We've been meaning to list more releases on Medical Records, one of the coolest reissue labels going these days. The label describes themselves as "Purveyors of classic synth, cosmic disco, wave (cold/new), and future music", and in the past have brought us killer reissues from Der Plan, Deutsche Wertarbeit, and Alexander Robotnick, with tons more we've yet to review (but hopefully will soon!). But we can't think of a better way to start our Medical Records review campaign than this amazing record, 1983's Novels For The Moon, by the awesomely named Axxess, aka French multimedia artist Patrick Mimran, a record whose genesis is nearly as interesting as the record itself. But before we get to that, just know that ANYone into the current crop of psych-space-synth retro-futurists, a la Zombi, Majeure, Umberto, Gatekeeper, Dylan Ettinger, Nightsatan, Blizaro, Xander Harris, Roll The Dice and all the rest, should grab one of these right now!
So, the story goes, that Mimran was working as a top executive at Lamborghini Motors (the exotic sports car / race car company), when he made this record, and originally released it on, believe it or not, Lamborghini's own record label (which had us wondering what other Lamborghini Records releases might be lurking out there?!). His music was heavily influenced by the German krautrock of the time (Tangerine Dream, Kraftwerk, etc.), and he even commissioned a German engineer to build him a custom synthesizer, a much more complex version of one that the same engineer had earlier designed for Tangerine Dream! And in a further connection to Tangerine Dream, Novels For The Moons was recorded with help from TD member Christopher Franke (who was also in Agitation Free). Needless to say, sonically, this Axxess album has much in common with Tangerine Dream, but also with the creepy synth soundtracks of Goblin and John Carpenter, the sounds on the record ranging from pulsing space disco, to haunting ominous synth soundtrackery, to blissed out kosmische new age, often all of those combined.
On first listen, you'll be shocked at how much the current crop of synth wranglers sound like Axxess, an artist probably most of them have never heard, but who no doubt will be immediately obsessed with, how could they not be? The tracks mesmerizing and hypnotic, sequenced melodies, pulsing rhythms, the Kraftwerk vibe HUGE in places, thick swaths of kosmische drift, swirls of new agey shimmer, much of this sounds like mysterious B-movie soundtracks, chase scenes, credit sequences, others sound like background music from some seriously tripped out seventies nature program, all of it sounds druggy and cosmic, soaring and epic and impossibly catchy, driving and pulsating, pulsing and mesmerizing, beyond the classic synth sounds, there's plenty of other craziness going on as well, strange processed vocals, intense stereo panning, even wild monkey screeches on one track, but it's all somehow woven into the whole, which most definitely works as an album proper, but whose sound slip seamlessly from dark and ominous, to playful and goofy, to intense and driving, krautrocky and blissed out one minute, groovy and darkly psychedelic the next. So totally recommended.
LIMITED TO 1000 COPIES! Each one hand numbered. Pressed on 180 gram yellow vinyl, housed in a reproduction of the original jacket, with a 12"x12" printed insert with liner notes including pictures of the synth used to make the record, a history of the record and its creation, and an interview with Patrick Mimran!
Well, there's Records Of The Week, and then there's Records Of The Week. This one was quite a nice surprise. And it's not like we don't already expect great things from the globetrotting subversives at the Sublime Frequencies label, they're always making great discoveries - we almost take 'em for granted now, we suppose. So with this album, by the wonderfully-named Baba Commandant and the Mandingo Band, which boast a striking cover design too, at first we were like, that's probably going to be cool, but then when we heard it, we were like, this is REALLY cool. We were expecting some kind of funky Afrobeat, and that's what it is, but much wilder than we ever imagined. Totally off the hook!
Baba Commandant (aka Mamadou Sanou) and his band are from the West African state of Burkina Faso (formerly the Upper Volta), and in a true, underground, DIY style, mix up the traditional, tribal Mandingo music of their region with a more modern, electric approach. Baba Commandant, born in 1973, who sings and plays the ngoni (an ancient, traditional lute), has been an active and original presence on the music scene in Burkina Faso for many years. He's been in various other bands, but as far as we know, this is the debut release from this group. It's a cool discovery on the part of Sublime Frequencies, but we bet Baba Commandant & Co. would have been heard sooner or later over here, just due to the tons of rhythmic energy radiating from their music. Yup, they've got plenty of power (there's guitars to go with the ngoni, horns too, and they don't hold back), making for some pretty hot jams. The wide ranging vocals of Baba and his backup singers are crucial too, and together the group really casts a hypnotic spell. Fans of Konono No.1, of all the cool desert guitar bands that Sublime Frequencies has brought us before (like the late, great Koudede, whom Baba Commandant has performed a live tribute to), of anything Afro-funky and maybe a bit eccentric in that vein, check this out, you will dig!!
On cd and lp, and as usual with Sublime Frequencies, the vinyl is a limited edition release.
Now released domestically!...When we first heard the Badly Drawn Boy, we couldn't believe our ears. Who was this guy? He was like a Britpop Beck; sort of Beck-like voice, twisted pop sensibilities, beautifully Sentridoh-style home recording, and songs that kill. Well, we still don't exactly know who he is, except for the fact that he's the Mercury Prize winner, but at least now there's more than two impossible to find eps. Surprisingly, for his first full length, BDB has abandoned the lo-fi bedroom sound, and lots of his Beck-isms and created a lush, hyper-produced pop masterpiece. Somewhere between Elliott Smith, Radiohead, and Beck. Right off the bat, the first song is a spare arrangement for strings and oboes and cornets. In fact the whole record is dotted with swelling string parts, horns, accordions, bleeps and bloops and super creative production. This is a weird and beautiful (albeit commercial, compared to his earlier recordings and remixes) record, definitely for fans of Beck, Elliott Smith, Radiohead, Quasi, Built to Spill, etc. Imagine Beck or Elliott Smith, if they grew up in England, listening to Radiohead and Oasis, and cut their teeth doing remixes for a who's who of British pop/dance groups, and put a record out on MoWax. It's kind of like that, but not exactly. But it *is* totally great.
Expectations were pretty high for this one. Two long time aQ favorites, both with similar yet distinctive sounds, but with incredibly different bodies of work. Aidan Baker, who releases records a mile a minute, averaging 1 or 2 a month, thankfully managing to hit the bullseye almost every time. And Tim Hecker, who has produced 5 or 6 full lengths in as many years, every one practically perfect. Both Baker and Hecker explore similar sonic spectrums, utilizing fuzz and buzz and shimmer, Baker taking it a step further with his doom duo Nadja, taking the lurch and lumber of the genre and adding swirls of gauze and haze and bliss, while solo, he tends toward the more ambient and abstract. Hecker on the other hand takes what appears to be pop music and subverts it, sublimates it, pulls it apart and recontextualizes the sound, which usually involves wrapping everything in washed out whirs and blurred hiss, and all manner of glitch and crackle, like listening to music through headphones made out of steel wool and insulation. But with two such strong sonic personalities, the potential for this collaboration to be a bit of a mess was fairly high, and then of course there was also the possibility that each would just do their own thing, allowing the other to add bits here and there. But somehow, the sounds on Fantasma Parastasie manage to transcend, allowing glimpses of familiar sounds, hints of each artist's own work, but woven into a whole that is unto itself, a gloriously abstract swirl of sound, longform landscapes of bliss and blur, of buzz and even roar, extended movements, in which the various elements drift and shimmer, overlap and intertwine, melodies and songcraft meet texture and soundscapery, guitars unfurl tangled melodies one second, bleary eyed chordal blurs the next, harmonics glisten and hover amidst deep soft swells, distortion and buzz build into fierce walls of blown out psychedelia, the sounds crumbling and decaying before our ears, threatening to collapse, and in this fragile state lies the beauty of those sounds, effulgent, incandescent, but at the same time, blackening, beginning some unnamable process of inevitable decay. And eventually it does decay, those thick roiling sounds dissipate, leaving something soft and shimmery, glistening on a bed of shed buzz and crumbled crush, floating heavenward, its notes and melodies catching the sunlight, and offering up prismatic reflections.
The strange thing about this record is that each song is separated into super short pieces, eleven in most cases, each part between 15 and 45 seconds (it's obviously much more noticeable on the cd). We tried listening to it on shuffle, presuming that was perhaps the intention, and while it still sounds cool, it was a bit too and took too much away from the overall effect. Instead, the various parts, played in order, slip seamlessly into one another, so much so that if you weren't watching the tracks tick by on player, you wouldn't even notice.
The two work amazingly well together, bits of guitar, fragments of riffs, looped and repeated, swathed in thick smears of digital crunch, of buzzing rumble, much of the record sounds like a heavier William Basinski, as if the two were experimenting with they own Disintegration Loops. A few of the tracks are quite tranquil, abstract and minimal, but for the most part, Baker and Hecker seem more interested in distressed sounds, in distortion, in pushing the limits, composing in the red, needles pegged, but taking what in other hands could be harsh and abrasive, and crafting those sounds into something simultaneously soft and dreamlike. Even the various movements, drift smoothly into one another the entire record almost like a single piece, expansive and varied and sprawling, epic and majestic, but inward looking, introspective, melancholy, imbuing the crumbling crunch and blown out minimalism, with emotion, with distinctive mood, at once dark and mysterious, but also strangely hopeful.
The album closer and title track, is the only one not split up into movements, and is easily the most abstract, the most minimal, a stretch of lugubrious low end, so soft, so weightless, a hushed musical murmur, no distortion, no buzz, just a simple swell and sway, drifting fading, and finally disappearing.
Absolutely breathtaking.
As you've no doubt heard us mention before, as much as we love scouring the depths for cool new music (whether it be dusty used bins, garage sales, recommendations from friends or good old fashioned Bandcamp), there's a special joy reserved for aQ walk-in discoveries. That is to say, someone who just strolls into the shop unexpectedly, brandishing an album they've just released - no expectations or preconceived notions. There's nothing quite as exciting as placing said brandished record on the turntable & experiencing that moment of discovery as the realization dawns... It's good. It's reeeeal good. Such is the case with Balms! Seeping through the speakers like dust-speckled rays of hazy sunlight comes some of the most beautifully executed shoegazey dreampop we've heard in quite some time. And for a sound that's arguably in no short supply right now (not that we're complaining) that's really saying something. There's a pitch perfect balance of atmosphere & poppiness here. Guitars twinkle & drip like glittering syrup, the vocals lush & anesthetized, but surprisingly audible. As much as most bands plying in this trade like to bury their vocals in reverb & murk, Balms have a much more direct approach, and the result is an immediate emotional connection, a much more human sounding sort of shoegaze. And though Balms never really get heavy like, say, Nothing or Whirr (although they're sure to appeal to fans of those guys) there's still a rousing drive to their music - it's just a drive that allows the spaciousness of their sound, the bittersweet heartswelling tug of those lost-summer-memory melodies, and the concise hookiness of their songwriting take center stage. It's simple powerful stuff - the kind of record you want to hit repeat on over and over. Without a doubt one of our favorite recent local discoveries, and along with Modern Charms & Dissolve another glittering jewel in San Francisco's dreamy shoegaze crown! For all of those unafraid to get a little starry-eyed, bleary-eyed & teary-eyed this couldn't come more highly recommended!
Devendra Banhart -- who appears to be living his life as an indie-rock gipsy touring with whomever and squatting wherever, including a stint wowing locals here in SF -- crafts his neo-folk songs with the primitive instrumentation of voice and acoustic guitar, spanning a vast spectrum of fragmented emotions through a manic-depressive persona that can be as beautifully charming as it can be terrifyingly devastating. Michael Gira, who released this album through his Young God label, accurately described Banhart's voice with its skewed vibrato and unnerving warble as somewhere in between the magical voices of Marc Bolan, Karen Dalton, Syd Barrett, Tiny Tim, Daniel Johnston, and Nick Drake; and fortunately, Banhart uses that voice to tell a wholly unique set of stories that hold a succinct poetry. Hastily stitched from bizarre stream of consciousness associations and absurdist conditional clauses, Banhart's lyrics expand the realm of possibility into psychosexual surrealism. On occasion, Banhart's tales are anthropomorphic love songs, wistfully dreaming of archaic steam ships and the state of Michigan (yes, he pines for Michigan) with all of sexual cravings and romantic nuances of a young boy first pierced by Cupid's arrow; yet on other occasion, Banhart gnashes his teeth with such existential confusion that the targets of his epithets are blurred by his bilious rage. Within Banhart's language, reality has been realized as a swollen mass of malformed emotions compounded by the urgency that resonates within his voice.
Upon listening to this album, I've had the recurring, sinking feeling either that Banhart is destined to star in an upcoming Harmony Korine film or that he will be dead in a few years as victim of an unspecified gruesome tragedy. As I've tried and failed to assign such distinctly odd critical-doomspeak within various arguments and generalized thesis about the perception of the separation between art and life, I mention it because Banhart -- unlike any artist whom I've come across -- has been able to provoke such controversial thoughts. Far from me to wish Banhart or anybody ill-will, but true manifestations of horror defy logic and are very rare indeed. And this, gentle reader, is the real deal.
If you recall, Andee began his review of Woven Hand's album with the bold statement: "I hate to gush, but gush I must, this is my record of the year. Done deal." As for me (Jim, along with Marcy and Windy), the debut from Devendra Banhart needs to be given serious consideration as a contender for record of the year 2002.
One of two splits on this week's list from local psychedelic space rockers and aQ faves Carlton Melton, both amazingly appropriate team-ups. The other one is a super limited 7" with UK space rockers Mugstar, and then there's this, a vinyl-only split with legendary Phillie psych rockers Bardo Pond, who prove to be the perfect match for Carlton Melton slow burning laid back psychedelic drift.
CM's side-long "Slow Growth" (a title by way of an early AQ Carlton Melton review by our very own Scott) definitely describes CM's sidelong jam here, easily one of their best, and most musically cohesive, finding sharp sonic focus even amidst the seemingly freeform drift, the track beginning as a soft hazy swirl, softly churning guitars over what sounds like whipping wind, the vibe tense and ominous and darkly dreamy, it takes a few minutes for the song proper to kick in, but when it does, the guitars immediately swoop in and distort, blossoming into massive crumbling swells, heaving and howling over delicate crystalline strum and simple propulsive motorik drumming. The drums eventually drop out, leaving the sound to slowly implode, growing muddier and murkier, stretched way out into muted drones, laced with shards of feedback and little fragmented melodies, all before another slow build, back into a seriously dense sonic squall, still muted and murky, but seriously black hole dense, a roiling cloud of blackened psych, which billows wildly until the drums gradually return, offering a rhythmic anchor and guiding the track to its final resting place.
Bardo Pond counter with one of the best tracks we've heard from them, the sound fierce and epic and lush and SO heavy, launching immediately into a gorgeous sprawl of free form psychedelia, clouds of swirling guitars, tangled melodies, the drums loose and free and awesomely wild, but still managing to somehow hold everything together, but just barely. The vibe is blissed out and druggy, it's the sort of jam, that could go on forever, and sort of does, and is somehow simultaneously static and hypnotic, but also impossibly active and constantly shifting, a swirl of melodies and textures, the guitars unleashing some seriously kick ass leads, filling the sky with sonic contrails and swirling chordal clouds, the flute shows up late, and flutters subtly beneath the ever intensifying guitar freakouts, the vocals come in even later, and then only briefly, but add the perfect sort of gauzy / ethereal vibe to the proceedings, the song seeming to just organically wind down, leaving us to imagine that somewhere else there's a version, that does in fact go on forever.
LIMITED TO 800 COPIES!!! ----* ----* Highlights : ----*
We've been digging this recent wave of super minimal electronic music like crazy, whether it's the stripped down house and dark moody techno of Shed or Terrence Dixon, the post industrial gothic beatscapery of Vatican Shadow, the dour blackened brutalism of Silent Servant, the murky avant electronica of Haxan Cloak and Prurient, the field recording flecked minimalism of Rainforest Spiritual Enslavement, or recent outings from new aQ faves like Shifted and Ron Morelli, it's almost like the techno/house haters have had their whole world turned upside down, with all of these gothy, gloomy, murky, grim variants on house music and techno, stripped down to the bare minimum, transformed somehow into something blackly psychedelic and woozily abject, total blunted comedown minimalism, that is easily some of the darkest and most mesmerizing music we've heard in ages. None more so than Oats, from Basic House, aka Stephen Bishop, the man behind the Opal Tapes label, who as Basic House, has created something more than that moniker might imply, sure it could be considered 'basic house', but a basic house constructed from crumbling distortion, and chunks of static, weird field recordings, woozy loops, disembodied melodies, you can hear hints of Andy Stott and Demdike Stare and the Caretaker, but Basic House is something else all together, a sort of decaying hauntological dance music, that seems to be cobbled together from sonic detritus, one could almost imagine this as electronica as envisioned by Tim Hecker and Philip Jeck, it has that same sort of warped warble, and grey, washed out abstraction. It's one of those rare records that is truly difficult to describe, which is precisely what makes it so utterly mesmerizing.
Breaking down the first two tracks should give you a rough idea of what you're in store for, beginning with a weird field of stuttering static, shards of tape hiss, and what sounds like gristly analog crunch, all pulsing hypnotically over a backdrop of woozy looped melody, and slow shifting textures, a barely there rhythm seems to be forming, it's not until nearly two minutes in that a proper beat surfaces, a monotonous 4/4 pulse, adding a strangely skeletal framework to the proceedings, before that beat blossoms into something almost electro, adding some distorted dubsteppy bass wobble, but the whole thing remaining super wasted and washed out and ultra minimal. Eventually, multiple melodies swoop in, as do auxiliary beats, the sound a dense swirl, dizzying and weirdly psychedelic, and in a weird way, almost poppy sounding, before devolving in a field of spaced out crackle and hiss, all tangled up with layered loops, and mysterious, almost easy listening sounding samples, before lurching directly into the second track, a churning murk-march of pounding Teutonic throb, and looped ominous whisper, everything wreathed in thick swirls of record crackle / tape hiss, the sound quickly and repeatedly transforming, at one point sounding like alien elevator music, rife with churning, chugging low end thrum, and fields of insectoid click, while elsewhere unravelling like a heaving sprawl of avant industrial noisiness. And while that may give you an idea of what Basic House is all about, the rest of the record does its best to continually confuse and confound.
Short stretches of mangled field recordings wrapped around barely there beats, give way to super spare soundscapes of glistening crackle, and mutated textures, jagged shards of caustic digital crunch are sculpted into corrosive rhythmscapes that seem to melt into droned out Wolf Eyes style drones, all high end skree, and scraping digital crunch. Some tracks are whispery latticeworks of groaning and creaking ambience, short wave transmissions drifting through fields of hushed thrum, and barely there chordal swells, sometimes blossoming into garbled grooves, all hazy and bleakly blissed out, other times unfurling mysterious swirls of digital stutter and looped vocal whispers, those alien sounds seeming to collect melody and texture as they creep through landscapes of shimmer and hum. Here and there, the record does return to something more overtly rhythmic, like on the balearic "C-Beat", which is like modern minimalism by way of Pole's granular digidub, but recast as some ghostly trance, all whispery stutter, wreathed in warbly wooziness and glassine high end shimmer, but the record eventually settles into a haunting hushed finale, the meditative, minimal drone of "L-Wave And Combo", which is one long sprawl of buried melody and tranced out thrum, but instead of smooth and shimmery, the sounds are rough and raw, crumbling and crunchy, but in no way does that detract from the track's enthralling mesmer. So fucking great. And just in under the wire, in the nick of time to make it onto plenty of top ten lists, and for some of us here, quite possibly a contender for the top spot!
We first got a glimpse of the newly invigorated, and newly METAL-ized Bastard Noise on the recent split with The Endless Blockade, with BN sounding like the second coming of Man Is The Bastard, all heavy and noisy and bassy, but still rife with noise and electronics, incorporating our favorite elements of Bastard Noise offshoot Geronimo into a dizzying hybrid, that hit the spot like crazy. So with this new full length, Bastard Noise have pushed that sound even further. Opening with a brief spoken word monologue, the band explode in an electronic flecked bass heavy crush, the bass and drums locked tight, a lumbering lurching dirge, proggy and intricate, and weirdly melodic, with some of the SICKEST vocals ever, alternating death metal growls and throat shredding shrieks, and all over the place, thick shards of damaged electronics and fractured effects, careening wildly until finally locking into a groove that just won't quit, chaotic drumming, low slung bass buzz, the heaviest, most bad ass thing we've heard in ages. "Me And Hitler" is another blast of Man Is The Bastard style bass driven powerviolence, but with the addition of those shrieked almost black metal vocals, and still more caveman electronics... and when the band again get all proggy and intricate and heavy and groovy, they almost sound like Nomeansno, if NmN were WAY meaner and brutal and caustic, which is in NO way a bad thing.
The whole record is a crushing downtuned post-punk avant prog powerviolence electronic kraut-dirge motherfucker, the songs lurch and swing and grind and blast and pound and pummel, bursts of double kick underpin shards of crackling electronic glitchery and analog skree, there are some really strange stretches of almost jazzy drift, crooned reverbed ambience, operatic abstraction, spaced out dronemusic and moody instrumental skitter, but those brief moments only serve to balance the otherwise insanely and genius-ly brutal heaviness. Fuck, this totally rules!
We sure are suckers for unconventional music making. Be it accidental (ice melting, applause, junkyards, metal rusting, fire burning) or environmental (elephants, sled dogs, cats purring, FROGS!, bats) and most especially the mysterious or unexplained (the sounds of the dead, breaking through the radio waves, haunting shortwave spy transmissions). Then there is a whole other realm of unconventional music making: the mad scientist. Why form a band, when you can construct robots and machines to play all the instruments? Why actually play the piano, or the guitar, or the drums, when you can construct an elaborate set of pulleys and levers and gears and axles that will play them for you? Why be happy with a turntable that plays records with only one stylus when you can make music with a turntable equipped with multiple needles? We can only assume Pierre Bastien asked these same questions, and the answer he came up with is Pop. Forty five minutes of simple, repetitive, hypnotic and mesmerizing machine driven minimal krautrock. That's right, krautrock is what this sounds like.
In lesser hands a room full of self playing instruments would most likely result in a sterile series of sound events, but Bastien has a deft hand and a keen ear, and breathes life into his automatons, delicate contraptions that each contribute a unique element to a song, not just spitting out sounds -- strange gadgets that play simple chords on a keyboard, an apparatus to beat out simple insistent rhythms, all manner of haunting minor key plinkety plonk, crisp windup toy clickety clacks and disgruntled grinding large machinery groans and whines, some strange warped turntablizations, wearily wheezing woodwinds, all woven into spare stretches of minimally propulsive ambience. Sounds a bit like an army of tiny wind up toys assembled in an automated sonic ballet, an inhuman menagerie making music more human that it seems possible. The vibe is very fuzzy and washed out, droney and dolorous, smeary and sepia-toned, definite shades of Philip Jeck and Tim Hecker, with plenty of creak and crackle surrounding the minimal melodies and subtle rhythmic pulses within each song. It's easy to become obsessed with the method behind the music, and the amount of obviously painstaking preparation that went into creating these machines. And why not?! It's absolutely mind boggling to be sure, but even beyond the mere construction of these music making mechanisms, imagine figuring out how to get these 'things' to make these sounds, and THEN somehow to compose music this lovely and captivating. Seems impossible. Surely, Pop is too perfect to be accidental, too beautiful to be pure luck, too musical to be anything other than the work of a brilliant mad sonic scientist. Or better yet, and possibly more likely, imagine Bastien is nothing if not lucky, a man who somehow stumbled upon a secret world of machines, in some mysterious forgotten warehouse, in some dark overlooked part of town, an insulated little world populated by these devices, not a living breathing creature in sight, just shelves full of strange little contraptions, all running endlessly and self controlled, creating this beautiful music as if that's what they were designed to do, and he was just the first to stumble upon this place, these things, and was able to capture these mysterious sounds before one night, that building and those things were nowhere to be found. Sounds farfetched, maybe a little silly, but it's the sort of romantic story that befits music this warm and beautiful and mysterious, whether it was ultimately the work of a man, or the just the serendipitous sounds of a room full of machines.
We first discovered Russian pianist / composer Anton Batagov via his breathtaking triple cd release The Wheel Of The Law, a record EVERYone here loved, and one that we sold tons of and realized in retrospect, really should have been a Record Of The Week. Much of what made that record special was how rooted in Batagov's Buddhism the music was, a mesmerizingly hypnotic arrangement for organ, glockenspiel, xylophone, piano and percussion, it conjured up a tranquility and otherworldliness that we found quite moving, the various movements offering up gorgeously rhythmic and almost looped sounding figures, the sort of composition that we presume is how he ended up being described by some reviewer as "Reich on vodka". And while he is most definitely influenced by Reich and Riley and Glass, his sound is definitely something unique, we find ourselves sometimes reminded of another aQ favorite, Lubomyr Melnyk, the two have a similar flair for lyrical melodies and lush arrangements, although where Melnyk fills all the space with flurries of notes, Batagov is as much about the spaces between the notes as the notes themselves. Batagov is also quite the collaborator, often teaming up with rock musicians and other non classical performers, and has produced all manner of releases from straight up classical to soundtracks. Needless to say, we are obviously big fans.
So in the process of trying to track down more Wheel Of The Law cd sets, we discovered another Batagov record that we found equally amazing, from back in 2001, another composition based on Buddhism, which is obvious from the title, Music For The 35 Buddhas and like Wheel, it's another fantastic and dreamlike composition, mixing Batagov's lovely piano playing with vibraphone, Javanese gongs and antique cymbals. There's definitely a gamelan vibe, but in a whole different setting, the interplay between vibraphone and piano, deft and effortless, producing a dreamily cinematic sprawl of notes floating weightless in space, a sort of tranquil soundscape, that seems perfect for meditation, contemplation or even just relaxation. The tones ring out, the extended decay as much a part of the composition as the initial notes, making the whole thing sound very fluid and organic and full of a hopeful energy. Delicate and divine. And even at 40 minutes, way too short, the sort of piece that we imagine playing on forever.
The second piece is a bit darker, and is more overtly linked to the record's theme. Batagov unfurling darkly melodic figures, gamelan like melodies draped over the top, deep resonant tones, and tinkling chimes, over which two different voices deliver prayer-like incantations to each of the 35 buddhas by name, the music brooding and minimal, but utterly entrancing, and with the voices, it only becomes that more powerful. This is probably the most listened to record in the store recently, and it's easy to see why, Batagov achieves the seemingly impossible, creating a piece of music that is both tranquil and soothing, but one that still manages to be active, and engages the listener in active listening, if they so desire, the main melody/refrain is the sort of melody, that will stick in your head, and will surface constantly, which in a way seems like the perfect accompaniment to the Buddhist teachings that accompany it, a sonic mantra, that can be revisited throughout the day, to help the listener remain lost in the music, and perhaps help achieve a degree of inner peace, even when, or maybe especially when, the outside world seems to be at utterly at odds with such a state.
Tayatha is the latest release from aQ beloved composer/pianist Anton Batagov, and it just might be his loveliest and most haunting work to date. Which is saying a lot, considering how much we love pretty much everything we've heard from him, we've even made several of his records Record Of The Week, before this one, and his triple cd Wheel Of The Law remains one of our favorite modern minimal releases EVER (and would have also been a Record Of The Week, had we been able to get more). But this new one is something else entirely.
On past records, Batagov has enjoyed the act of collaboration, and has explored playing with rock bands, with experimental electronic musicians, incorporating electric guitar, pounding drums, different vocalists, Buddhist recitations, all a part of Batagov's idiosyncratic approach to modern composition, but never has one of his collaborations been so potent, and so moving, as on Tayatha. Yet another Buddhist based composition here Batagov is joined by Tibetan vocalist Yungchen Lhamo, and that's it, just piano and vocals. And it's stunning. Absolutely. Some of the most beautiful and lyrical piano playing we've heard from Batagov, the sound so rich and emotional, moving and personal, even sans vocals, Tayatha would be a revelation, but Yungchen's voice is a marvel, lush and lustrous, but super distinctive, slipping from rich throaty croon, to something more abstract, and back again, and similarly sans piano, this would be a gorgeous a cappella performance, in fact, Lhamo has been performing solo and a cappella for years, but it's how Lhamo's voice and Batagov's piano fit together so perfectly that makes this record so special.
It's hard to put into words what exactly it is about this record, but without sounding overly dramatic, we got chills the first time we put this one. It's lush and lovely, but definitely haunting, and subtly harrowing, Batagov and Lhamo somehow imbuing the sound with intense emotion, the music surprisingly personal and intimate. We won't pretend that there wasn't a potential for new age schmaltz, what with the female vocals and piano, and the rather new age-y looking cover, but don't be misled, this is a powerful collection of dark, dreamy, moody and meditative music that is truly transcendent. Might be best to just listen to the samples below, we find it hard to imagine you won't be immediately smitten.
And what's even cooler about Tayatha, is that the sound and the compositions are super varied, tracks like "Medicine Buddha" are almost poppy, it's not hard to imagine someone like Tori Amos or Regina Spektor performing the same song, but with dramatically different results, yet even in the hands of Batagov And Lhamo, the song swells dramatically, the piano melodies super intense and strangely catchy, the vocals too, since we don't speak the language, often act like another instrument, imbued with the power of the human voice, but not beholden to any sort of lyrical interpretation. Other tracks are more tranquil and meditative, some are lilting and and dreamlike, others brood and pulse with a mysterious dark energy, and at least one, "Flying Dakini", almost sounds like some 'Nighthawks At The Diner' Tom Waits style balladry, albeit in Tibetan and a bit more modern minimalist. But all the tracks here, every one, is heartbreakingly beautiful, the whole somehow is so much more than its constituent parts, repeated listens have transformed Tayatha into more than just voice and piano, it's almost liturgical, a mysteriously lovely spiritual sonic journey, that manages to turn sound into something divine.
I know we've said this before, but the more crazy animal sounds we here, the more we wonder why musicians even bother. Sure, you'd be hard pressed to get a pop song out of a sled dog or a purring kitten or an insect or a croaking frog, but for any other sounds all bets are off. Be it rumbling or clicking or squeaking or whirring or chirping or some impossible mix of all of those, or even (especially) those sounds we're not exactly sure how to describe, the animal kingdom has us beat. Thousands of years of evolution, technological advances, every manner of sound making device imaginable, and somewhere, there's some little furry thing that can make those same sounds with its mouth or by rubbing its legs together, or using some parts only they possess. That's what makes records like this totally fascinating and completely humbling.
Most of us have seen bats at one time or another, flitting overhead, barely visible in the dark, or maybe at the zoo. But who among us has ever really heard a bat, until now? And these recordings aren't the mewlings and scratchings and other various sounds that small animals make, no these are the sounds of the bats' ultra sensitive sonar, recorded by expert Michel Barataud using a heterodyne detector and a simple tape recorder, culled from a study that lasted from 1988-1995 and covered 251 different bats of 20 different species! The neat thing about this collection is the fact that there are two discs, one with the original recordings, the other with those same recordings slowed down 10 times (we we can hear what the bats are "hearing"). So cool!
The first disc is an expansive series of creaks and clicks, percussive knocks and thumps, strange melodies that sound like analog synths, high pitched pulses, shortwave-like squawks, chattering, sputtering Geiger counter-like rhythms, all very minimal and totally hypnotic. Sounds so much like a record on ultra-minimalist label Raster-Noton it's not even funny. One can almost imagine Ryoji Ikeda or Alva Noto, after spending years locked in a pressure sealed white cube of a studio, packed with state of the art sound modules, liquid cooled speakers, hard disc recorders, every bit of sound recorded and played back in a perfect listening vacuum, each click and tone painstakingly crafted and carefully placed, stepping outside with finished disc in hand, and then upon hearing the delicate fluttering pattern of clicks and chirps of the bats' sonar, throwing their disc to the ground and stomping it to bits, uttering in their best Simpsons Comic Book Guy voice, "Oh... I've wasted my life."
Gorgeously spare and hauntingly musical, an uber-minimal intricate rhythmic soundfield with impossibly abstract barely there melodies and surrounded by the sounds of no sound. Lovely.
On disc two, those very same sounds are slowed down, and thus become less like percussive clicks and more like melodic chirps. The slowed down versions sound remarkably like bird calls, but unlike the trills and songlike elements of birdsong, each note here is suspended all by itself, floating in a soundscape of ambient whir, before it is supplanted by the next. An extended melody spread out over minutes instead of seconds, like a 45 rpm record of bird calls played at 16 rpm. The sped up sounds on disc two are occasionally joined by the sounds of insects and the surrounding landscape, filling out the sound with the chirp of crickets and the croaking of frogs, a distant cacophony underpinning the bats' mysterious melodies.
Included is a 50 page oversized book which contains all of the field notes, recording details, notes on each track and each animal, complete with charts and graphs, very dense and scientific, and there's even a page with a blank chart so you can go out there and take some field recording notes yourself!
Beautiful! Two members of the lost great LA band Further here team up with a former Lilys guy to form Beachwood Sparks, the freshest breath of country/rock twang to reach these ears in many months. Supplementing the normal rock lineup with harmonica, organ, piano, and plenty ooh-sha-la-la backup croonings, the music combines the best of Gram Parsons, early Byrds, and the Elephant 6 bands such as the Olivia Temor Control and Apples in Stereo. Boy-girl harmonies, real honest to god songwriting chops, and excellent crystal clear production. Highly recommended!
When we first heard a track from this album a few months ago, our immediate reaction was A) wow, we really had better find a way to get it for the store and B) if and when we do, it'll probably have to be a Record Of The Week. And that was just from hearing ONE song. Fortunately, we did manage to get some of these imports, and the rest of the record only confirmed and amplified our first impression. Record Of The Week it is! (Actually, some of us here, like Andee, were already Bebey fans from way back, but for others of us, gosh, what an introduction...)
As you know, we've certainly seen a bunch of great groovy African reissues lately (in fact, there's a couple others elsewhere on this week's list). But this collection of the late Cameroonian composer & writer Francis Bebey's music is rather unique, to say the least. And it's got something in common with another cool item we're reviewing this week, the vintage "electronic soul" compilation Personal Space. As the title indicates, the focus here is on the especially electronic side of his discography, from the era when multi-instrumentalist Bebey experimented with the latest gear - tape recorders, keyboards, drum machines - to record his own music at home in Paris, making for delightfully dancey, avant-garde Afropop.
The track we had heard was the first one here, "New Track", an over 8 minute long number that starts off with tinkling thumb piano before blaring synth stabs, burbling keys, and ticking drum machine rhythms kick in... pretty soon, the song has become dense with loops and layers, repeating vocals about bananas and potatoes and politics creating a kind of cheerfully confusing mantra. It's as fresh and charming and mesmeric and groovy today as it was when Bebey recorded it in back in '82.
Though this would pretty much be worth it just for that memorable song alone, the rest of this 14-track collection is full of further futuristic Afrofunk highlights. Meaning, more blurting synthesized horns, head bopping basslines, thumping electronic beats augmented by hand percussion, and laidback vocals - some spoken, some sung, in various languages (Duala, French and English). Bebey's talent on classical guitar is also evident. It's quite an amazing mix altogether; 'makossa' music from Cameroon meets "Blow Your Head" style Moog outbursts (as on the woozy instrumental track "Super Jingle", with its skronky synth shiver set amidst hypnotic percussive pulsations). Sometimes the mood gets emotive in other ways, Bebey bringing the beats down and singing sadly in a soft, ragged voice... Here we will go out on a limb, and make a wild hypothetical rock crit "cross between this and that" equation, of Konono No.1 + Arthur Russell, whattya think?
Basically, this is as cool as anything you could imagine something called "African Electronic Music 1975-1982" might possibly sound like! And maybe even cooler than that.
Packaged with liner notes in both English and French.
We made the last Francis Bebey compilation from the Born Bad label, African Electronic Music 1975-1982 our Record of The Week back in 2012 (was it really 62 lists ago? Geez!). Yet, as much as love this Cameroonian musician and composer, if this new compilation was somehow more of the same, we wonder if we would bestow it the same honor. Hmmm... Guess the point we're trying to make is that this new compilation, Psychedelic Sanza 1982-1984 is an altogether different but equally amazing collection, the sound well removed from the electronic afro-pop of its predecessor. Why is that? Well. it helps to know that the sanza is an African thumb piano, also known as the mbira or kalimba, among many other names, depending upon region and design, and this compilation focuses specifically on the hypnotic ethereal music Bebey made with this instrument. Seriously, ever since the first compilation was released we've been hoping one would come out documenting this subsequent period as these are some of our very favorite recordings by Bebey. Music that is so incredibly groovy, but distinctly otherworldly, moving and hauntingly transportive that we HAD to make this one Record of the Week as well!
Compiled from recordings released on the Ozileka and Original Music labels from 1982-1984, Bebey's sanza recordings are less pop structured and more tribal and rhythmic, enhanced by loping funk-driven basslines and propulsive percussion. Yet despite their funkiness, they mark a more serious side of musical study away from the humorous pop songs Bebey became famous for and into a more tonal world of ethnological polyphony. The tonal range of the sanza doesn't adhere neatly to Western tuning standards either, adding a kind of mystical quality to the overall song structure, like a primitive version of minimalist composition. There's a dreamier element as well, as the fuzzy metallic bell tones of the sanza coalesce into mesmerizing whorls of sound with Bebey's voice floating above, sometimes in keening wordless bird calls of sound or deeply sustained ragged warbles. In others, Bebey sings alternately in French, English and Duala, sometimes spoken English like in "Forest Nativity" about a jungle child born to conquer wickedness, or in beautiful heartfelt laments like the french-sung "Sanza Tristesse".
The only liner notes provided are a remembrance by Bebey's son Patrick who recalls his initial misgivings with the instrument because he was trained on piano and the sanza never sounded right. Yet eventually his father won him over by gently prodding him to play and see what he could do with it. He writes, "Playing the sansa, you enter a world that enraptures you in a very serene and mesmerizing way. I think its sounds evoke a rainbow, with rain falling while the sun shines. A very peaceful feeling. It allows you to make music that truly sounds like life." Indeed!
Both the cd and vinyl beautifully packaged with incredible cover art, the lp pressed on nice thick vinyl, though unfortunately there's no download code.
Rashad Becker is a name most folks are probably more used to seeing on OTHER people's records, he is, and has been for the last decade plus, THEE go-to guy to have your record cut for vinyl. A master of his craft, who is able to produce stunning results in the analog realm, massive bass, deep layered sounds, lush and spacious, gritty and grimy, Becker was often the last step in a meticulous process, resulting in some of the most incredible records of the last few years. Check your collection and we guarantee you a handful were cut and/or mastered at Dubplates & Mastering, where Becker has been plying his trade for the past fifteen years. And we'll be the first to admit that technical mastery does not necessarily translate into creative genius, but in the case of Traditional Music Of Notational Species, Vol. 1, an argument could definitely be made that Becker's talent is not limited to the mastering lab.
In fact, Traditional Music is far from traditional, and is quite difficult to describe, although a faithful long time aQ customer already proclaimed it his record of the year hands down, and we have to say we're inclined to agree. Split into two sides, the first, 'Dances', the second 'Themes', the record opens with a dense constantly shifting landscape of grinding textures, mutating electronics, synthy squelch, deep rumbles, skittery rhythmic pulsations, the vibe is almost playful, but that playfulness is definitely tempered by a dark shadowy moodiness, it's wild and loose, free and abstract, melodies blossom and fragment, collapsing into swirling tangles, it's just on the verge of noise, but instead, remains textural and atmospheric, almost like a modern day Perrey & Kingsley, deconstructed, the various elements recombined as some mutant modern minimal electroacoustic experimental electronica. That pretty much sets the groundwork for the first side, we're reminded of some past aQ faves like Roly Porter's Aftertime, or any recordings by Ben Frost, this sounds less like 'music' and more like some avant sound design, "Dances II" expands on the opener, weaving what sounds like fragmented vocals, and dark spidery melodies, into something strangely brooding, wreathed in a caustic cloud of flitting molecules of crumbling noise, and burbling underwater shimmer, all seemingly digitized and then corrupted, processed into something approaching a much more angular and aggressive Oval, overlapping layers, stuttering non-rhythms, it's expansive and cinematic, but at the same time dizzyingly dense, driven by thick rib cage rattling swells of low end thrum. The sound grows gradually more industrial, sounds slip backwards and swoop and swirl, a sea of squelches pinging from speaker to speaker, buried Morse code melodies, lots of hiss and hum sculpted into sheets of dark energy, and a blissed out barrage of blackened crumble, building to a near psychedelic squall, before closing out the side with a dark rhythmic sprawl, that touches on the hauntological electronica of Demdike Stare and the like, but so much more sinister, and woozily warped, a mad scientist reinterpretation, recasting the moody lope, as something feral and fracture, peppered with deep sub-bass pulsations, and drowsily fluctuating rhythms, it's like Stockhausen jamming with Demdike Stare, which is about as great, and as fucked up, as it sounds.
The flipside, made up of four 'themes', dials back some of the crunch and buzz, opening with a dreamy field of alien electronics, fluttering and flitting, still gritty and crunchy, the sounds organic and analog, rough around the edges, but deftly woven into choir of electro-chirps and woozy moaning chordal swells, laced with burst of laser beam FX, but then a super heavy bass crunch creeps in, and it's stunning, it's meaner, and more brutal, and more physical that most dubstep drops, but with a totally different effect in this context, adding some seriously sinister heft, but before you know it, it's disappeared, leaving just a field of electronic firefly flutter. The rest of the 'Themes' play out like some mysterious soundtrack to a documentary about alien life, you can almost imagine the camera panning over strange sprawls of gnarled landscape, or drifting through the bottomless abyss of some alien sea, the electronics often sounding like the chitter of insects, again like some twisted field recording captured elsewhere in the galaxy, slipping from hushed skitter to epic avant kosmische and back again, culminating in what sounds like some warped choral piece, a gnarled choir of 'voices', sounding like field recordings captured in some Victorian mental institution, and then processed into something even more warped, all laid over a roiling sea of electronic gristle and industrial clatter, all held together by sheets of blurred buzz and ominous insectoid thrum. Strange stuff for sure, but in its own weird way, hauntingly and confusionally lovely.
Cut and mastered by Becker himself of course. Pressed on 140 gram vinyl, and like all Pan releases, housed in a super striking, screen printed heavy plastic PVC sleeve.
What comes to mind when you think of The Bee Gees? Saturday Night Fever? Disco? White suits? 30 years of cheesy disco dancing to "Stayin' Alive"? The awesome(ly atrocious) film version of the Beatles' Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band? SNL's "Barry Gibb Talk Show"? Probably all of those things.
Which is too bad, 'cuz if it weren't for all that stuff, maybe you'd think instead of lush melancholy experimental pop music, incredible vocal harmonies, horns, strings, orchestras, mellotrons, the Beatles, the Beach Boys, the Zombies...
Some of you probably have no idea what the heck we're on about, but well before disco and Saturday Night Fever and all that, way back in 1967, the Bee Gees were crafting some of the loveliest, most compellingly mysterious pop music around. With a sound that borrowed from other bands of the time, most notably the aforementioned big three, the Beatles, the Beach Boys and the Zombies, but incorporated those influences into a sound that was distinctly their own. A sound at times gorgeously classic sounding, and at others surprisingly strange and dark and experimental.
The influence of the Beatles and the Beach Boys is undeniable. The song "Please Read Me" is incredibly Beach Boys-esque, and marks the first time the group would employ falsetto vocal harmonies, obviously influenced by Brian Wilson, and which would of course become their trademark. And the cover of 1st is by the artist Klaus Voorman, who of course also designed the Beatles' Revolver. But scratch a little below the surface, and there is so much more. A musical world of dreamlike, melancholy psychedelia.
"Holiday" is a brooding and moody dirge, with haunting organ swells, and pizzicato strings, with soft horns and simple percussion, and a gorgeous vocal melody, as well as a strange and impossibly catchy bridge with simple nonsense vocals. Then there's "Red Chair, Fade Away" a dreamy, rainbow hued blast of psychedelic pop, blissed out and trippy, with tons of layered production, fuzzy guitars, jazzy horns, fluttering flute, all wrapped in a stained glass production, peppered with circusy calliopes and soaring strings.
But two of the tracks on 1st really stand out. Lovely and catchy, but so dark and emotionally intense. The first is "Every Christian Lion Hearted Man Will Show You", which begins with minor key strings over monk-like chanting background vocals, before the Strawberry Fields vocals kick in, over a shuffled rhythm and some deliriously fuzzy psych guitar, with the chanting vocals resurfacing throughout the song before it fades into a truly haunting outro, just those strings and some heavily reverbed drums that stumble into the darkness. The other is the amazingly monickered "New York Mining Disaster 1941" with it's haunting nearly a capella verses (backed up by barely audible guitar strumming WAY down in the mix), jangly guitars, throbbing simple percussion, the whole track mournful and melancholy, the minor key brightening briefly for the chorus before drifting baack into haunting melancholia. The track is laced with strange funereal strings, and again the vocals are just so beautiful, lush and dreamy.
The rest of the record is just as fantastic, every song a strange gem, it's difficult to pick which ones to mention, you'll of course recognize "To Love Somebody", which while not a huge hit for them (although it did crack the top 20), has become an international pop standard, and was originally a track the band wrote for Otis Redding, but their version is the best, so lush and rife with layer after layer of instrumentation, as well as some amazing melodic flourishes left off subsequent cover versions, then there's "Cucumber Castle" with its super dramatic strings, Spanish sounding trumpets, moaning cellos, and bizarre player piano background trills, all behind a main melody that is so unbelievably catchy... we could go on and on and on. Needless to say, it's difficult to not go all gushy and declare this as one of the all time greatest pop records. But what the heck, it is! Listen to this enough and you just may banish all thoughts of white suits and light up dancefloors from your head forever!
Gorgeously elaborate reissue, in a full color 8 panel digipak, full color with tons of amazing photos, a massive booklet also packed with photos, with lengthy liner notes, as well as notes on each track from the surviving members. The first disc contains the full version of the album, in both stereo AND mono, the second disc contains 9 alternate and early versions (including two dramatically different versions of "New York Mining Disaster 1941") as well as 5 unreleased tracks, most of which are as good as anything on the album proper!
Seattle doom duo Bell Witch have been lauded for being one of the heaviest doom outfits around, their sound achingly crushingly despondent, made all the more remarkable for the fact that they're just a duo of bass and drums. On the one hand, that makes sense, all low end, the perfect ingredients for dismal dirgery for sure, but the weird thing is, the most appealing part of this new record, and easily the most special, is the parts that are most definitely NOT metal at all. Not even not doom, we mean not METAL. On this, their debut full-length, the band have crafted an incredible hybrid of plodding miserablist ultra doom, and classic, minor key, slowcore, it's like Codeine crossed with Esoteric, or something.
Admittedly, the band do conjure up a pretty devastating sound, the bass super distorted and downright guitar like, churning and blown out, the drums a monstrous plod, the tracks laced with aching minor key melodies (also played on the bass we presume), the vocals an inhuman demonic rasp, perfectly suited to the group's death march trudge, but then, suddenly, the buzz and distortion peels away, leaving just a spare minimal rhythm, and soft warm chords, drifting in long expanses of soft focus shimmer, softly loping, a minor key slo-mo lament, made even more perfect by the clean crooned vox, emotional and heartfelt, hell, we probably would have dug this record just as much sans the crushing doom, but the two parts together, make this pretty spectacular.
"Rows (Of Endless Waves)" explodes right out of the gate, as a churning slab of downtuned extreme heaviness, bellowed howls, pounding drums, laced with demonic shrieks, the bass buzzing and blackened, but then suddenly, the sound begins to grow more melodic, even still in the heavy part, and then like the opener, the heaviness is gradually shed, and the song is reborn as a super spare stretch of haunting, softly strummed slow motion sad pop, sounding quite a bit like Low in fact, slightly heavier perhaps, but not much, and here, the heaviness creeps back in gradually, but without the track following, instead it seems to wrap its shadowy sonics around the dark dolorous sadcore, making it just that much darker and dolorous.
Almost the entirety of "Longing (The River Of Ash)", is spent in slowcore mode, the heaviness relegated to lazily crashing chords, but it's the sort of dark doom pop gem that could easily find its way on to some indie kids breakup mixtape. In fact in many ways, this is the kind of record that could very well open the doors to darker and heavier sounds.
For a heavy doom record, it's remarkable how much of the record is spent sounding not that heavy, or perhaps more 'emotionally' heavy, than sonically heavy. We'd almost classify this as some sort of slowcore/sadcore record with elements of doom, than the other way around. However you approach it, it's definitely one of the darkest, saddest, and most beautiful doom records we've heard in ages. Or if you'd rather, one of the doomiest, heaviest slowcore records. WAY recommended.
There are certain sounds we can just never get enough of. Belong have always trafficked in one of those sounds, a blurred, bleary washed out droney, druggy drift, everything hazy and gauzy and pixelated, crumbling melodies, slow shifting textures, like old pop songs broadcast through broken transistor radios, or alien transmissions distorted by millions of miles of space and millions of years, every song some sort of dizzyingly smeared blown out, hushed and haunting dronescape, all thrum and shimmer, rumble and whir. It's a sound practiced by others for sure, but there is most definitely a pantheon, a royalty of sorts, and alongside Tim Hecker, Philip Jeck and few others, so too do sit Belong.
It's been maybe 5 years since their last proper full length, the gloriously abstract and distorted loveliness that was October Language, and since then, they've released a single 4 song ep, a record of covers, but of course utterly transformed, the very poppiness of the originals buried underneath layer upon layer of murk and grim and buzz and crunch, and again all stretched and blurred and smeared into these fantastical miniature epics, these avant pop flecked drones, warm and whirling and completely mesmerizing.
Looking back now, listening to Common Era, Belong's brand new full length, it's easy to say, that those covers were already hinting at a sonic shift, a move toward something more traditionally pop, a gradual approach to something more structured, more overtly pop, but the 'pop' of those songs is WAY removed from the pop found here, for Common Era has taken all that fantastic shoegaziness and shimmery ambience, and wrapped it around real and proper pop songs. Simple propulsive percussion, minimal guitar jangle, swaths of swirling keyboards, hushed breathy vox, everything reverbed and echoey and washed out, a sort of eighties style new wave minimal pop, but of course in the hands of Belong, it becomes something more ethereal, ghostly, ephemeral, druggy and dreamy.
Imagine My Bloody Valentine crossed with Tim Hecker crossed with Felt, maybe stir in some of Ariel Pink's idiosyncratic faux FM radio pop, and that's these perfect abstract, minimal chunks of lilting jangle, often buried in billowing clouds of warm swirling FX and softly distorted shimmer, but just as often, with much of the noisiness peeled back, leaving just some pure pop, and even then, it's muted and muddied, like it's being broadcast from some rift in time, a sort of blurred transmission from the past, pretty fantastic. Some of the tracks get downright spacey too, a sort of kraut flecked hypnorock, the takes the minimal repetitive psych of groups like Moon Duo or Wooden Shjips, and slathers on tons more echo and reverb, wreaths everything in blurred synth swirls, and fuzzy low end pulses, and lets the songs just sort of ooze and drift and hover, gradually becoming less and less pop, and more loose and abstract and woozy and washed out and dreamy. But ALL the tracks on Common Era never fully give up the pop. For all the droniness, and the minimal FX drenched soundscapery, this is essentially a gorgeous, albeit, strange and mysterious, pop record.
The funny thing is, since these guys are on Kranky, and their last few records were more minimal and droney and avant, this record will essentially be considered art, a sort of high brow minimalist pop music, or some sort of dronepop, and so, of course, all the folks who love everything Kranky, will no doubt dig this like crazy, as they should. But had this been a super limited cd-r, or been released on Not Not Fun or maybe Olde English Spelling Bee, this would be hailed as THEE lysergic lo-fi minimal bedroom pop jam of the year. WHICH IT IS. Too. In fact, Belong have managed to somehow make a record that's both a strange druggy lo-fi pop record, and a super abstract avant bit of poppy droney prettiness. And we LOVE it.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Glacial drones, beautifully sung songs by/about a notorious killer, thousands of buzzing bees and a death metal cameo...all are elements of this gorgeous and bizarre soundtrack to one of the weirdest and biggest budget art/film projects ever, Matthew Barney's million-dollar "Cremaster 2".
We were lucky enough to get a hold of some copies of the rare soundtrack composed by Johnathan Bepler. For the most part, Bepler layers multiple atonal church organ chords with varying effects that tweak the underlying sound. The Mormon Tabernacle Choir makes an appearance as does some digitally bent country twang. But the mindblowing highlight (both here on the cd and in the film) is the massive blastbeat provided by ex-Slayer drummer Dave Lombardo as Morbid Angel's bass player and vocalist Steve Tucker sings into a phone while cloaked in bees, who also contribute much buzzing to the wall of sound.
Barney's "Cremaster" series is arguably the most important work to emerge from the artworld in the past decade. To discuss in depth Barney's convoluted symbolism and bizarre Lynch / Cronenberg / Greenaway imagery would take up far too much space even for this increasingly verbose new arrivals list, but we'll attempt a brief introduction for the uninitiated: Barney's sound / film / installation pieces are poetic and difficult allegories, centered on the growth of human sexuality and its psychological implications. "Cremaster 2" is actually the fourth in a five part series (the order went 1, 3, 5, and then 2), and is, quite crassly put, a really good dick joke. More critically put, Barney abstracts the life & times of the serial killer Gary Gilmore to portray an archetype for a pre-linguistic male figure who lacks the super-ego control over the id's proclivity for sex & violence.
Music has always played an important part in the Barney work, and Jonathan Bepler's score for "Cremaster 2" certainly does its best to support Barney's complex visual elements. If you haven't seen the film, this soundtrack will make you want to.
Wonderful! This French singer/songwriter's emotional, serious songs are delivered in a breathy, delicate manner that will DEFINITELY appeal to fans of Belle & Sebastian, although Bertrand's unique style isn't as sticky sweet. Highly recommended!
Hell yeah! We were just doing a bit of cleaning, and found a little stash of these, an AQ record of the week from WAY back in June of 2000!!! We only found 10 copies, and we're pretty sure this is out of print now, so as soon as these are gone, that's it!
This record is sooooo amazing. So dark, and beautiful, creepy and mysterious. So much so that we just had to make it record of the week! Initially, our interest in Beyond Dawn was due mostly to the bizarre fact that they were a trombone-fronted black metal band!! But, in the space of one record (Revelry, the record preceding this one), their sound shifted completely, to something less metal, more experimental, a morose sort of "avant-pop" with a heavy heavy heavy Swans vibe. As well as a bit of Katatonia too. And thankfully, the trombone remained. The mostly acoustic follow-up "In Reverie" also could quite easily be a late period Swans record or an Angels Of Light disc. But for our money, it's even better than most of the later Swans records. The voice is a deep ringing baritone, a dead ringer for Michael Gira's, but the music is way more bizarre. Somehow managing to be both lush and spare, Beyond Dawn create rickety tales of loss and sorrow with plaintive trombone, simple minor key strumming, bizarre percussion, clouds of subtle glistening electronics and warm emotional swells, all wrapped in a creepy atmospheric intensity. Immediately following this disc, they then went on to explore a more electronica-influenced sound on their next record, the completely different but equally amazing Electric Sulking Machine, reviewed elsewhere on the site. Not sure what happened to these guys, they sort of just disappeared, which is an incredible shame as they are just such an amazing band, a perpetual AQ favorite for sure, and this is such a totally breathtaking disc. For everyone who somehow missed out on this 6 years ago, at least ten of you get a second chance. Don't blow it again! So recommended!
Big Business had always sounded a bit like the Melvins, which made perfect sense, as the drums and bass duo also function as 2nd bass and 2nd drums in the Melvins. But they always had their own thing going on, a sound that while still heavy and obtuse, was weirdly melodic, a sort of metallicized fractured pop. We meant to review last year's Here Comes The Waterworks, a totally classic chunk of hooky heaviness, equal parts heaving metallic heft, and twisted melodicism, but somehow it slipped through the review-writing cracks here, whoops. We were mostly expecting more of the same on Mind The Drift, but holy shit, it's even better than Waterworks. Way more epic and sprawling and proggy, showtunes is probably not the best word to use to describe the songs here, but that was definitely our first thought, not cheesy showtunes like your parents made you listen to in the car on long trips, no, BB's tunes could be the soundtrack to to some otherworldly Broadway musical jam packed with twisted carnivalesque epic songsmithery, smoke and streamers and flames and leering demonic faces, twisted shapes, colors psychedelic and kaleidoscopic, but more than anything, the songs are incredibly catchy, the vocals soaring and dramatic, a huge development from the punk rock howl of their earlier recordings, the instrumentation is lush, fleshed out by a guitarist, and the arrangements are impossibly complex, lots of stop / starts, amazing vocal interplay, some of the most incredibly irresistible melodies ever, all woven into super tight, dense mini-epics. It's not metal, it's not punk, it's not post rock, it's bits and pieces of all of those, but cobbled together into something completely jaw droppingly over the top, but not ostentatious, the songs might feel grand and majestic, but it also feels like these guys could just reel off a new song at the drop of a hat and it would sound as good as any of these. The band do get rough and raw, and rock out a bit, but they shine on those aforementioned numbers, where they kick out the sprawling dramatic soundtracky post punk show tune jams, like some impossibly rad mix of the Melvins and Meat Loaf (circa Bat Out Of Hell). Our favorite track is probably "Gold And Final" (although it seems like every time we listen to this we discover a new favorite), with its super tense brooding verse, the little looped effected stutter before a devastating chorus, and an insane hook. We've been humming this song nonstop since we got this. Just listen to the sound sample, totally timeless, like some classic rock jam transported forward in time several decades, but picking up all sorts of detritus in the process and growing gradually slightly more warped and twisted. So good. Could be a contender for record of the year. Really.
Incredible packaging too, done up like found vintage postcards, the song titles and credits worked into mysterious missives, all the images washed out, complete with a Big Business post mark and everything.
Utter obsession with a particular artist or style of music is, of course, something we're familiar with... and fully in favor of. In the case of the oft-praised by us Holy Mountain label, such obsession has lead to some quite amazing discoveries and reissues in the field of Japanese psychedelia, for instance, among other Holy Mountain specialties. This release, too, is the result of obsession, and it's been 10 years in the making. We remember way back, when Holy Mountain head honcho JW, before he had his label (he used to work at one of our suppliers), would rave about the vinyl-only 12"s of French "shuffletime" techno producer Fred Bigot (pronounced Bee-joe we assume). According to JW, Bigot's electronic tracks were in fact utterly psychedelic. And they were. Fuzzed out, raw and repetitive, hypnotic with their shuffle (schaffel) rhythms. We never forgot 'em, and neither did JW/Holy Mountain, who now finally presents the 4 cuts from Bigot's two 12" singles circa 1999 and 2000 on compact disc, along with 4 more tracks, one of 'em from a 2001 comp, the other 3 presumably previously unreleased. Definitely a bit of a 'dream come true' for Holy Mountain.
You may also know Bigot in his -other- guise of Electronicat, who has put out a lot of records we also like. But while Electronicat provides a playful dose of T-Rex style glam and glitter, and even rockabilly, with campy vocals and wah-wah guitars making appearances, upping the glam angle immensely, in comparison these tracks under Bigot's own name are stripped down, minimalistic, and without the more bubblegum elements. Imagine instead Pan Sonic, but with more of the synth-psych spirit of Christine 23 Onna. On the original 12" cuts, it's all about the mesmeric shuffle throb, the distorted crunch and scrunch, the almost drone-like repetition. (We like repetition. We've said it before, we'll say it again.) Definitely good headphone listening, or to be cranked LOUD on your home stereo. And then some of the tracks here, not from the 12"s, aren't even beat-oriented at all.
For starters, there's the intro sine-whine of opener "Chant", pretty abstract and clinical. Then, it's shuffle time, as that's followed by the one-two punch "Mono" and "Stereo" from Bigot's first 12", both tracks crude 8+ minute throb-a-thons, like followed by the equally effective cuts from his second 12", "Binary" and "Ternary", which adds glammy handclap sounds into the mix. Seeing as how getting those two crucial 12"s on cd is worth the price of admission alone, hitting repeat and playing those four tracks over and over again is certainly an option, but when you do continue on with the disc, there's further treats to be found. Next up, a change of pace with the void-ian atmospheres of the windily desolate "Extinction", full of spacey rumble. Then, bang, "Lr-Yz" is another monomaniacal, mesmeric cruncher in the tradition of the 12"s. Following that is "Outside", a 10 minute track suggestive of field recordings, with electronic sounds like crickets chirping, something like Ryoji Ikeda conducting a nighttime nature sounds symphony, but one that speeds up nervously if that's wasn't enough. And then, "Symmetriad" ends the disc, combining the distorted throb of the 12" cuts with the more haunted ambience of the likes of "Extinction" and "Outside". So it all kind of appropriately comes together, and for a collection of tracks not originally intended as an album, this actually adds up into one surprisingly well, a unified vision with a bit of variety. Maybe 'cause all the tracks, recorded in Paris and Berlin, were made with the following only: "Roland TR808 + Rat distortion + Waldorf filter + Sherman filter + Lexicon Jamman". We don't know... but we do like it, can't get enuff. Big ups to Holy Mountain for bringing these Bigot tracks back!! That old obsession never let go we guess, and pays off for all of us now.
We were definitely a bit skeptical when we read descriptions of Spanish noise rockers Billy Bao as sounding like Brainbombs, Fela and Whitehouse. Even more so when we got the record in and noticed those were the three bands BB thank on the sleeve, we figured, okay, lazy reviewing, BB love those bands so heck, they probably sound like that, or at least sort of. So imagine our surprise upon actually hearing this, and realizing that the Fela / Whitehouse / Brainbombs was somehow, pretty right on. At least in as far as one can actually describe a band as awesomely weird and fucked up as Billy Bao.
The core sound is definitely Brainbombs, low slung fuzzy sludge bass, in the red, super distorted and impossibly blown out. The drums a Neanderthal pound that borders on the machinelike here and there, howled vocals, alternating shouting and sort of crooning a non stop stream of invective, the sound crusty and filthy and punk rock and garage rock, but with a weird electronic vibe, bordering on industrial now and again. The relentless crunch occasionally screeches to a halt, and launches into a weird super dynamic stop start thing, sometimes even getting all stuttery as the guitars dissolve into fractured electronics.
And the horns, did we mention the horns? Not like the moaning bleat of the Brainbombs' dented trumpet, these are full on festive high life horns, buried way down in the mix, sampled we're guessing, quite possibly actually Fela, but low enough in the mix that only the horns make it through the murk, except for a few moments where the horns / samples slip into the stuttery spaces, only adding to the off kilter chaos.
The B-side sounds like Burmese on angel dust, and since Burmese ALREADY sound like they're on angel dust, BAD angel dust, you can get an idea of how fucked up and fierce and bass heavy this side long jam is, the music a wall of blown out, super tangled, in the red bass riffage and low end buzz, so noisy that the song teeters back and forth between intense riffage and full on speaker shredding NOISE, over which the vocals are a feral frenzied Whitehouse style yowl.
Heavy and fucked up and noisy and genius. WAY WAY WAY recommended. A few more listens and we might just have us a new favorite band.
The sleeve is just a single long missive from the band, there are liner notes and thanks lists in there, but for the most part it's all a stream of consciousness rant against war and government and industry and copyright and loads more, the inside cover features two full color photos of just the sort of death and destruction and human misery they're talking about.
We really wish we could tell you more about the Billy Boys. Other than that they're Finnish, and they're batshit bonkers (we suspect some causality there). Leave it to Jussi from Circle to unleash this sonic weirdness on an unsuspecting public. Ostensibly only of interest to the nerdiest of Finnish music historians, and of course aQuarius Records and all the weirdo Finnish music obsessives that sail with her, the Billy Boys were a super obscure Finnish outfit, featuring one member of legendary Finnish punk band Terveet Kadet, formed with the idea of creating a "country influenced trash rock band", which to a certain degree was a success. There are moments that definitely could be described that way, but as the label explains, that sound "mutated into something more grotesque". But then if you believe Jussi, the radiation from the Chernobyl meltdown poisoned the drinking water in Finland in the eighties, and did irreparable damaged to the Billy Boys, aka Mr. Hank Morlock, and Mr. Johnny Helicopters, actual brothers in fact.
Grotesque it is, label misinformation be damned, but gloriously grotesque, in that way it seems only Finnish music can truly be. Sure lots of you love Circle and Pharaoh Overlord, Avarus and Kemialliset Ystavat. But what about Aavikko, Deep Turtle, Death Trip, Liimanarina, Worms, Sperm, Chainsmoker, Radiopuhelimet, Dr. Gunni, Sweetheart, The Vacuum Cleaners, weirdo one man band Keuhkot, the haunting outsider psychedelic folk of Pekka Streng, the Cleaning Women (a bunch of Finns who dress up like housewives and play all manner of kitchen appliances and implements), Mieskuoro Huutajat (the Finnish men's shouting choir, who wear ties made from old innertubes and shout national anthems)?? Now that we read over all of that, maybe there really IS something in the water over there. Cuz what else could account for so much whatthefuck music being created in one little country? Whatever it is, we're grateful - we can't get enough of Finnish musical weirdness, and the Billy Boys are definitely right at home on that list, and are definitely toward the WTF? side of the Finnish sonic spectrum. Sure, take that "country influenced trash rock" thing, add some primitive synth blurt, some insanely low-fi production, crappy drum machines, probably throw in a lot of drugs, and go from there.
The collection starts off with the group's 1984 single "Mystery Train", which could be a sort of catchy pop ditty, had it not seemingly been recorded in a tin can, in a bus station bathroom - the resulting low fidelity as much a part of the Billy Boys' sound as the music itself. Tinkling melodies, yelped vox, a bloopy bleepy rhythm, all doused in blown out white noise crumble, which as you listen reveals itself as either a guitar or a keyboard, so distorted it just becomes a blur of sonic gristle, but somehow, it manages to be a kinda catchy ditty. From there on out, all best are off. "Get It On" takes a sonar ping rhythm, adds some weird electronic glitch, and some mumbled Finnish vox, not to mention some buzz and weird malfunctioning effects. The suddenly you realize, it's a cover of T-Rex's "Bang A Gong", but only once you hear the title moaned in heavily accented English, over what sounds like a primitive pong machine. WTF indeed!
Some tracks do actually do sound like countrified trash rock, with jangly guitars, crooned vocals and galloping rhythms, but in some cases, like on "Lonesome Train" after a minute or so, the track devolves into something else entirely, in this case a speaker blowing squall of noise, before transforming into a creepy slo-mo dirge, female vocals over stumbling drums and constantly shredding guitars way down in the mix. Elsewhere, that 'trash rock' devolves into an electronic flecked dirge, laced with all sorts of random sounds, detuned guitar strum, pulsating synthesizers, howled shrieks. And then check out "Harley Man" with its twang guitar and handclap rhythm, wrapped around enthusiastically belted out cookie monster vocals, or "The Spider And The Fly" which is a haunting sprawl of experimental minimal pop, that sounds a little like the Residents, or "My Wild Love", which is about as close as these guys get to a heartfelt ballad, croony and creepy, but weirdly beautiful.
The rest of the record unwinds just as confusionally, with blurts of damaged honky tonk, Teutonic echo-drenched industrial throb, warped drugged out damaged blooze blowouts, some cool twisted sort of rockabilly grooves, stumbling cold wave minimalism, a disturbing slo-mo cover of "Love Me Tender" that sounds like the soundtrack to a particularly twisted nightmare, some electronic flecked minimal dirge punk, super abstract experimental pop, that occasionally consists of motorik drumming over, hushed whispers and woozy low end thrum, or super spaced out glitch and skitter, flecked with fragmented vocals, and heck even some almost straight ahead pop, but of course the Billy Boys add some creepy ghastly vocals, and suddenly it is transformed into something "more grotesque".
There's so much going on here. Total warped whatthefuck outsider genius. There are moments of serious sonic brilliance for sure, peppered amidst some mouth breathing, knuckle dragging, confusional, demented sonic damage, but somehow, those two sides of the Billy Boys balance, and the result is a twisted, and valuable artifact of outsider Finnish underground music genius.
Not for everyone, obviously, maybe not even for most people, but we're pretty into this stuff, and have been listening to it like crazy. If you dig any of the weirdo Finnish outfits mentioned above, or just love totally twisted warped outsider sounds, these guys might be your new (old) favorite band. And odds are you can drive everyone else in your house batshit at the same time!
Includes a massive fold out booklet, with extensive liner notes, IN FINNISH, and lots of photos.
The thing with Campbell Kneale's Birchville Cat Motel, is everything he puts out is great. Really. There are very few bands we can say that about. And even fewer who have such a ridiculously extensive catalog of releases. So what is it that makes one record worthy of Record of the Week status? Well, to be quite honest, almost any of the BCM records -could- be a record of the week, but every once in a while, BCM offer up something -really- special. And as much as we totally love all things Birchville and love to immerse ourselves in their (actually, his) blissed out ambient drone ragas, we can't help but love the fact that lately, BCM mainman (only man?) Campbell Kneale has developed a thing for metal, even proudly wearing a Darkthrone T on his recent US tour. Better late than never we say. The first evidence of this new found metallic leaning, was the launching of a new label (Kneale owns and operates the Celebrate Psi Phenomenon label) called Battlecruiser, a series of limited 3" cd-r's chronicling a weird sect of underground metal, mostly made by NZ noise / drone guys who had also caught the metal bug (two new Battlecruiser releases get reviewed elsewhere on this list). One of the first Battlecruiser releases was by an outfit called Black Boned Angel, which just so happened to BE Campbell Kneale, and was a massive pummelling sludgy black hole of SUNN-like dirge metal. Recently re-released on cd and reviewed again on the AQ list, everyone here could not get enough of Kneale's weird drifting almost ambient take on blackened metal. Fans of Earth and SUNN and all that sort of slow motion doom definitely found a new band to love. Little did we expect that Kneale's metal would leak on over into his main project, but it has, and we couldn't be happier. The first three tracks on Chi Vampires are classic BCM, gorgeous ambient prog, like a blissed-out take on Goblin's creepiest horror film interludes, with slowly drifting swaths of thick warm sonic swirl, sun dappled and dreamily indistinct, but also slightly ominous. Completely epic and the sort of music that either rocks you to sleep, or puts you in a trance, sending you on a trip through your inner senses, dizzying and mesmerizing. Those tracks alone could have had us pushing for a BCM record of the week, at last. But then the final track "Chi Vampires" hits, and it hits hard. Huge guitar riffs, not processed guitar drones, but ACTUAL RIFFS, bulldoze and crush all in their path, massive and intense, ultra low, and ultra heavy, with haunting heavily reverbed chanting offering the only counterpoint. This is like SUNNO))), but sped up to say 18 or 19 rpm, and with actual melodies, and the chanting, so creepy, like a drone metal ritual being performed at the bottom of a massive cavern, riffs filling the room with thick low end, making it hard to breathe, hard to see, the chanting distracting you only enough to maybe worry about escaping with your life, making it to the surface without being sucked into the blackness. The riffs eventually drift off, as the mysterious makers of these sounds trudge slowly back to the center of the earth, chanting as they go, the reverb of the cave turning the chants into indistinct vocal blurs, until they too fade into blackness, and you're left dazed, unable to move, staring into the void. So intense and haunting and heavy and utterly amazing!
We've been waiting for this one for ages. And thus, are having a lot of trouble figuring out what exactly to write about it. We've literally been obsessed with this band and these records for more than two decades, and one aQ-er in particular was even in a band who was heavily influenced by the late great Bitch Magnet. In the realms of late eighties / early nineties postrock / postpunk / mathrock, there's a very elite pantheon, made up of names you no doubt recognize or at least should: Slint, of course, Rodan, Codeine, Bastro and of course Bitch Magnet, who amongst those band might be the least well known, and perhaps the most unfairly under appreciated. The various members of BM would go on to other bands we love, bass player and vocalist Soo Young Park would form Seam, guitarist (and aQ pal) Jon Fine would go on to form Coptic Light and Vineland (and play briefly in Don Caballero), and drummer Orestes Morfin would end up playing in Walt Mink. But it's Bitch Magnet that was the perfect combination of the three, creating a sonic template for much to come, and creating one of the most incredible bodies of work in underground rock. An impossible hybrid of progged out mathiness, moody introspective indie rock, brooding slowcore, and an almost metallic heft, woven into actual songs that would and will stick in your head forever. They wrote the sort of parts that were effortlessly catchy, some crazy weird time signatured progmath breakdown could be as hooky in their hands as a jangly bit of melody or a soaring majestic chorus, and it's precisely that magic ingredient that makes this stuff sound as good now as it did 20 years ago.
This new collection features tons of bonus tracks, but really, those are mostly of interest to folks who already love Bitch Magnet, and everyone who already does is definitely gonna want this, for those tracks sure, but also just for a new remastered fancy versions of the records you already treasure, cuz Bitch Magnet were one of those rare bands that engendered crazy obsession and slavish worship from their fans, who were eager to offer up both. For the rest of the folks out there, who somehow missed out on BM the first time around, or were perhaps too young at the time, the records proper are more than enough.
The Star Booty ep, originally released in 1988, finds the band at their most indie rock, they're still heavy, and a bit mathy, but way more indie rock / post punk than anything, in fact much of this record is downright poppy, maybe more along the lines of other contemporaries like Superchunk and Squirrelbait, jangly and crunchy and hooky as hell, for many of us, this was our first exposure to Bitch Magnet, and it didn't take us long to realize we had a new favorite band. But it was really the following year's full length Umber that sealed the deal, and like Slint, must have launched a million copycats, cuz holy shit, Umber is a monster, the band way more mathy and heavy, opener "Motor" starting things off with a wild squall of chaotic drumming and dive bombing guitars before launching into a song that sounds like a more aggressive version of something off Star Booty, but then there's "Navajo Ace" which to this day remains one o our favorite songs from that era, with its crazy opening the weird times bass drum groove, the off time guitar chug, the swirling high end guitar crunch, and then when it launches into the meat of the song, blasting and pounding and furious, only to suddenly switch times again, only to switch it up again and lurch right back into it, the vocals sung/spoken, very Slint-y for sure, we won't postulate which came first, doesn't even matter, similar styles, two dramatically different results, and from there on out Umber doesn't let up for a second, the band trying their hand at all sorts of sonic variations, the Codeine-esque slowcore of "Clay", the almost Spacemen 3 sounding hypnorock of "Joan Of Arc", albeit a bit supercharged, the woozy bass driven dirge of "Douglas Leader", the almost "Just Got Paid" Southern sounding riffage on "Goat Legged Country God", the crazy catchy indie rock of "Big Pining", the almost Lemonheads sounding indie jangle of "Joyless Street", the metallic mathy bombast of "Punch & Judy", the very brooding Slintiness of "Americruiser" (is that where Urge Overkill got the name for their 1990 album of the same name? Hmm).
At the time, we were fairly sure nothing could beat Umber, it was practically perfect, a brilliant balance of catchiness and heaviness and mathiness, we continued to think that at least for another year, when Bitch Magnet released their final album Ben Hur, and all it took was one listen to the nine and a half minute opener "Dragoon" to convince us once again, that NOW nothing could get better than this, which was sadly proved true when the band called it quits. But what a way to go. "Dragoon" has such an epic opening, all big ringing chords, and spaced out pounding drums, it's the sort of stretched out tension that could go on forever, but when the song proper kicks in, it's easy to forget all about that, some killer angular riffing, insanely powerful drumming, crazy catchy melodies, and this time a HUGE production to match, everything sounding massive and heavy and appropriately epic. It took ages before we could stop listening to "Dragoon" and make it to the rest of the record, but once we did, like Umber before it, it pretty much killed from front to back, the band again, much more varied than folks probably give them credit for, mixing a dark brooding slowcore, with their particular brand of post punk mathiness, and hooks galore, definitely hints of what was to come in Seam in some of the melodies and vocal parts, but here, they are woven perfectly into Fine's dense guitars and Morfin's impossible drum damage. We could go through Ben Hur also, song by song, but trust us, once you're a song in, you won't want to stop until it's over, and then odds are you'll just want to start again.
It should be noted that Bitch Magnet are one of Andee's favorite bands OF ALL TIME, and the other folks of similar age around aQ hold similarly strong sentiments about these records, and the fact that listening to them now, we can still hear the influences these guys are having on new bands twenty years later speaks volumes.
Absolutely essential and utterly and wholeheartedly recommended.
Super fancy packaging too, the 3cd version comes in a 6 panel digipak style sleeve, with the album covers reproduced on the jackets, with an attached booklet featuring tons of live photos and flyers. The 3lp version come in massive triple gatefold jacket, with the inside 3 panels covered in rare photos and flyers, while the actual lp sleeves feature reproductions of the original album covers and the track listings. The lp version also includes a download coupon as well. And for the eagle eyed out there, look for the tUMULt logo on both, while this is not an actual tUMULt release really, it is at least in spirit!
It's hard to be objective about this Swedish synth wave gloom punk garage rock outfit, 'cuz our very own Andee released their debut self titled record on cd back in 2011, and that record was a big time unanimous aQ store fave, not to mention a big hit with aQ customers. Heck how could it not be really? We probably won't be able to describe them better than we did in that review, so maybe we'll just borrow a bit for this new record.
We described that record as "visceral and immediate, emotional and bombastic, a bloody screaming sonic gem, equal parts heart and hooks, groove and grind, blast and buzz, an insanely catchy chunk of ultra blown out, bloodied and bruised GENIUS that we literally could NOT stop listening to." And the band specifically as "a furious feral synth driven monster, their sound equal parts cold wave gloom, riot grrl yowl, in-the-red punk rock, and ultra raw blown out garage pop, but even that's a bit reductive, there's something magical about what these three conjure up, both in sound and song, with just synth, bass, vocals and programmed drums. Their sound is all over the map, from howling pounding furious crunch, to warped woozy synthy drone, to dour pulsing minimal cold wave, to super anthemic almost emo garage rock, and every variation in between. The recording is raw and lo-fi, the drums, the synths, the bass, the vocals, in various stages of blown out distorted crumble, the drums are clipped and weirdly processed, pushed as loud as they can go, the synth too, fuzzy, buzzy, wreathed in a sort of decaying haze, the vocals of frontwoman Lily are wild and unhinged and super emotional, sometimes a playful yelp, sometimes a cold croon, other times a full on hysterical shriek."
Heck, it's obvious why we were and ARE so goddamn smitten. And if anything this new record is just as good. Managing to still sound buzzy and blown out, furious and fierce and punk as fuck, but also new wavey, and crazy poppy. The big difference this time around, is that there's way more boy vox, which gives this a whole different vibe, it sounds gloomier and more dramatically post punk, a quick run through of the first four songs, a head spinning 1-2-3-4 sonic punch that will have you reeling, and not only buying this record, but trying to track down everything they've ever recorded.
"You Scream" starts things off, all robotic rhythm, crumbling distorted riffage, a woozy dizzyingly psychedelic percussion, the vocals a brooding croon, the whole thing laced with little bits of twang, giving it a subtle whif of the Cramps, some serious garage rock stomp, but one that's driven by synths and drum machines as much as guitar. The second track is from a BB single we reviewed a while back and is all dirgey and ominous, a claustrophobic sprawl of futuristic sinister synthwave that could be some sort of soundtrack, some seventies zombie sci-fi thriller, the creeping, moody cinematic synths all tangled up into impossibly poppy hooks, the sort of hooks that you'll find yourself humming days later, the track continues to shift back and forth from hooky synthy fuzz pop to creepy seventies psychedelic soundtracky synth buzz and back again.
"Police Helicopter" is from the same 7" and lays down a weirdly jaunty beat, wreathes it in some low end synth buzz, before a creepy computerized voice intones some ominous phrase, and a second synth swoops in and wraps everything in thick crumbling melodic buzz, and then transforms into a crazy catchy melody, before peeling away, leaving a chiming music box melody, only to swoop right back in, another jam, that could be some modern re-envisioning of Carpenter/Goblin, and folks into the current wave of retro futuristic synthscapery, would do well do dig some Black Bug for sure. Then there's "TV Screen", which is from a BB single we never got, and is a fierce, muddy, murky blast of Brainbombs like buzz, the sound woozy and off-kilter, the drums buried in the mix, the main riff KILLER, and buried in all that buzz and fuzz are some squiggly sci-fi melodies. Weird thing is, it sounds a lot like one of our favorite Bongwater songs, albeit blown out and doused in buzz!
And heck that's just the first four songs. We're stopping right before "Masks", which might be the catchiest jam here, with the weirdest, most warped guitar sound yet, and "Delta" which sounds like it could have been plucked from some Dark Entries reissue, murky lo-fi synth wave gloominess, or "Threads" which is all lysergic dirge pop that should have John Maus and Ariel Pink looking over their shoulders.
Overall, Reflecting The Light is less fist in the face, guitar to the guy, synth to the solar plexus blown out noise drenched garage punk, although there's still plenty of that to be found, but the songs are more carefully crafted, the production varied, but at times massive, the synths so thick and caustic, it's like you have your headphones plugged directly into them, and then there's plenty of slow creepiness, that would most definitely sound right at home on any of those recent Death Waltz John Carpenter reissues. So good. And every time we review a BB record we wonder again, why aren't they huge?! Fans of weirdo garage rock who might be up for something even more weird and far out, we can't recommend Black Bug enough!!
We have been DYING for this. The Black Bug I Don't Like You 7" was probably our favorite single of the last however many years, we've played it to death, over and over, just waiting for a full length to materialize, hoping and praying it would be even half as good as the 7", but maybe steeling ourselves for disappointment. But thankfully that steeling was totally unnecessary, as the full length more than lives up to the impossible expectations set by that two song salvo.
This Swedish new wave garage punk 3 piece are a furious feral synth driven monster, their sound equal parts cold wave gloom, riot grrl yowl, in-the-red punk rock, and ultra raw blown out garage pop, but even that's a bit reductive, there's something magical about what these three conjure up, both in sound and song, with just synth, bass, vocals and programmed drums. Their sound is all over the map, from howling pounding furious crunch, to warped woozy synthy drone, to dour pulsing minimal cold wave, to super anthemic almost emo garage rock, and every variation in between. The recording is raw and lo-fi, the drums, the synths, the bass, the vocals, in various stages of blown out distorted crumble, the drums are clipped and weirdly processed, pushed as loud as they can go, the synth too, fuzzy, buzzy, wreathed in a sort of decaying haze, the vocals of frontwoman Lily are wild and unhinged and super emotional, sometimes a playful yelp, sometimes a cold croon, other times a full on hysterical shriek.
But it's not just the sound, the songs are incredible, short sharp bursts of new wave gloom pop. "Fell In Love With" is like a lo-fi riot grrl Soft Cell, with stuttery drums, insanely distorted synth and blown out bass, and Lily's vocals so intense and snarly, a depressive descending melody that is totally irresistible. "Inside Out", one of the few songs with male vocals, courtesy of Lily's partner Ruslav, a brooding propulsive chunk of synth doom, Joy Division via Cold Cave, like a more raw and lo-fi Sixx or Soror Dolorosa. "The Wave" is like an ultra raw lo-fi Aavikko a sort of woozy alien krautrock, "Beating Your Heart Out" is the buzz synth breakup song you blast in headphones to soothe your black and broken heart, a cathartic buzz drenched dirge, "I've Got Eyes" sounds like it could have been on Captured Tracks or Sacred Bones, that sort of modern retro synth wave weirdness that anyone into Blessure Grave or Blank Dogs should lose their shit over, "Make Her" is like some lost riot grrl anthem, run through a bank of busted effects pedals and broadcast through a wall of blown speakers, warped and warbly and crumbling before your ears, but somehow, still heavy and hooky and fucking incredible.
This whole record is visceral and immediate, emotional and bombastic, a bloody screaming sonic gem, equal parts heart and hooks, groove and grind, blast and buzz, an insanely catchy chunk of ultra blown out, bloodied and bruised, gloom-wave noise-pop genius. Record Of The Week, fuck that. Record Of The Year!!!!
We've been super obsessed with this killer slab of grim, blackened, nocturnal, techno minimalism, a dread fueled sprawl of bleak electronica and droned out sci-fi industrialism that's even more remarkable as it's the first Black Rain release in 18 years!!
Black Rain mastermind Stuart Argabright is hardly a household name, yet the man has an impressive catalog of high-caliber recordings along an axis of futurist / cyberpunk / darkly post-punk electronica dating back to the late '70s. His first fruits were in the form of the Factory sponsored Ike Yard, whose gloomy electro-dirges followed in the wake of the No New York contingent, followed by some far more club-oriented projects including the one-hit wonder Dominatrix and the eccentric Death Comet Crew (working with the pioneer of Afro-futurism, Rammellzee). Black Rain was the band that Argabright began with fellow DCC-member Shinichi Shimokawa in 1992 or thereabouts, and was originally commissioned to draft the score for a film version of Johnny Mnemonic. Despite his long-standing friendship with Phillip K. Dick, the Black Rain tracks were scrapped in favor of a high-budget Hollywood score after Keanu Reeves was pegged for the lead. After Blackest Ever Black pressed up a short-program lp 2010 of that soundtrack work from the early '90s (all of which had appeared on the Fifth Colvmn cd entitled 1.0), Argabright returned to the Black Rain moniker, possibly with Shimokawa at his right hand again.
Dark Pool continues the thread of tense cyborg-electronica crafted through those nixed Johnny Mnemonic soundtracks. The introductory track features a spoken word preface from Sean Young (best known as the android Rachel from Blade Runner) amongst a flurry of electrically screeching birds, extending the P.K. Dick allusions. Dystopian electronic shadows and hauntological drones brace much of Dark Pool, with Black Rain snapping into rhythmic passages of taut pneumatic samples and polished-machine drum programming. "Xibalba Road Metamorph" is a track that Dominick Fernow could only dream of producing as Prurient or Vatican Shadow, hammering its electro-static pulses with iron-fisted brutality and cold-blooded precision. The aptly named "Data River" spills out clinical beeps and drill-hammer rhythms on par with the sterility of Mika Vainio's Metri or any of the Raster Noton folk, with toxic drones of any villainous techno track lurking in the distance. Black Rain does pull the rug out from under us on the final track which rockets forward with a modern-day Moroder-esque tension, all dynamic arpeggiation and teeth-gritting electronic suspense only to abruptly cut the power, marking the end of the album. If we were to apply the cinematic, gothic / sci-fi allusion that this albums begs for, then this coda marks the unexpected termination of the android protagonist. Achtung! Bang! Click. End.
As of late 2008 and early 2009, there's been some serious hubbub over Slumberland, the stalwart indie label of Brit-inspired, shoegazing bliss pop, thanks to a couple of kick ass records from Crystal Stilts and Pains Of Being Pure At Heart. So a revisitation into perhaps the quintessential Slumberland outfit seems appropriate. Black Tambourine was a shortlived project featuring two of the guys from Velocity Girl, a chanteuse named Pam Berry, and Slumberland label boss Mike Schulman. They only released three singles, contributed a track or two to compilations, and played less than five shows before breaking up in 1991. Go figure that Complete Recordings anthologizes all of these tracks plus an unreleased single.
Black Tambourine's songs begin as jangly, melodic pop which gets tousled about in a blur of amplifier distortion piled onto reverb piled onto more amplifier distortion and just a little more reverb. Yup, it's the same wonderful sound that was also broadcast from the Shop Assistants, My Bloody Valentine (circa Isn't Anything, well cuz Loveless hadn't been released yet!), Jesus & Mary Chain, the Pastels, and almost any given band on Creation circa 1988. But no matter how great that all consuming shoegaze sound can be, the band has gotta have good songwriting chops; and Black Tambourine had 'em for sure. At times, there's that ramshackle quality of good old American DIY indie pop, but for the most part, the songs are effortlessly catchy and melodic with a swagger pushed forth by Pam Berry's reverb drenched and melancholy vocals. Still sounds great after all these years!
It's been a while, more than a year in fact, since we last got a batch of TRUE SHEFFIELD BLACK PSYCHEDELIA, but it's finally that time once again. We were beginning to jones pretty hard. For those of you who can't quite figure it out from the name of the genre, this stuff is black metal, and psychedelic, and most (if not all) of the bands hail from Sheffield in the UK. Beyond that, this stuff is pretty hard to describe, from blown out grinding blackened psychedelic post rock to chugging in-the-red blacknoise to glistening soft focus krautdrone to pounding distorted sludge to processed machinelike buzz and stutter, and we're not even just describing the genre, most of the bands somehow manage to incorporate all of those elements into one fractured fucked up and seriously and gloriously schizophrenic sound.
We'd been waiting for a proper real cd (non cd-r) release from any of these guys, and while there have been rumors of a new Ice Bound Majesty full length on tUMULt (!), it was Black Vomit who were ultimately immortalized in aluminum and plastic first, thanks to those twisted freaks at Rusty Axe. But even by Rusty Axe's already freaky standards, Jungle Death is some seriously twisted avant heavy black weirdness. The sort of stuff that will have your standard black metal knuckle dragger scratching his head and reaching for the nearest Dimmu Borgir cd.
The metal component of black vomit is a sort of metal that sounds like it was cooked up by Tim Hecker, Philip Jeck, Aidan Baker and Justin Broadrick would have conjured up in some underground lair, with no small amount of black magic. Guitars that roar and howl, piled on top of one another until they're so thick, they threaten to collapse your stereo speakers like miniature black holes, the riffs grind and buzz, blurred and smeared into huge heaving walls of blown out white hot sound, usually weirdly processed too, so buried beneath the roiling surface, lurk all manner of electronics and glitch and hiss and static. Sometimes the heaviness stumbles into streaks of sonic black tar, slowing the sound down into some blown out glacial trudge, and even then, it's no ordinary doom, the sound glistens and glows, it's heaviness more a function of staring into some alien sun, the beams of light transformed into sound, wrapping you in thick sheets of effulgent buzz and black hued shimmer.
The various bits of skull crushing heaviness are balanced by some of the coolest drone and ambient music we've heard, from the rumbling, muted and melodic low end intro, that sounds like some creepy krautrock bassline slowed waaaaay down, to the glistening glitched out sun dappled shimmer of "Conderlint5", with it's mysterious alien voices and skittery crystalline textures, to the moaning lonely spidery guitar drift of "Last Cries Of The Lost".
The record starts out damaged, and just gets more and more fucked and freaked out as it progresses, looped tribal drumming wreathed in swirling static, laced with strange samples, gives way to stuttering processed electronic grind, which slowly transforms into a sea of warped drones and Oval like glitches, all smoothed out into an undulating underwater soundscape, wrapped in jagged shards of distorted crunch and sonar like beeps. A brief bit of indie jangle, all minor key strum and sad lilting melody, explodes in a flurry of crumbling stumbling ultra distorted post rock pound, before slipping into some almost Pop Ambient sounding drift, only to again transform into some impossibly twisted bit of cinematic mood music, complete with haunting strings, and dubbed out drums, finally opening up into "Dark Beloved Cloud", the longest track on the record, all Burzumy and murky and buzzy and blackened, woozy and off kilter, with more processed vocals, tons of effects, long stretches of tripped out psychedelic minimalism, before the pounding D-beat climax, and then a soft focus shimmery fade out, which leads directly into the record closer, a warm warped swirl of deeeeeep thrum, and slow moving melodic murk, again shot through with echo drenched voices and bits of electronic twinkle and glimmer, fading out into nearly 5 minutes of near silence. Weird.
But so fucking mind blowing. Totally wiping out any boundaries between drone music and black metal and ambient noise and electronic grind and whatever other fucked up sounds these freaks fuse into their totally genius and totally unique TRUE SHEFFIELD BLACK PSYCHEDELIA!!
We often lament the state of musical affairs that would render records that are as good as anything and everything we've heard by James Blackshaw to be so limited as to only be heard by a mere handful of people. But until now that has indeed been the case. Cd-r after gorgeous cd-r, limited to 200 copies, 100 copies, even less in some instances. But music this beautiful, this lush, this lovely definitely deserves a wider audience, even if its cd-r / underground / outsider / avant folk / new weird America cache suffers accordingly. Who cares? Who -can- care when faced with the sounds on O True Believers. Over the last few years, Blackshaw has found a home amongst free noise fellows and their fans (Celebrate Psi Phenomenon, Birchville Cat Motel, Rameses III, Vibracathedral Orchestra, Sunroof!, Avarus, etc.) even though his sound hewed much closer to Fahey and the like, a stark but sweet steel string Appalachia. Here, that sound is even more stark, more spare and oh so even sweeter. The opening two tracks will have you swooning, or drifting off, or swaying in some glorious mesmerized state or whatever it is you do when you find yourself submerged in some lush swirl of tonal dreaminess, 30 full minutes of guitar, mostly just guitar, spacious and grand, lilting and delicate, no whir or fuzz or rumble or any of the other sonic detritus that usually decorates most of the music like this we love -- no this is crystal clear and crystalline, shimmering and glistening, as if Blackshaw was some strange musical alchemist who discovered how to use a guitar to describe leaves covered in dew, green grass sparkling with morning frost, the sun reflecting on a placid pond, silvery streaks of sunlight filtered through the interwoven branches overhead. It's like wandering into a lost glade, laying in a thick soft patch of grass, and slowly sinking into the ground, until you BECOME the forest around you, sinking into a warm, wash of tranquil otherworldliness. Towards the end of track two, the guitars are joined by cymbalon, tamboura, and bells, and what was only moments earlier some sort of mysterious Appalachian folk, becomes a slow burning blissed out raga, steel strings buzz, each note smeared into warm drones, then sprinkled with delicate chimes and reverberating bells. Track three is equally as blissful, but is constructed quite differently, the guitar lines speed up and become intense and intricate tangles of notes, so snug that the melodies blur and stretch out melodic whirs, while lush major key swells, ebb and flow in the background, a swaying swooning sweetness. The final track is almost jubilant by comparison and 'rocks' as much as any foresty free folk Appalachia can be thought to rock, dense steel string strums, a simple percussive framework of cymbals and chimes, the whole thing wrapped in the wonderfully warm wheeze of a harmonium, adding a thick warm fuzzy patina to the sparkling steel shimmer beneath.
Everyone at aQ is super open minded when it comes to music, we all love all kinds of sounds, but each of us definitely has our favorite, our specialties, whether it be black metal, or indie rock or drone or post rock or power pop or whatever. So when a record shows up that has *everybody* freaking out, that's usually a sign that said record is something special, and in those cases we definitely try to mark the occasion by making that record our Record Of The Week.
Such is the case with The Fields by Blank Dogs, or should we say Blank Dog singular as this is a one man operation, some cat named Mike Sniper who for the last few years has been practically gushing limited cd-r's and tapes and short run releases, most so limited that for most of us, The Fields is our first real exposure to Sniper's gorgeous woozy lo-fi new wave, and new wave is really what this is, whereas a lot of the other Blank Dogs releases were super noisy and abrasive, The Fields is hooky and catchy and jangly, total perfect gloom pop, albeit drenched in plenty of tape hiss and amp buzz. Equal parts The Cure and Joy Division, huge fuzzed out downer basslines, simple drum rhythms or programmed beats, all wreathed in thick swirls of murky effects, fuzzy clouds of bloop and bleep, synthesizers spewing squiggly melodies, or unfurling thick undulating ribbons of warm buzz, and then the vocals, deep and drowsy, weary and worn, a mournful croon, super emotional and darkly evocative, all of those parts stitched together into haphazard perfect pop gems.
It's a super short record, seven songs in twenty minutes, but it's darn near perfect, the opening bass line and drum part are total Cure worship, all gothy and gloomy, with an irresistible hook buried in the mix, the deep main croon balanced by a weird processed almost falsetto, fucked up effects careening all over the place in the background, smoothly segueing into "Now Signals" the indie mixtape hit of the year if there ever was one, a sort of Interpol meets Magnetic Fields by way of Sebadoh, a simple guitar jangle over woozy synths, and a sweet sad boy vocal, until it shifts gear into a killer super rocking, heavy guitar bridge, that slips into a warm, almost heavy chorus, before returning to that lo-fi jangle and shimmer of the verse.
"Passing The Light" has a wicked blown out buzzy bass line, that would shame Interpol, the Joy Division melody strung between a constellation of glistening effects, the vocals dripping with delay and reverb and distortion, and again, all wrapped around a wicked hook. The last few tracks get almost frenetic, and mix in some classic pop era Eno into the moody new wave gloom, finishing things off with the weirdly ebullient "Spinning", that manages to glow and pulse with energy while retaining plenty of the rest of the record's glorious downer doompop vibe.
Of course this is on Woodsist, which has been on a roll lately releasing one amazing gem after another: Crystal Stilts, Wavves, Pocahaunted, Meneguar, and now Blank Dogs!! Even though we're only a few weeks into 2009, there's no doubt this disc will find its way onto lots of folks year end lists!
Ok, so they're called Blasted Canyons, the record is on John Dwyer's (Thee Oh Sees) Castle Face records, and has eye popping rainbow lazer psychedelic-smash cover art (courtesy Castle Face art dude William Keihn), one member of Blasted Canyons also does time in garage pop masters Bare Wires, so we were pretty much already sold, but then we threw it on, and well, we were definitely expecting some cool kick ass garage rock, but were totally unprepared for the tripped out psychedelic garage-prog synth-punk space-pop radness these guys and gal kick out.
The first track, awesomely titled "The Artist Formerly Known As Satan", should pretty much seal the deal, huge bombastic crashing distorted chords, almost metal sounding, but more like a fuzzy space rock dirge, swirling effects-drenched boy girl vocal harmonies that turn it it into some sort of twisted pop, pounding drums, druggy and dreamy, but heavy and fuzzy and catchy as hell, and when the track shifts gears, and they launch into some buzzy distorto garage pop crunch, with echo-y vocals, and woozy sweetly melodic background vox, not to mention some wicked melodic hooks, it's a total head banging hip swinging sonic bliss out, and then bam, it's right into that strangely epic and bombastic garage pop dirge which leads to one final buzzy blast. Might just be our jam of the year so far. Fuzzed out swaggery lowslung Stooges-y stomp fused to power pop jangle and lo-fi space-synth-prog, so good we can barely bring ourselves to listen to the rest of the record, but once we did...
The second track, "Blood On The Wall" is a synth driven chunk of angular garage-y new wave crunch, with a killer chorus, the howled distorto female vox and buzzing synth definitely reminding us of Black Bug, while "Consider Drowning" is a primo slab of surfy garage groove, with the vocals all deep and echoey reminding us of Crystal Stilts, but the chugging murky guitars, swirling spacey synth and pounding drums transforming it into something way more tripped out and primal. And so it goes, the whole record a wild ride through Oh Sees style sweat-soaked distorto-garage jangle pop, tripped out murkscapes of pulsing crumbling synths and pitch shifted vox, fuzzy classic post punk power pop laced with hazy oooh's and aaah's, noisy sci-fi-synth-wreathed punky pound, dirgey 4-tracked rhythmic experiments, wild, reverbed, feedback soaked girl group noise pop groove, twisted angular synth driven new wave, and finally finishing off with another bit of sonic weirdness, a perfect bookend for that opening blast of garage prog bombast, a swirling, dirgey, lysergic FX heavy synthswirl outro. So goddamn good. Record Of The Week for sure, but we're thinking maybe Record Of The Year too...!
Vinyl-only for now, here's hoping they'll also press up some cds soon as well...
Cold winds hardly ever blow in the sunny climes of San Diego, California; but that city is the home to the goth-cult, dirge-punk duo Blessure Grave whose grim, icy moods certainly match any of their contemporaries like Zola Jesus, Former Ghosts, Blank Dogs, or any of the more grim tones pushed forward by Wierd Records. It's true that many of the current crop of post-punk and minimal wave revivalists are triangulating their sounds through very specific references. Zola Jesus' operatics harken to Diamanda Galas but with a very DIY grit about her arrangements; and Blank Dogs really enjoy a good Joy Division bassline, and who could find fault with that? But it took a while to place the exact references that Blessure Grave evoke. Alien 8 offers Killing Joke, Death In June, and The Cure, all of which are close, but not quite familar enough with Blessure Grave's dungeon claustrophobia and dour expressionism. To us, Blessure Grave suggests a Frankensteinian construct of the grim and twisted. On one side, there's the glum goth-punk band Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, and on the other there's Michael Allen from the early '80s when he founded the quixotic post-punk bands Rema Rema, Mass, and The Wolfgang Press.
Judged By Twelve, Carried By Six is the debut album for Blessure Grave, following an acclaimed 12" for Captured Tracks, a split 7" with Cold Cave & Crocodiles, and a couple of tiny edition cassettes, creating quite an underground buzz around this band. All of Blessure Grave's songs are skeletal in nature, built around rumbling basslines, moody synths, minor key guitar melodies, booming vocals, and tons of chorus & reverb. The vocals from T.Grave on "Stop Breathing" bellow and chant in an untrained, art-punk manner, that pretty much follows the mannerisms of Mick Allen in his early days. And those drum machinations of the band do recall the Lorries, guiding the darkened, claustrophobic tunes along a militant lockstep. "Open Or Shut" is a bit more expansive through the slower plod that the band takes and the expressive guitars that alternate between an anxiety provoking drone and languid moping."A Thousand Drums" is downright frantic in all of those drum machine pulses sputtering behind the barked vocals and excessive reverb. "Hope For The Worse" is probably the closest that Blessure Grave come to anything off of Unknown Pleasures with the spiked guitar lines and galloping rhythms, although Martin Hannett would have made such a track sound completely different... and not the lo-fi, naked expressionism and sometimes atonally brutish constructs found here. This homecrafted grimness is certainly one of Blessure Grave's many strengths; and we're already eager to hear more!
Experience the chilling terror of.... BLIZARO! Thrill to the nightmarish sensation that is... BLIZARO!
Enjoy the lovely melodies of... BLIZARO! Space out to the swirling sizzling synths of... BLIZARO!
Puzzle at the schizophrenic doom-prog-metal-soundscapes conjured by... BLIZARO!
Oh yeah, we've been waiting for this one for a while! Keen readers of the AQ list might recall mention of Blizaro in our review of the debut Crucifist release on Profound Lore, earlier this year. We mentioned that the guitarist from that blackened death-thrash entity, John Gallo (also of true doomsters Orodruin), had an awesome, eccentric synth-based side project called Blizaro, whom we'd experienced via some self-released cd-r's. Thus we were looking forward to Blizaro's upcoming full-length cd, and at long last, it's finally here! Like a mad scientist's lo-fi, DIY mashup of Goblin and Black Sabbath, Blizaro is right up our dark and creepy alley. Yours too we might imagine. It almost makes up for that Tony Tears album having gone out of print.
There's definitely plenty of metal bands who have taken inspiration from the classic Italian horror/suspense "giallo" cinema (and soundtracks), we're thinking Necrophagist, Hooded Menace, Cathedral, Moss, Acid Witch... and of course other musicians too, recent good examples being Zombi, Majeure, Magda, and Umberto. (Oh, and NightSatan, whose album we should soon have, too.) But Blizaro kind of take it to another, weirder level of worship. Blizaro is bizarro, yes that's for sure. Their sinister synthesis of Goblin/Sabbath has some off-kilter, confusional, sorta Sun City Girlish elements to it as well. It never really gets very metal, actually, but also stays away from the disco thing too.
Divided into two halves, one "Physical" and one "Mental", this disc offers up a deranged range of strangeness, from the fuzzed out Sabbathy psych riffage of "Midnight Lurkers" to the purely synthesized spacey suspensefulness of "Violet Cosmos". The eight minute opening epic, title track "City Of Living Nightmare", is a progged out tour de force of both gentle, eerie melodies and jagged martial metal riffage. It certainly sets the stage for what follows... cinematic symphonics, whispered vocal incantations, organ drones, monkish moans, sickly grooves, acid guitar soloing, druggy atmospheres... with song titles like "Eyes In The Caskets", "Catacomb Man", "Portallucinations", and "Ceremonial Bone Ritual". And then, at the opposite end of the album, as if to give credit where credit is due, Blizaro wind up the disc with a spot-on cover of Goblin's theme to Suspira! Almost unnecessary, after what's come before, but a nice touch nonetheless.
Quite recommended, especially to those who dig, say, both Osanna and Witchfinder General, or Fabio Frizzi and Paul Chain (all artists, among many others, that Blizaro cite as influences). Man, if only this were an actual soundtrack to an obscure old giallo, in the tradition of Argento and Fulci, we'd sure love to see that movie!!
So, people, if you dare, feel the embrace of the purple-hued, witch-haunted horror that is... BLIZARO!
As more and more folks (foolishly & unfortunately in our view) choose to forgo physical media for immaterial downloads, it seems like it's as important as ever to make records special, as much collectible objects and storage devices for sound, as much cool tangible artifact from a band we care about as simply a conveyance for that band's music. And we're constantly amazed at the sort of incredible and unique packaging we see pass through aQ. Perhaps none more so that Equation Records who are constantly pushing the design envelope, with no regard for profit, hell, no regard for even breaking even, for them it's all about the art, the object, every release something special, that will be treasured, both for the sounds within, and all the amazing craziness that surrounds those sounds.
Which brings us to this. Amazing and crazy just scratches the surface. Three years in the works, an extended production rife with problems and complications, some deftly (and cleverly) incorporated right into the artwork. The record is in fact being sold significantly -below- its actual cost, which was appropriately exorbitant, based on the ridiculous and fantastical packaging. But before we get to that, let's talk music. This extreme packaging couldn't have been paired with a more appropriately extreme band, the Seattle doomdronedirge duo Blue Sabbath Black Cheer, whose infamous live Halloween night set is the focus of this release, presented here on a one sided silkscreened lp, a sidelong expanse of harrowing blackened minimalism, crashing gongs and billowing clouds of cymbal shimmer, buzzing metallic thrum, that reminds us of an Organum record gone haywire. The metal buzz gradually processed into deep rib cage rattling drones and ominous low end tones, eventually melodies creep in, and the sound is transformed into an abject tarpit doom, peppered with blown out blasts of percussive crunch, and bursts of Merzbowian white noise, but always settling back into a deep, ominous thrum. Lion roar rumbles give way to keening moaning black buzz, downtuned and crumbling, all weirdly mournful and melodic, the whole thing laced with tortured vox, seriously harrowing and amazing. And as if that weren't enough, there's also a single sided 7", with an etched B side, the music a crumbling wall of super distorted power electronics style crunch, grinding slabs of corrosive textures and heaving buzz blurred into a weirdly meditative, but still seriously corrosive drone. And as if that STILL weren't enough, there's also a cd (not a cd-r), collecting a handful of rarities from various tape releases and splits, as well as some unreleased jams, the sounds varying from percussive post industrial pipe fight bombast, to droned out feedback drenched ambience, and from militaristic minimalism, to grinding blacknoise blowouts. Phew.
NOW we can talk about the packaging, which we should preface with the word MAGNETS!!! ("Fucking magnets, how do they work?!"), more on that in a second, but if you want a visual accounting of the packaging, check this out: http://youtu.be/ZthdRUqd68w
So yeah, there is a one sided lp, with a silkscreened B side. There was an issue with the silkscreening, so there's an insert affixed to the sleeve, explaining the situation. There's also a red vinyl 7", one sided, etched on the B side, and the aforementioned cd of rarities. The 7" comes in a proper picture sleeve with two 7"x7" pro-printed card inserts, the cd comes in it's own proper sleeve as well. Also includes is a silkscreen turntable slipmat, as well as a 12" by 24 poster. Add in 4 stickers, a 2-sided 12" pro-printed card insert, and two separate silk screened covers, each one affixed with magnets, the two sleeves magnetically adhered! There's also a 2" pin, a numbered certificate, all of this is housed in a thick PVC sleeve, sealed with a circular sticker, and on the front, is a sticker, with a description of the record in Latin, and a translation in English. Wow. Needless to say, this is a beauty, an extravagantly conceived and executed labor of love, that is even more impressive when you hold it in your grubby little paws.
LIMITED TO 235 COPIES!!! Guessing this won't be around for long!
This disc (compiling two rare & expensive late '60s lps) reveals NYC's the Blues Magoos to be the missing link between the Count Five, the MC5, and -gasp- the new Monster Magnet! Sounds impossible but it's true! Squirrelly garage rock wrapped in farfisa organ and swirly psychedelia, tempered with a healthy dose of bubblegum pop and a silly sense of humor. The album titles are right-on, and 'the band was known for wearing bellbottoms trimmed with neon plastic tubes'! Includes an amazing cover of Maceo Marriweather's 'Worried Life Blues'. This welcome reissue has been a constant on the AQ-stereo ever since it showed up! This record reflects our growing interest in the drug culture of the late '60s...oops, I mean, their interest.
It's pretty phenomenal that this record went from getting the suspicious side-eye when we first took it in on consignment, to becoming one of our favorite "WTF?" records of the year! When it first appeared, no one seemed to know where it came from (it had been brought in by Blunt himself, one day). And we weren't too sold on the cover, a generic photograph that looked like it was shot in the eighties, of this fellow Blunt, standing with a woman (a close friend of his, in a head to toe orange outfit that looks like it could have been prison garb, and who as it turns out, may no longer be alive) in front of a Mercedes parked in front of the mural on the side of the O'Farrell Theater on Polk street in San Francisco. Also, whenever there's a bunch of "ASCAP" logos plastered all over the front and back cover, our internal "uh-oh" meter goes way off.
So it just sat on our new arrivals shelf for a few weeks. But then a couple of folks (one of whom runs the Gloriette label, who have supplied us with some Ariel Pink and Nite Jewel records) started asking about it, because they had heard about this record, so we gave it a listen and were pretty surprised and rather blown away by what we were hearing. A lo-fi but breezy outsider funk, made with repetitive cheap-sounding keyboards loops and tones (the kind being currently exploited by Dam-Funk, Ariel Pink, and James Pants), strange metallic tropical guitar tones that sound more like steel drums and flute sounds than actual guitar, and sly, laid-back vocals and catchy, infectiously naive grooves that work their way into our heads and never let go. Everybody here ended up really really digging it.
We sold one copy immediately to someone in the store when playing it, and then when we tried to contact Blunt to get more copies, we discovered that somehow we'd neglected to get his contact info, d'oh! The cd had no contact information, and searches online only revealed that the title track, a raunchy but coded come-on to a sexy stranger, was included on a James Pants mix. This only piqued our interest further, as Blunt's skewed Caribbean inflected songs would obviously be simpatico with James Pants' more recent tropical themed output. We could also see folks into Ariel Pink and Dam-Funk getting WAY into this. So we thought maybe this record was a rare private press record from the eighties. It does seem to have a strange hard-to-pin-down-time-wise quality.
Thankfully, Blunt eventually came back in and we got more copies and found out that he had pressed vinyl copies too. He also told us that this record was recorded ten years ago in 2000, but that didn't diminish our new found love for this record's questionable mystery, as it still predates all of the artists mentioned above that it reminds us of, though we're pretty sure Blunt probably has never heard of any of them. It also has the left of center oddness of other outsider funk artists like Tonetta, or Wicked Witch, albeit way more toned down than either of those two. Not that it's completely off the wall weird, but it's one of those records that we went into with such hesitation and were pleasantly surprised that we then became totally enamored with its home-brewed charm.
The lp is 5 tracks, with extra shorter versions of the songs "Fly Guy" and "Gentle Persuasion" and comes housed in an old school white cut-out 12" sleeve. The cd version has two extra songs and instrumental versions of four of the tracks. Oh, and the vinyl has a gold star sticker that boldly proclaims "HIT!" We couldn't agree more!
We can't believe it's been five years since Doug Hream Blunt himself walked into our store and consigned his self-released recordings of home-brewed, proto-chillwave dance funk, recorded with washy and chirpy synths and genuinely out there guitar solos, with songs about dancing, fly guys and ladies' butts. Kind of a smoother Wesley Willis (ok, much smoother!) with Jimi Hendrix dreams, Blunt's genuinely infectious musical enthusiasm shined through on each track. We made Gentle Persuasion record of the week back in 2010, without knowing much about its backstory. Doug was very vague on details too, saying the recording was from 2000, but we believe that was when it was pressed, but not recorded. Having suffered a stroke a few years before, he couldn't go into great length about the recording at the time (he's doing much better now, as evidenced by our recent record signing event!), but we had an inkling that the recordings were known in certain crate-digger / DJ circles, which were immediately confirmed once we had it on our website and orders from all over the world started pouring in.
Seriously, we have sold tons of his release, and now lo and behold, Doug is finally having his well-deserved, big moment of larger recognition and discovery via David Byrne's Luaka Bop label, with this reissue of his complete recordings which include the two previously self-released discs we previously listed: Gentle Persuasion and Big Top, remastered and put together for the first time - these tracks have never sounded better! A lo-fi but breezy outsider funk, made with repetitive cheap-sounding keyboards loops and tones (the kind being currently exploited by Dam-Funk, Ariel Pink, and James Pants, all Doug Hream Blunt fans by the way), strange metallic tropical guitar tones that sound more like steel drums and flute sounds than actual guitar, and sly, laidback vocals and catchy, infectiously naive grooves that work their way into our heads and never let go. So delightful!!
And we finally get more of the story behind these recordings: Back in 1985, when Doug was 35, he decided he wanted to learn guitar and found an extended learning class called 'How To Form A Band' run by Victor Flaviani out of his garage. Victor taught Doug the guitar, even though Victor barely knew the instrument himself, and Doug set about writing and recording the songs with his other class mates. We remember seeing the video of Gentle Persuasion we found on Vimeo from a cable access TV video with Doug and what seemed to be an all-girl band, which turns out were his fellow classmates, which included Victor and his wife Angela too on drums and guitar respectively.
It's pretty phenomenal that this record went from getting the suspicious side-eye when we first took it in on consignment, five years ago, to becoming one of our favorite "WTF?" records ever. Not that it's so impossibly strange, but it's a genuine home-grown San Francisco DIY funk artifact with minimal ambitions that is finally being turned on to a larger audience, and we couldn't be happier for Doug! For fans of that Personal Space compilation of private press electronic soul, Dam-Funk, Ariel Pink or Dean Blunt, who apparently took the Blunt name in tribute to Doug!
Download code included with the vinyl btw. Also btw, if you missed the remix 12" that Luaka Bop put out as a teaser for this earlier this year for Record Store Day, we still have three or four signed copies of that left in stock...
We've long been fans of burly bearded post doom crushers The Body, their sound like the classic two man pummel of godheadSilo expanded into something even more majestic and sprawling, black hole heavy, infusing their ultra doom glacial sludge with plenty of post and rock mathisms, the cinematic tension of groups like Godspeed, and heck, they even cover songs by folks like Crass, Danzig, Black Flag and Sinead O'Connor! For a two piece, these guys pretty much transcend and obliterate any sort of limitations that lineup would pose to most mere musical mortals, but that said, plenty of two pieces have seen fit to expand, say to a trio or a quartet, maybe just to record, get a few guests, or even permanently, ditching the duo which sometimes gets focused on more than the music. But few bands (dare we say, practically none) expand further than that, say from 2 members to THIRTY TWO! But that's exactly what The Body has done for All The Waters Of The Earth Turn To Blood, their second proper full length in ages, one that marks ten years as a band, and more importantly, marks a serious sonic shift. No longer are they scrappy DIY punk rock noisemakers, setting their sites above and beyond, these guys have gone for it, meticulously crafting an album of extreme heaviness, of sonic mystery, haunting, and epic, metal for sure, even going so far as to include an actual 13 member choir, and not just for little random bits here and there, nearly seven minutes of the ten minute opening track, is just choir, lilting and angelic, lovely and otherworldly, only making the sudden shift from ethereal vocal harmony to crushing downtuned ultra doom all the more jarring. But the coolest part, is that the parts aren't clearly delineated. The choir continues on into the heaviness, so the howling churning crush, is peppered with gorgeous hymn like vocals, creating some sort of strangely liturgical sounding swirly sludge. And it's not just the vocals, there's saxophone, samples, piano, plenty of noise. And that pretty much sets the template for the whole record.
Besides the Assembly Of Light Choir, who are featured on almost every song here, the record also features Robert Lowe of Lichens offering up some additional vocals, not to mention the other 15 or 16 guests who contribute, beyond the core Body duo of drums, guitar, samples and vocals, a pretty crazy array of soundmakers, more vocals, saxophone, sousaphone, guitar, piano, keyboards, Moog, baritone saxophone and more drums. LOTS more drums. In fact, on the final track, "Lathspell I Name You" drummer Lee Buford is joined by EIGHT extra drummers!!! More on that in a moment.
The second track "A Curse" begins with a loping post rock beat, swirling synths, a melancholy melody, soaring chiming guitars, very moody and slow burning, before the band explodes into full doom, the sound shifts too, the crystalline clearness, becomes big and booming, the sound blown out, but more sort of warm and muted than in the red, the drums massive and pounding, while the guitars swirl in little chordal clouds, and the anguished vocals howl and wail, which gives way to "Empty Hearth", which sounds like some abstract experimental Swans style track, looped sample of what sounds like speaking in tongues, lurching mechanical crunch, glitched out electronics, shrieking vox, the whole song occasionally stuttering to a halt, as if the song was being remixed or was gloriously malfunctioning, there's also some awesome guttural throat singing, laced underneath the start stop, sample skitter, and super distorted bass buzz.
"Even The Saints Knew Their Hour Of Failure And Loss" starts with tarpit riffery and blurred hiss, strangely atmospheric, the drums skeletal but subtly mathy, the choir adding their gorgeous harmonies, an epic spiritual doom, tolling bells, everything dropping out, leaving just the booming drums, the shrieked vox, those bells, until a thick layer of low end washes over everything, and the track unwinds as some classic funereal doom.
"Song Of Sarin The Brave" begins all blown out and tangled up, sheets of feedback, huge heaving bursts of titanic metallic crunch, mysterious voices, finally the band launches into the song proper, and things get really weird, the drums stripped way down, the whole track slathered in strange murky blur and melting effects, while underneath, a strange sampled voice drifts, through clouds of other voices and mysterious sounds, totally creepy, and beautiful, and so mesmerizing, it goes on forever, and could have gone on way longer, but instead finishes off in a minute long blaze of shrieking black doom sludge crush.
"Ruiner" is another smoldering slow starter, haunting, downtuned minor key riffs ring out, doomic drums pound out a barely there rhythm, again, all underpinned by a strange staticky cloud of hiss and gauzy atmospheric hum, the track starting out super spare, but gradually growing more and more dense, more and more doomy, gathering momentum, not rhythmically so much as sonically, the progression laced subtly with strings and horns, little streaks of psychedelic guitars, until finally exploding into a lumbering dirge, the instruments blackened and crumbling, less riffy than a throbbing organic black buzz, pounding and pummeling before blinking out abruptly.
Which leads us to the final track, the 14 minute, multiple drummer-ed side long "Lathspell I Name You", a heaving, expansive ultra doom epic, a churning looped riff and some busy drumming start the track off, not doomy at all really, more noise rock or post rock, with some gorgeous folky melodies woven in, the choir offering up their lovely harmonies, but in this context, they sound less angelic and slightly demonic, locked into their own looped pattern mirroring, the motorik metal loop underneath, which gives way to a weirdly records, noise drum blowout, voices and instruments hissing and buzzing while a cacophony of drums pound and crash, mesmerizing and hypnotic, before the glacial chug resurfaces, along with the choir, and the band lock into a seriously slow motion, abrasive cathartic doom sludge crawl, the sound growing more and more blown out until every drum hit pegs the needles and distorts everything, making the sound that much more caustic and emotional and intense.
The roots of The Body's sound may be in doom or sludge, or even simply metal, but All The Waters Of The Earth Turn To Blood has taken that sound so far beyond, transforming sludge and doom into something way more transcendent, way more difficult to immediately categorize, it's melodic, and poppy, and mathy, and drone-y, and electronic, and experimental, epic and majestic and mysterious, while somehow still remaining brutal, and pummeling and heavy as fuck. Fans of the usual suspects will probably dig this big time, Moss, Bunkur, Khanate, Monarch, Nihill, Otesanek (in fact the liner notes read: "All Praise To Otesanek And Man Is The Bastard"), Eyehategod, Habsyll, Fleshpress, but be prepared to look beyond the realms of traditional doom, or of conventional heaviness, because The Body are anything but traditional or conventional, and All The Waters Of The Earth Turn To Blood just might be the coolest, weirdest, most original doom record EVER.
Incredible packaging too, heavy vinyl (3 sided, the 4th side is blank), thick, gatefold sleeve, with some chillingly striking artwork, a printed 12" x 12" insert silver reflective ink printed on black cardstock, liner notes and lineup on one side, lyrics on the other...
We've been huge fans of Rhode Island two piece sludge doom duo The Body for years now, and have raved about every recording we could get our hands on, at one point even lamenting the fact that we were dying for a proper full length, and then BAM. Their self titled full length debut hit, and it DESTROYED. Then a few years later, and the band unleashed their epic, and seemingly universally acclaimed All The Waters Of The Earth Turned To Blood. A chunk of sludgy doom unlike anything we'd heard before, sure there was massive downtuned riffs, and bellowed and shrieked vox, pummeling drums, but there also happened to be a full choir, not to mention multiple drummers, strange electronics, programmed rhythms, strange samples, all wound into a bizarre and brilliant collection of avant heaviness, and finally it seemed the world caught on, and The Body began to get the love they so obviously deserved.
The bummer is, that while All The Waters IS incredible, so are all the weird and super limited cd-r's and singles that came before, so folks who discovered The Body via that record, were missing out on a whole world of heart stopping head caving sound, that is until now. This little collection, compiles pretty much everything the band has ever recorded minus their two full lengths (the older of which is sadly out of print), including split singles, tour cd-r's and even tacks on some unreleased stuff to boot.
Their 2008 tour cd-r might be one of our favorite recordings from these guys, and definitely displayed the band's dizzying mix of post rock, ultra doom, and sludge metal, as well as their penchant for mathy rhythms, lots of space, and seriously anguished vocals.The coolest part was that it was in the context of cover songs, and maybe not the sort of covers you'd expect from a sludge/doom outfit. Crass, Danzig, Black Flag and, wait for it, Sinead O'Connor. Yep. Hard to believe that last one works, but it does, and they don't just turn it into a pointless sludgefest, they have obvious affection for the original. But before we get to "Black Boys On Mopeds", let's run through the other covers first.
Crass's "Do They Owe Us A Living" is all buzzing low end, and tribal drumming. The vocals a processed feral bark, the whole thing lurching and lumbering and seriously harrowingly intense. Makes the original sound like a lullaby. The Danzig track is a loping low slung groove, with a fierce downtuned riff, and hysterical shrieking vocals, the band totally own it, and again, add untold heaviness and harshness to the original. Black Flag's "Police Story" is pulled apart and gutted, before exploding into a punk rock frenzy, who knew a sludge band could rock so hard? It's a muddy, murky free for all, not that far removed from the original other than the downtuned guitars and the insane vox.
And finally, "Black Boys On Mopeds", a gorgeous sprawling dirge, and wisely the band opted to get some help with the vocals, a gorgeous female voice, underpinned by howled shrieked back up vocals way off in the distance, the bulk of the song a single buzzing throbbing note stretched out into a thick undulating drone, the rhythm a metronome like clack buried in the mix, the end gets all trippy and dubbed out, but damn if this isn't creepier and prettier than the original.
Also included in this collection is Even The Saints Knew Their Hour Of Failure And Loss, another killer cd-r of that immediately recognizable Body style abstract sludge doom. Think a more skeletal Khanate, with dubbed out drums, but replace Alan Dubin's vocals with a even more hysterical shriek bordering on Bathtub Shitter territory. Weird but so fucking cool and creepy. Massive sheets of blacktar guitars, sometimes a grinding trudge through a viscous cloud of noxious grime, at others, a slow motion stumble through stark post rock territory, one track features a doom dub breakdown, where the snare sort of careens lazily in a wide open space before eventually being stomped flat by a wall of anvil guitars, another track is peppered with creepy soundbites, adding to the paranoid creepiness. And they tackle another cover, "Here Come The Tears" by Judas Priest, and turn it into a blown out white noise drenched dirge, crumbling and crushing.
These guys love their covers, as is evidenced by their Cop Killer / Dead Cops single also included here, a double dose of dead cops. The Body dump their sludgy doom all over "Cop Killer" by Body Count and "Dead Cops" by M.D.C.! The originals are barely recognizable, the original riffs, transformed into cesspools of filthy sludge. Again, comparisons to Khanate and Moss and are apt, but they definitely twist these jams all up into their very own blackened shapes.
As if that weren't enough, the collection is filled out with their track from a split 7" with Get Killed, and another unreleased track from 2004, as well as their very first demo, originally released as a super limited cassette on Armageddon, which displays the band, even in the early stages, capable of unleashing thick torrents of shrieking, lurching, avant doom, the sound a dizzying mix of slo-mo mathiness, low slung sludge, and blackened post rock, all blurred into epic swaths of black hole heaviness and skull caving crush, without losing their sense of melody or mood. Awesome.
Super striking visuals/packaging as always, spare and austere, with the liner notes printed on a cool white on black mini poster insert.
So when you were a kid, what do you think your Mom got up to while you were at school, or out playing with your pals? Doing laundry? Cleaning the house? Doing the dishes? A little gardening? Or maybe playing bridge? Canasta? Going to the grocery store? How about collecting and building analog synthesizers? Building a soundproof recording studio in the extra room? Recording strange space-y minimal electronic music on reel to reel tapes? Or building an 'orgon accumulator' in the backyard? Such were the activities of a mild mannered housewife named Ursula Bogner, who in addition to being a pharmacist, as well as a loving wife and mother, just so happened to also be obsessed with electronic music and analog synthesizers, but unlike others with similar interests (were there other 30 something housewives so obsessed?), Bogner didn't just read about electronic music, she attended seminars, followed the activities of various groups and musicians (even apparently sharing her children's enthusiasm for new wave pop!) eventually deciding to create music herself.
She never released any recordings, didn't even really make public her hobby, instead, she simply spent her free time, creating, composing, recording, experimenting, for over 20 years, amassing an incredible body of work. All of that wouldn't merit anything but a cursory glance and maybe a chuckle, if the music weren't amazing, but it is, fantastical and inspired, primitive and raw, playful and childlike, but also, haunting and mysterious, otherworldly, and so incredibly varied, from spare academic sounding minimalism, to Perrey & Kingsley style playfulness, to super stark click and skitter that would be right at home on Raster-Noton, to swirling fantastical spaced out soundscapes that could have been sixties sci-fi soundtracks. The sounds are so evocative, so mysterious, it almost seems impossible that they were recorded by a Mom in a spare room in a house in the suburbs.
The collection opens with "Begleitung Fur Tuba", which indeed features tuba-like tones, locked into a playful grove with a bleepy bloopy rhythm, which is eventually joined by streaks of static, and a warbly main melody. From there, highlights include "Proto" which is kaleidoscopic and groovy with a super minimal click-track rhythm. "2 Ton" is almost like space age lounge music, with it's reverbed guitar like shimmer, and slithery tempo. "Speichen" is another playful number, the burbles and bloops, and definitely predicts groups like James Bong, Luke Vibert, Boards Of Canada and the like. "Punkte" is another minimal groover, with a hissy static rhythm, a bloopy bassline, and all manner of descending and ascending electronic tones, as well as pizzicato bleeps that almost sound like an alien thumb piano. The longest track is "Soloresonanzen" and is maybe the dreamiest, taking the minimal click of Raster-Noton, and draping it over slowly shifting layers of electronic whir and buzz, peppered with bits of click and glitch, textural hiss, woozy melodic fragments, very dreamlike and meditative. And finally the record finishes with a brief burst of tangly scribbly electronic whir and skree, all mad scientist machines gone haywire, but deftly arranged into a pretty alien lullaby, weird and wonderful.
Bogner's music was discovered via some pretty incredible happenstance, Jan Jelinek, who runs the Faitiche label, met Bogner's son on a plane and the two got to talking, Jelinek was an electronic musician, so was Bogner's deceased Mother Weirdly enough, and well, the rest is history. Or is it? There has been much talk that this is all a massive hoax, or more correctly, the ultimate concept album. Carefully crafted down to the tiniest details, photos, back story, Bogner's artwork, everything. In some ways it doesn't really matter, in fact, it's almost more impressive if the whole thing was in fact fabricated, but you know what, fuck it, it's so much more fun to just go along with it...
The cd is gorgeously packaged in a thick book-like digipak, with extensive liner notes from Jan Jelinek, notes on each song, lots of photos, as well as various reproductions of Bogner's various outer space linocuts.
The return of Bong! We may have had the amazing Live At Roadburn disc to tide us over, but what we were really hankering for was a brand new full length from these UK psychedelic space doom heavies, and we're not and here it is. Beyond Ancient Space is three loooooong tracks, titled "Onward To Perdondaris", "Across The Timestream" and "In The Shadow Of The Towers" respectively, and described on the cd sleeve as 'unsere kosmischen musik', and after a creepy deeply intoned, reverbed spoken word intro, delivered over a glimmery spacescape of twinkle and shimmer, we are suddenly sucked into the strange world of Bong, as massive guitars come cascading down, a plodding ultra heavy doomic lumber, the drums spare and loose, the churning rumble and thrum laced with some sitar like buzz, which is no doubt the Shahi Baaja, an electrified Indian zither / drone harp with typewriter keys, that figures prominently in Bong's sound.
"Onward To Perdondaris" is a sinister creeping crawl, a nearly 25 minute, tranced out buzzing space doom mediation, the guitars not so much riffing as unfurling sheets of rumbling low end, a sprawling layered expanse of thick blackened thrum, a spaced out dirge, the buzzing Shahi Baaja transforming the sound into something exotic and alien, the vocals too, a monk like chant, long low tones, all very mesmerizing and meditative but still heavy and buzzy and droney, like Hawkwind covering SUNNO))), or Ravi Shankar jamming with Earth, or maybe some blurred confusional mix of the two.
"Across The Timestream" is another 25 minute epic, beginning with a crumbling, rumbling bit of corroded guitar buzz, it's not until nearly 3 minutes in that the drums surface, and even then, they're barely there, a skeletal rhythm underpinning the group's smoldering blackdrone, finally, the Shahi Baaja begins to buzz, and the track locks into a mesmerizing, motorik space psych dirge that will carry us through the whole 25 minutes, this is not headbanging music, this is blissed out drug drone music, a zoner cough syrup space rock soundtrack to some serious innerspace exploration, the track does build gradually, growing more intense, but subtly and slowly, they're called Bong for a reason, it's 25 minutes, but it could be 2500, or 2.5, time does not exist, once you're lost in these sounds, time becomes liquid, it's the perfect sonic tranceout, drifting off, alternate plane, next level, ur-drone ur-dirge bliss out.
Finally, there's the nearly 30 minute final movement, "In The Shadow Of The Towers", which begins with a SUNNO))) like riff, all foghorn moan and blurred slo-mo melody, the drums way more up front here, a slow, meandery lope, pounding away, the rumbling guitar a lush backdrop, the cymbal sizzle spilling over, a slow burning space rock dirge, blurred and bleary, hypnotic and lysergic, druggily monochromatic, it's not until about 20 minutes in that things get seriously intense, the drums wild and chaotic, the sound blown out and in the red, a sonic squall climax, that quickly gives way to a smoldering blackened slow fade outro.
Like all the Bongs that have come before, a heady chunk of krautrocky psychedelic dirge-y doom recommended for fans of SUNNO))), Gnod, The Heads, White Hills, Grails, Sylvester Anfang, Electric Wizard, Trollmann Av Ildtoppberg, Monster Magnet, Black Sabbath, Bohren & Der Club Of Gore and their slow and low doom dirge alchemist brethren
And it's not just us, our customer Glenn was so blown away by the new Bong he felt compelled to send HIS review which is way more succinct than ours:
"Album of the year so far. Absolutely fucking amazing. Imagine if Hawkwind had taken downers rather than acid and you played their albums at 16rpm. A total kosmische trip into another dimension."
Fuck yeah! Bong on!
The new album from Will Oldham & friends is simply wonderful. And we know we rave about Oldham a lot, from his work with Palace Bros to the solo material, but really we mean it -- this is one of his best records. In fact, I think that without the charming but sometimes syrupy twang prevalent on his earlier efforts, Master and Everyone has finally launched Oldham into the same lofty, hallowed territory as other iconoclastic folk practitioners such as Townes Van Zandt. Yeah, this is that good.
The new record has the same kind of low-key charm as his last offering, Ease On Down the Road, although while that record had a sunny back-porch vibe and moments of sly, naughty humor, the laconic, mellow sound of Master And Everyone is tinged with melancholy -- as is much of Oldham's recorded output -- but doesn't try to reach into the inky realms of cathartic intensity found on I See A Darkness (which is one of the best records he's made). Instead, the feeling is familiar and comforting, as Oldham wraps a honeyed falsetto or low, secretive whisper around distant stories of love and lonelines, filtered through the phrasing of early god-fearing folk balladeers. Female harmonies add to the sweetness. Gone is Oldham's faux Appalachian hillbilly guise, and the tenuous, always-cracking vocal warble, and the sometimes pointlessly peurile lyrics, and in its place is a warm, muted, dark folk record. Very reminiscent of seventies British folk, especially Nick Drake, with gorgeous female vocals perfectly complementing Oldham's warm languorous voice. A perfect drifiting off record.
Probably the best testimonial to the goodness of this record is not the fact that the AQ staffers who're already Bonnie Billy fans like it, but the fact that Andee, a.k.a. staunch Oldham naysayer (likes nothing after the Palace Bros debut), LOVES this record too. And that's saying somethin'!
The new album from Will Oldham & friends is simply wonderful. And we know we rave about Oldham a lot, from his work with Palace Bros to the solo material, but really we mean it -- this is one of his best records. In fact, we think that without the charming but sometimes syrupy twang prevalent on his earlier efforts, Master and Everyone has finally launched Oldham into the same lofty, hallowed territory as other iconoclastic folk practitioners such as Townes Van Zandt. Yeah, this is that good.
The new record has the same kind of low-key charm as his last offering, Ease On Down the Road, although while that record had a sunny back-porch vibe and moments of sly, naughty humor, the laconic, mellow sound of Master And Everyone is tinged with melancholy - as is much of Oldham's recorded output - but doesn't try to reach into the inky realms of cathartic intensity found on I See A Darkness (which is one of the best records he's made). Instead, the feeling is familiar and comforting, as Oldham wraps a honeyed falsetto or low, secretive whisper around distant stories of love and lonelines, filtered through the phrasing of early god-fearing folk balladeers. Female harmonies add to the sweetness. Gone is Oldham's faux Appalachian hillbilly guise, and the tenuous, always-cracking vocal warble, and the sometimes pointlessly peurile lyrics, and in its place is a warm, muted, dark folk record. Very reminiscent of seventies British folk, especially Nick Drake, with gorgeous female vocals perfectly complementing Oldham's warm languorous voice. A perfect drifiting off record.
Probably the best testimonial to the goodness of this record is not the fact that the aQ staffers who're already Bonnie Billy fans like it, but the fact that Andee, aka staunch Oldham naysayer (who liked almost nothing after the Palace Bros debut), LOVES this record too. And that's saying somethin'!
