal, Disintegration Loop, with sounds crumbling and falling to pieces, the sound of dissolution and destruction rendered in abstract sound.
Imagine Tim Hecker or Philip Jeck, filtered through a grim black bedroom black metal aesthetic. Or better yet, Jeck in full corpse paint, hunkered over a row of black turntables, candles guttering in the evening breeze, lit from below like some hellish visage, the sounds emanating from his warped vinyl manipulations, being these: fuzzy, gauzy smears of indistinct shimmer and ghostly shadow, haunted music box missives, grim buzzscapes underpinned by heaving swells of crumbling blackness, abstruse sonic alchemy begetting bursts of almost orchestral crush, as well as long stretches of fun house mirror hum and whir, all gathered into a loose songsuite that oozes and drifts, interrupted only by the occasional squall of buzzing metal pound, either looped and frenzied sounding, or lurching and doom-ic, the drums a murky plod, the guitar slippery and shimmery, the riffs melty and viscous, the arrangements endless and lysergic, the sound washed out and shoegazey, a sort of hybridized black metal space rock trip out, that may lumber or blast or crunch, but always eventually slips back into a sound more abstract and metaphysical, psychedelic and darkly dreamy. Yeah!
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
An obscure late-sixties ahead-of-his-time visionary gets his due with this LP reissue. A while back, the Get Hip label released two songs by Michael Yonkers on a 7" and a compilation and that started the buzz. Yonker's stuff was like nothing anyone had heard back then (or even now, really): fucked up garage psych with dementedly genius lyrics and crazy acid-fried guitar. Now Destijl has released the whole LP, that was originally recorded in 1968 but then quickly shelved almost before it had a chance to be heard. Yonkers, a legendary Minneapolis-area figure, built his own effects pedals, cut his Fender Telecaster down to a plank, and played like no one else ever. I'm at a loss of words on how to describe this. It's sort of like a fusion of stripped down Black Sabbath, The Troggs, Pere Ubu, and The Cramps?? Or something like that. Definitely something to check out. Vinyl only.
Ok, we figured it was about time we made YOU the Record Of The Week, after all, you've been such a loyal customer for such a long time, haven't you, so it seems like it would be a nice gesture...hahaha. No, the band is called You, and they're our latest krautrock love affair. When we got an advance copy of this disc a few weeks ago, we were immediately intrigued, just by the awesome cover art (is that a cosmic tuning fork?), brilliant basic band name, and also by the band photo (long haired guy in shades, new wavey dude in even bigger shades, stoned looking guy with 'stache) that struck us as looking so much like a hip new band from here and now (like, say, the Jonas Reinhardt fellas, with a Ripley from Wooden Shjips clone in there too) but upon closer inspection, we found it was indeed a reissue, brought to us by the excellent German label Bureau-B, known for their krautrock archaeology (Cluster/Moebius/Roedelius stuff especially) as well as for putting out newer albums from the scene, including the latest Kreidler.
Originally released in 1979, Electric Day was the first album from You (their other one, 1983's Time Code, has also been reissued, and is really just about as great, you'll find it highlighted elsewhere on this list - we came close to making 'em both Records Of The Week). On Electric Day, You consisted of synth mavens Udo Hanten and Albin Meskes along with guitarist Uli Weber and, on drums, under the alias Lhan Gopal for some reason, Harald Grosskopf (a name you might know if only 'cause his own, concurrently recorded Synthesist album was recently reissued on vinyl and highlighted here not long ago). Grosskopf had played drums with Klaus Schulze, and was in Manuel Gottsching's Ashra band at the time. Producer Conny Plank hooked him up with Hanten and Meskes, and we can hear here that they all got along famously, being "Berlin School" mates as it were.
Together on You's debut, this cosmic quartet unleashed much glorious spaced out, spooked out, futuro-zone synth shiver, with psych guitar tripping, electronic pulsations, and Grosskopf's tight percussion, no pussyfooting about it! Seriously, they really do sound quite a bit like Jonas Reinhardt (or rather, the other way around), and could also easily have been the template for a lot of other current bands we love doing the kosmic kraut/John Carpenter-y electronic rock thing, like Zombi, Majeure and Maserati, most definitely! So it's not just for completist krautrock collector types that we recommend this album, nope. And did you catch our Fripp/Eno reference? Others to cite in the "recommended if you like" realm: Heldon, Cloudland Canyon, Michael Rother, Sensations Fix, Moebius & Beerbohm, the previously mentioned Ashra, etc.
All instrumental ('cause in space no one can hear you scream), You's Electric Day begins with the title track, a busy burbling rhythm soon washed over with waves and waves of electronics, while remaining upbeat and snazzily sizzling. The 2nd track, the moodier "Magooba", gets darker and more intense, letting rip with zips and zaps and plenty of freaky guitar. Then the focus shifts back to the shuffling machine rhythms on "Son Of A True Star". That's followed by the two-part "Sequential Spectrums" which sees You setting the controls for deep dark outer space, drifting in shimmering, fizzing electronic ambience, having a bit of a Tangerine Dream, before the almost twelve minute long "Slow Go", the original album's penultimate track, kinda sums up all that came before into one epic journey, the beats tingling propulsively, waves of synth-sound building and building, in one big ecstatic celebration of "this kind of thing" for sure. But don't get too smiley and relaxed, 'cause You have a nervous-making finale in store, the jumpy, uber-distorted "Zero-Eighty-Four" being an active, sinister, suspenseful closer to the album proper...nice! And then, if you get the cd, that's followed by 4 bonus tracks (not on the vinyl, which is 180 gram however), totalling another 33 minutes of music! "E-Night" is blissful, but ultimately pretty heavy. "H.Rays Identity" features some strange sampled chanting amidst its electronic excess, while "Hallucination Engine" is sorta proto-ambient techno. And then "Yousless" sounds like it was written by/for R2D2 the Star Wars droid! All are quite worthwhile, and the whole disc is super solid stuff, making us wonder why we'd never heard about You before (that's why we love this job, the buried treasure out there seems endless, wow). This has gotta be the best unknown-to-us krautrock reissue since Riechmann's Wunderbar (also from Bureau B), at least.
There's really no other way for us to wind up this review other than saying, You rule!!
Young Marble Giants' minimal masterpiece, Colossal Youth, receives yet another reissue (the fifth or sixth to date)! This one is extra super special because it's a three cd set which compiles ALL of their previously released music! So you not only get the fifteen songs that make up the Colossal Youth album, but also a five song Peel Session from 1980, six songs from their 1981 Testcard EP, three from the Final Day single, sixteen from their 2000 Salad Days album, and their first ever recorded appearance titled "Ode To Booker T" from the 1979 compilation Is The War Over?.
Needless to say, it's a cause for celebration! Absolutely essential listening. This UK trio's existence was ever so fleeting, and they only had one proper album, but what a leftfield classic it is. It sounds *totally unique*, like nothing before and pretty much nothing since. Amid the aggression and edginess of the post-punk movement, YMG emerged as a remarkably stark, understated and utterly engaging wonder. It has made an enormous impact in the many years since its original release in 1980. Seriously, this is one of those classic albums that has influenced tons of musicians (Hole even covered "Credit in the Straight World", but don't hold that against YMG!). It ranks up there with, like, The Velvet Underground's first record, Neu!, the Raincoats, Pere Ubu's Modern Dance, etc., etc.
Their music's simplicity is deceptive. A very hushed, metronome-sounding drum machine ticks out the tireless beat of each song like a friendly clock, and its neutral tone is also reflected in Alison Statton's girlish, earnest, not always pitch-perfect vocals as well as in the muted string strum of Stuart Moxham's electric guitar. Spartan, angular strikes from the same guitar punctuate this steady atmosphere as a frail organ does its wheezing, bleating melodic best and Philip Moxham's rubbery bass line hesitantly bends and bounds. Minimal and no-frills, yes, but somehow there's so much more going on, and so much more expressed than its quietness belies. The songs are tiny and simple and total perfection. Powerful and totally f**king timeless and yes, very highly recommended.
As we mentioned above, we believe this just might be the fifth or sixth edition, and we hope that it's kept available forever and ever and ever!
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
It's always heartening when the standout record of the week is a local production. The Future Primitive Soundsession has proved itself a turntablist event par excellence, consistently scheduled once every couple of months for the past year and a half, featuring heavyweight scratchers from all over the country. The Invisibl Skratch Piklz, Beat Junkies and the Cut Chemist are regularly scheduled, as well as the Bombshelter crew from Phoenix. It's simply one of the best parties in town; you'll find people of all shapes, sizes and races enjoying the music. This cd features Bombshelter talents Z-Trip and Radar who unashamedly make use of their '70s and '80s metal record collections (Pink Floyd, Boston) to delirious effect. Will appeal to hip hop AND rock lovers (imagine that!)
Let me preface this review by mentioning that Allan has never read The Lord Of The Rings (even with his extensive D&D experience...hmmm).
Za Frumi is a group of Swedish musicians, disenchanted with the black metal scene, and the music scene in general, who were compelled to look elsewhere for the magic and mystery they felt was lacking in modern music. The result is 'Za Shum Ushatar Uglakh', a musical tale of a clan of orcs and their battle against a mighty vampire lord! That's right, orcs.
The story goes like this (from the liner notes):
"Join the epic voyage of the orc leader Uglakh and his compatriots. Their adventure begins in the deep lustrous forest filled with the sounds of the wild and the roar of a great fire. Around it sit the Uruki Uglach, awaiting the mysterious primal dance of their shaman. The morning after, the uruks, compelled by their mystic shamans advice to Uglach, attack an old castle. After the raid, the subservient Golug Fachtal and his more adventurous kinsmen Yagui forage the forest, and set out to build a watch tower. After a frustrated argument about a toadstool, the wet Yagul and the other orcs begin building a tower, while the dagalush Knish and his kapuli friend go further afield, and find a deep sea beach, where the melodious elves are making sweet music. Later, we join the clans march during a night filled with wonder. They press constantly on, sometimes marching, sometimes sneaking. After a short stroll in the forest, Uglakh and his clansmen happen upon the dark, brooding castle of the dreaded vampire Ismael. The journey through his dark castle has two parts, with mysterious subterranean chanting and majestic orchestral sounds. They face many perils there, and end in the final battle with Ismael in his greatest chamber."
Much like a radio play, the whole drama is played out via dialogue (more on that later), ambient sounds and incidental music.
So simply as a musical story, utilising dark ambience, cinematic soundscapes, the sounds of life in the forest (sticks crackling, wind blowing, water splashing, swords clashing) and a litany of grunts and growls, which is the dialogue spoken entirely in orcish (for real! -- a handy translation is included in the booklet for those not fluent in the tongue). It's really interesting and quite entertaining.
But the music, taken on its own, is quite an epic dronescape (albiet littered with very un-drone like segments). 'Za Shum...' is a strange mix of dark rumbles and throbbing pulses, simple clattery rhythms and tribal workouts, grunting and growling and roaring (that could be electronic rumbles or misplaced death metal vocalists if you didn't already know it was orcs) and the occasional folky flute interlude. Imagine the No Neck Blues Band jamming with Jonathan Coleclough or Andrew Chalk, with Chris Barnes (Cannibal Corpse) or Glenn Benton (Deicide)
grunting the dialogue with the Thai Elephant Orchestra as their rhythm section. It's that weird. It's that cool.
All kinds of awesomeness here on this new Zebulon Pike album, their fourth, and the Minnesota instrumental math metal stoner doom post-rock space-rock (whew!) combo's first full-length in like three years. It's also their first ever to be released on (double lp gatefold) VINYL as well as compact disc. If you're already a big ZP fan like us, and we know lots of AQ customers are, then you're automatically super stoked at this news and we should just get outta the way and let you "add to cart" without further ado. But, we realize that (for some strange reason) not everybody in the whole world knows who ZP is or just why they're so great. So unfair (for them) and unfortunate (for all their potential fans), 'cause as we've said before, they should be HUGE... at least signed to Hydra Head (instead of their own label) and touring with bands like Baroness, hyped by all the cool magazines and blogs and whatnot. Not sure why that hasn't really happened yet, but if we have anything to say about it, someday it will.
Soooo... this album, being to our ears arguably their best yet, would be a great one to get into for the first time, for those who haven't yet been exposed to that special "Zebulon Pike radiation" we've referred to in the past. Not sure we can out-do any of our previous reviews in the hyperbole dep't., we've raved about 'em before for sure, and it will be hard for us to come up with anything better to say here, of course we'll pull out the old standby that they're kinda like Pelican meets The Fucking Champs, combining lumbering sub-bass heaviosity, surging melodicism, and stunning dual guitar harmonies - definitely a band playing music for music's sake ("Hats Off To Music" as the Champs would say, paraphrasing Led Zep's feelings about Roy Harper).
With spiralling leads and chugging riffage, ZP is definitely into metal, but also 20th century classical (Steve Reich?), and prog, that's more from whence their extended song structures arise - the five tracks here are mostly long, all the double digits except one. Crucial for an instrumental band, they not only come up with good riffs, but also concentrate on interesting, extreme sonic textures, getting into avant garde areas at times. Like, what's up with the crazy chorus of "wheee wheee wheee" sounds (somehow produced by the guitars, we assume) cacophonously closing track one, "Spectrum Threshold"? We don't know, but we like it. The drummer gets into the avant-action too, there's stretches of percussive soundscapes, dense drum storms and spacious skitter. You definitely don't miss there being a vocalist, this definitely keeps your attention, as long as the songs are, with twists and turns, first hypnotizing with crushing riff repetition, then plunging into a droning abstract celestial otherworld or a quiet jazzy pretty passage, like the tinkling music box midsection dropped into "Echoic Worlds" that sets you up for the heavy angular riffage set to surge forth immediately afterwards. And this album never bogs down, there's always a sense of strong, propulsive forward motion, even with the ambient detours.
Compared to earlier albums by these guys, we sense even more emphasis here on the '90s post rock part of the ZP equation. Lots of that loud/soft stuff a la Slint and Mogwai, but way more metal... some other bands that come to mind while listening to this, from moment to moment, include Don Caballero, Yob, Iceburn (circa Hephaestus, an underrated classic we'd love review someday, if it ever comes back into print!), Megaton Leviathan, forgotten AQ faves Fuehler, early Pharaoh Overlord, Isis, Boris, Conifer, Sardonis, and more... but they sound like ZP and only ZP at the end of the day.
One sign of a good album is that it immediately compels repeated plays from the sometimes jaded, overwhelmed listeners here at AQ, this one sure did and that's why we made it Record Of The Week. Space Is The Corpse Of Time is pushing our buttons for what we like in "this sort of thing" while also springing plenty of surprises.
So if you like your post rock to be heavy and sludgey, and you like your sludgey heavy rock to be instrumental, and you like your sludgey heavy instrumental post rock to be both super melodic and sonically adventurous, almost scientifically advanced, well heck then you sound like our sort of customer and we highly recommend this Zebulon Pike album to you! It's an epic feast of might and majesty and MUSIC.
FYI, if you get the vinyl, it comes with an mp3 download card. Obviously if you get the cd, you don't need that.
